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Empire Falls by Richard Russo

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About mePrologue

Make the story come alive for us, O Daimon Muse.

  √  If you’re young, throw away your dumbphone and turn off the idiotbox—’cause you’ll end up a dumb idiot if you don’t—and get crankən on Shakespeare! You don’t need so-called translations: the four-hundred-year-old lingo sinks in after a while; and you can conquer it by persevering with the footnotes. In the future, you’ll be so glad you did! If you’re older than most topsoil like I am, get reacquainted with him! But you have to finish not just a second or a third play: you have to read lots of them; in fact, you have to study əm. Then you’ll start to see an “otherworldly overview” that he imprinted on the stuff, and it’s a mindboggler! Bizarre stuff, this early Modern English, with its antiquated caste system of second-person pronouns and obsequious forms of address. After you’re used to it, though, it clicks—easy peasy, lemon squeezy; and finally, perusing the Bard is more fun than doing Sudoku or going bowling. (Who knew?)
  √  Of course you didn’t understand William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury or Absalom, Absalom! the first time you tried to read it. Nobody did! You’re not supposed to; that’s the point. So you’re grasping at straws, taking notes as you read, asking your teacher to explain stream of consciousness and nonlinear narrative; or you’re racing to the back of the book to frantically flip through the chronology and the genealogy. What a pain! And you’re thinking why is this crazy author making me go to so much work? isn’t he supposed to have done all that? and then it registers with you: no! he did much more—and brilliant—work to have made everything come out this way. So you man up, hit it again, rethink your strategy, and finally—maybe on the second or third try—you turn the corner on it. But wait! Now it’s exciting, ’cause you get it! Then you’re ready to tackle other literature with ergodic text; so you take a stab at Gravity’s Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon. But even if you finish it, you’re probably not in a hurry to reread this recondite bear with everything from probability statistics to retrograde narrative, because you need an annotated guidebook, an astrological chart, a spreadsheet, and a co‑pilot in order to conquer it. With Faulkner though, you do wannə reread his work, again and again. (And there’s this: his short stories are a million times better than F. Scott Fitzgerald’s.)
  √  Fed up that the “standards” of human interaction are being thrown overboard like so much deadweight as we leapfrog toward the illuminati-new-world-order-transgender agenda—fed up with all of this lunacy yet? Sick and tired of the ubiquity of a rob-you-of-your-privacy and the omnipotence of a screw-you-out-of-your-liberty Big Brother yet? The Thought Police got you worried you’d better not think this and the Speech Police got you all tongue-tied ’cause you don’t dare say that—had enough of being pushed around like this yet? Do you realize that Brave New World and Nineteen Eighty-four predicted these nightmare scenarios? Most folks think of these SciFi novels as old warhorses; in fact, they’re predictive-programming playbooks of what’s goən on apace today, because classic Dystopians are documentaries! But before you revisit Aldous Huxley’s and George Orwell’s magnum opuses, may I recommend that you begin with a perusal of the granddaddy of Dystopians, We, by Yevgeny Zamyatin? It’s protopostmodernist, and it’s spiced with difficult-to-unscramble surrealism, but it’s worth trudging through this terrifying tale which was written in the early ’twenties, ’cause it’s the first occurrence in literature of the “élite” controlling the “masses” by way of a bureaucratic police state. (Ring any bells?)

The Outsider

     Some of us—a rare few of us—personify Colin Wilson’s Outsider: we have always intuited that something is desperately wrong because nothing is real; we are Böhme’s fractaled-off-the-divine selflearner, Blake’s opener of perception’s doors, Shelley’s bohemian radical, Byron’s firebrand, Gautier’s pagan flouter of “morality,” Baudelaire’s poète maudit, Dostoyevsky’s sufferer, Rimbaud’s visionary explorer of other realities, Huysmans’ loather of bourgeois society, Nietzsche’s higher man, London’s misunderstood individualist, Rilke’s communer with higher beings, Nijinsky’s childlike god, Joyce’s Dedalus, Eliot’s quester, Hesse’s selfrealizer, Gurdjieff’s rouser of the spiritually asleep, Pound’s expatriate despiser of capitalism, O’Connor’s rebel-artist-mystic, Dick’s experiencer of a Gnostic epiphany, Moorcock’s existentialist seeker of meaning, Baines’ separated-from-the-beasts Stellar Man, Ligotti’s forlorn/outré loner, Le Guin’s student of the arduous school of Magick.
     And for us Outsiders, living and working in the United Corporations of New Atlantis has become a miserable ordeal: the booboisie are taken in by the “two-party” televised farce, society is falsely polarized to the point of impending selfdestruction, government is committed to engineering abusive schemes, employers are bent on sustaining rigged systems of impoverishment, employees are too immobilized by the copout of “that’s-how-it-is” groupthink to launch an uprising, and way too few of us are spiritually awake enough to stop the madness. Perpetually running around in circles for which somebody else is the beneficiary, we’re so frenetic that we cannot achieve what we incarnated into physicality for in the first place: to explore our world and to make gains in our understanding of truth as we accomplish our spiritual journey—nowhere near enough of which gets done when we’re forever sprinting on the treadmill of Commute–Work–Commute–Party–Play–Sleep–Repeat. Our “education system”—schools have mutated into indoctrination centers—is a crock which cranks out dumbed-down automatons. We are crippled by an illusory monetary scam, weaponized food, sabotaged health, and mindless diversions. Worse yet, everyone makes a virtue out of participating in his own enslavement, incomprehensible though this may seem, until it’s understood that the nightmarish “monetization” of everything is a psychotic religion, one in which even the otherwise “religious” among you “team players” deceive yourselves: your real god is the hebrew entity known as “mammon,” and you prostitute your time for it—selling yourselves to “earn” it—like temple putas too drunk to be honest about what you’re doing or too debilitated to demand your “fair share.” Worse still, y’all are so desperate not to admit that you’re ’ho’es or pimps continuously bowing down to god money that you immediately get hostile with anyone who, having sat out the game long enough, can see it for what it is.
     Viví en México por mucho tiempo y puedo hablar español bastante bien. Oh how I miss living in Mexico! The Mexican people are down-to-earth, kind-hearted, leery-of-change folks who are not plagued with the delusion of “time is money.” How refreshing is that?! And while Mexico is no Utopia, while the hypercommunal behavior of its people drove me loco, living there beats the hell out of living in the U.C.N.A., an evil empire which masquerades as a “free country.” (Who are you to scoff if you’ve never experienced living elsewhere, if you don’t have anything to compare living in the evil empire to?)

The Lyrics Are the Message

  √  “Baker Street,” by Gerry Rafferty
  √  “The Bottle Let Me Down,” by Merle Haggard
  √  “Love Is a Stranger,” by the Eurythmics
  √  “Take This Jobb and Shove It,” (the word jobb being a four-letter word) by Johnny Paycheck
  √  “Don’t Believe,” by Cherryholmes
  √  “The Grand Illusion,” by Styx
  √  “Since I Started Drinkin’ Again,” by Dwight Yoakam
  √  “History Repeating,” by the Propellerheads, featuring Shirley Bassey
  √  “Life on the Nickel,” by Foster the People
  √  “I Got Mexico,” by Eddy Raven
  √  “No me pidas perdón,” by Banda sinaloense MS de Sergio Lizárraga
  √  “No Time to Kill,” by Clint Black
  √  “Fork in the Road,” by The Infamous Stringdusters
  √  “Wish I Could Say I Was Drinking,” by Cadillac Sky
  √  [I Did It] “My Way,” by Glen Campbell
  √  “The Best Is Yet to Come,” by Stacey Kent

The “Seals”

     One—Who the hell has time for Reading Lite–Tastes Great–Less Filling? How about piecing the Big Picture together with a study of ancient Greek epic and dramatic poetry? And what about the Renaissance? I’m amazed how many readers have no clue when and where it began, or in what century more-REAL Romanticism morphed into less-REAL “Realism.” Where yə been, folks? And did you know that Gothic horror and the Decadent movement were merged to form a fledgling weird category by Robert W. Chambers, and that Lovecraft—who solidified this new subgenre—is, appallingly, unknown to most English majors because academicians are doofuses who can’t grasp that genre and literary fiction sometimes overlap: they’re not mutually exclusive. Disagree? Oh yeah? Have you read Angela Carter’s The Bloody Chamber? Stop wasting time, Liteweights! Kick it in gear: be a student of postmodernism and its literature if you can’t handle anything “too old”: you’ll be astonished with your broadened horizons. But be sure to steer clear of the pseudointellectual sophistry of postmodern “philosophy,” which has infiltrated and [bleeped] up academia. Note also that, counterintuitively, the root of the Tree is fictional—because “consensus reality” is not REAL—but the branches are nonfictional:
      √  comparative religion—Religions are “belief systems” designed to suppress spiritual knowledge, dumb down humans, infuse subliminal programming into and channel psychic energy out of the masses. Religions are hoaxes which have human beings behaving COMPLETELY UNNATURALLY. They are the pernicious restraining programs of “authority,” statism, debt-based “money,” scientism, and abrahamic monotheism and its spinoffs: they’re the culprits which have us locked in to the control system. To become free, we must have the capacity to analyze, compare, and synthesize information from disparate sources: if we’re unwilling to study unconventional theories and/or if we’re unable to learn from a variety of sources while rejecting portions of their comefrom angles, we stay stuck.
      √  the occult—This term does not mean “evil,” it means “hidden,” and I’m interested in getting the unhiding done, because that’s how we get our power back. Most people misunderstand this concept and park on some low-level plateau rather than doing their investigation. That phenomenon alone proves they’ve been rewired or rerouted.
      √  astrotheology—Etymologically, “the ‘spoken word’ of the gods in the stars.” Because the vast majority of folks have no knowledge of the exoteric or the esoteric, they wind up in some “outer belief system” which prevents them from becoming an initiate of—that is, one who has begun the process of—the unhiding of the esoteric, or inner level of the “know-thyself” process, which is about studying and taking action, so consciousness can evolve. Regrettably, most people end up “believing in” some exoteric, or outer-level, symbolic deception, such as the worship of the sun/son for “salvation,” otherwise known as the copout of not doing their own internal work.
      √  Gnosis/Gnosticism—The term Gnosis means knowledge born of direct experience, as in you don’t naïvely “believe in” some dogmatic deception, you acquire your own awareness of false systems for having gone through or researched them yourself. The spiritual journeyer who has graduated from religion and/or new age either stagnates or expands awareness. If he continues growing spiritually, he is a Gnostic. And he’s in a journey/battle which is debatably better epitomized by a movie than it is by any one book.
      √  theosophy—Studying this branch of esotericism helps one gain a better understanding of ancient, hidden wisdom—as was manifested by the Brotherhood of the Snake before it was infiltrated and corrupted—and how humans may advance to higher levels of spirituality.
      √  the paranormal/the transnormal—What is currently deemed para‑ and transnormal in “conventional wisdom” is actually normal for threeD reality. The problem, though, is we’re not in threeD reality, we’re in threeD unreality, due to humanity’s psychic awareness center/third eye/chakra system having been tampered with and the veil of secrecy having been placed around mankind’s raison d’être—the implementation of the Magnum Opus—all with the aim of keeping us locked in to the control system of the matrix.
      √  quantum physics and “real” science—“Science” has been pseudoscience since at least the “enlightenment,” reality isn’t what we thought it was, and so-called science fiction has a lot of truth in it! Here in this world of inversions, what we “know” to be “science” is mostly fiction—a farce (like “global warming,” which is rubbish)—because it’s part of the matrix, part of keeping everyone in the mindset of having “faith” in the opposite of what really is. We have been deceived into adhering to the false religion of scientism. Study up on it. Then get rid of it, because it’s limiting all of us.
      √  multidimensional reality/anatomy—The notion that we each have one body is dangerously limited thinking, not to mention wrong. We have physical, etheric, astral, mental, and causal bodies. And if we don’t learn how to enter, e.g., the astral plane, if we don’t know how to control ourselves when we’re out of body, how can we expect not to be duped in the “afterlife”?
      √  the “archons”—It means “rulers,” but they “rule” only if we let əm, so don’t give əm unwarranted power! They’re the primary cause of the deception and misery we’re struggling with. But who are they? The androgynous, ancient serpent race—shapeshifting reptilians—which is what theosophist Helena Blavatsky referred to as the Nag/Naga? Proponents of the talmud, descendents of those who made a deal with an alien named “melchizedek”? Mind viruses which have neurolinguistically hacked most humans into remaining spiritually asleep, stupid, and mad as hell at anyone who refuses to follow the herd? Whether you’re aware of it or not, humanity is getting [bleeped] with by fourD, nonhuman entities.
      √  “transhumanism”—Gnostic/SciFi author Philip K. Dick wrote, “Fake realities will create fake humans.” It has come to pass: we are already forgeries of ourselves—we’re not even real anymore! And we’re not too far away from getting our souls hacked, while most folks—obliviously addicted to the latest gadgets, recklessly hungry for even more technology—are not only doing NOTHING about it, they’re foolishly embracing it like beguiled Trojans, buying Sinon’s tall tale while gazing upon the Wooden Horse, assuming it’s harmless.
      √  comparative mythology/folklore—Stuck in the false polarization of false choices of “Darwinian evolutionism” vs. [traditional] “creationism”? You’ll stay stuck if you “believe in” either of these nonsensical hypotheses. That man clearly did not crawl out of the slime does not prove the legitimacy of the “intelligent design” myth which everybody assumes to be correct, even though its timeline is absurdly implausible. The stories of paganism/folklore/the old gods—i.e., higher-density beings who are not Prime Creator—these stories are far more sensible tales. And even if you’re too lazy to do Earthschool’s homework of investigating such matters, you’d better wake up, ’cause what you believe when you disincarnate can cost you. So beware of the narrative in the groupthink of “conventional wisdom,” because it’s not our story.
         One a.)—Get into the rhythm of Trainspotting: look up the Scottish linguistic connections about whether it’s different dialects or different languages or some of both, figure out how the unique orthography depicts what’s beən sed, sort out who’s who by variations in individual lexicon or wordplays in their nicknames, piece together the short chapters and the inner-monologue vignettes, make sense of the rollercoaster-ride flashbacks and flashforwards, empathize with the characters’ party-and-play fun and adventures, suffer through the requisite ohmygod-what-did-I-do-last-night? terrors—those inexorable prices which must be paid for gettən high—and witness the whole mess mutate into senseless violence. Then let it dawn on you that this masterpiece contains a roman à clef: addicts who cannot stomach or who will not tolerate the bollocks of “society” transfer their dependency on drugs (or whatever else they might be hooked on) to perpetual “counseling” or “therapy” the minute they accept that the “State” has the right to “fix” əm. As soon as this illogical leap has been made, the addict struggles in the realm of twisted logic to make himself “re‑enter” what the blind gameplayers in and of the matrix deem “worthwhile” in order to be “successful,” but which, of course, has never been anything but banality/emptiness/hogwash to the addict, not to mention the Outsider! This novel, Irvine Welsh’s first, is not only the ultimate in nonlinear narrative, organized fragmentation, and multiperspectivity; it’s not only the marathon of the pomo literary device known as linguistic play, with initially tough-to-figure-out bi‑dialectal speech; it’s also hyperrealism’s and late postmodernism’s most riveting portrayal of drug addiction.
         One b.)—Flashback: A hundred years ago, rubes went to the “cinema” to see the new “moving pictures show.” From the screen, a train seemingly heads right for əm. Terrified, they bolt, running away from the image. Funny? The joke’s on you: they were far less UNNATURAL than we are. Delve into it with dabbler-into-different-dimensions Jorge Luis Borges’ analogy of The Map in order to understand “consensus reality”: The true-to-life Map is so detailed it’s the same size as The Real; it overlaps The Real. Bam the analogy up with postmodernist Jean Baudrillard’s precession of the simulacra: The Map named Artifice morphs The Real called Nature as journeyers begin to confuse The Map for The Real. The Real wanes as The Map waxes. It becomes The New Real: in the anecdote, moviegoers must process the notion that the image of the moving train isn’t real so they don’t panic; but it takes time to become accustomed to novel zones of The Map, for unreal images to become “real.” Flashforward a generation: viewers actually believe what they soak up from “television”; they’ve become so acclimated to Artifice they don’t even realize it’s a propaganda machine. More flashforwards: it’s ’ninety-seven, and suddenly everyone has a “home computer,” but its unreal interface with NotReality requires practice in order to obtain useful, “real” results. Nowadays: everybody is so far out into the HyperReal of constant interaction with this NotReality—the simulacra have precessed that many times—that nobody is NATURAL anymore. You’ve seen that Gnostic movie, perhaps, but have you studied the book in the box scene? If not, the fact that ManyTimesMorphed Map is NotReal hasn’t even crossed your mind. Newsflash: you are culpable for “consensus reality”—from which we are being engineered toward The New HyperReal—you are to blame if you’re in synch with its LIES.
         One c.)—“It’s just a movie!” “It’s only a novel!” Thus sayeth the sheeple, with a snippety tone, as they conform to “consensus reality,” mad as hell at those principled enough not to. Something is a work of fiction, so there can’t be any truth in it? Really? That is NOT how it works! Fiction is chocked full of nonfictional allusions because there are sentient beings in a higher dimension who are mocking humans to beat hell by letting us know how they’re going about screwing us over. They and their puppets, the “human élite”—who are actors—are brainwashing the herd with entertainment and literature by rendering versions of what is actually happening as fictional stories. And the devious thing is that this in-your-face technique is how they go about stripping the hidden-in-plain-sight truth of its believability, because it’s a way of getting all the numnuts who can’t wrap their brains around irony to miss the forest for the trees. Studying fiction which is not Reading Lite—studying serious, literary fiction—is every bit as much a part of comprehending the esoteric and thereby advancing one’s spiritual journey as studying nonfiction is; and those who contend otherwise betray that they don’t know shit from apple butter vis-à-vis the Big Picture, or how literature works, or both. There is truth in movies and novels, and lies and hoaxes in “the news,” because we live in a world which isn’t real.
         One d.)—In Dashiell Hammett’s hardboiled, noir fiction, he begins with a situation that is already fabricated, then dismantles it and eliminates each version of false reality out of it until what’s left is the “real” reality, which may solve the case, but which isn’t really real anyway—’cause life itself is only a fiction—at least in Hammett’s world. In mine as well: as a sorterouter—as an Outsider—I attempt to plow through and figure out the simulated reality/mass deception/illusion/bullshit that constitutes life by peeling away as many of the false layers as I can. What a cool connection! And while this methodology is not unique—other detective fiction writers, such as Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald, employed it—his writing exemplifies what some postmodern theorists, notably Jacques Derrida, would have called deconstructionism: the author’s breaking down of the fabrications is analogous to the reader’s making sense of what runs against the “structural unity” of the text. Furthermore, Hammett was an extremely capable grammarian. If you’re the type who insists on your writers knowing how to use em dashes skillfully, who gets peeved when semicolons are not employed in order to avoid comma splices, and who has a conniption when required commas are missing around nonrestrictive relative clauses, you’ll be quite charmed with his competent, correct use of punctuation! He was refreshingly expert in this area, having excelled in the mechanics of grammar to a level that very few living authors do. (An example of an exception is John Irving.)
         One e.)—Bornagainers are parked. On a plateau. On an exoteric, or outer-belief-system, plateau: the one where they experienced “Praize the lord! and dropkick me geezus,” which probably included visceral, “feel-good” deception from fourD entities against whom they’re not even aware they got a chump made out of əm yet; they’re on that plateau where they’re biblestudiers for a while and they “go to church” for a longer while (and don’t forget, y’all, to pass the plate to the ravening wolves!), even though their own selfcontradictory literature sez that the “church” is not something you “go to.” If this is you, you’re copping out by not doing your own spiritual work, your esoteric journey. You know, the inner-belief-system, arduous trek in which you initiate, or begin, the unhiding of the occulted, i.e., hidden, know-thyself process, which is, in turn, about studying and taking action, so you can graduate from threeD. Instead, you’re counting on some outside “being” to “save” you by “believing” that a “god” incarnated into human flesh to take part in a blood sacrifice ritual—which is a fable—not to mention rationalization for not having to do your internal, spiritual work, the doing of which is precisely why your soul is here on Earthschool in the first place. Your belief system is, in part, just that: it’s a system designed to keep believers and nominal “members” parked on some plateau fighting, even killing, those who are stuck in the isms and schisms of other plateaux. And if only the chaos ended there! No, the rabbithole goes much deeper: xianity is also a tool for removing spiritual knowledge from humanity so that occult power may be used by the few to exploit and enslave the masses. This religion—the greatest story ever sold—is one of many divide-and-conquer tools being used against us, yet somehow we’re not smart enough to see this and stop participating. Why is that?
         One f.)—The “new age” is no solution; it’s another parking lot. The one where “believers” fall for doctrines like the way-too-simplistic-to-be-true “You Create Your Own Reality” and wonder why their reality creation somehow never materializes. They’re immobile, those who’re trapped in the new [c]age. They invoke “arch[on]angels” for “protection” and study writings which are supposedly from “ascended masters” and “beings of the light.” But the light and its beings are false—(which is to say they’re not “of the light”; rather, they’re “of the darkness” but disguised as being of the light)—and anyone with an iota of discernment can figure this out by analyzing the literature. To take an example, a well-loved new age “classic,” Bringers of the Dawn, by Barbara Marciniak, is baited with sensible stuff and promptly switched to the deceptive bullshit of “channeled messages.” These messages always read off the same script of cornball Newspeak, yet gullible new [c]agers buy əm because they have no Gnostic, intuitive sense that both “sides”—the [false] light and the dark—are illusory since this entire realm is a false duality. Even though our physical bodies exist in a falsely polarized, wrongly bifurcated, deceptively fabricated domain—the demiurge’s material realm—we tend to think that one “side of the coin” must be “good” or “right” or “of the light,” but it just ain’t so: the entire coin is [bleeped]. The only viable solution, therefore, is to select “none of the above” and learn how to transcend both “sides” by rising above the false-duality matrix with continually expanding awareness, which is Gnosis.
         One g.)—Abandon hope, all ye spiritually dead who enter the Hell of social engineering, founded by them, who are parasites. During our descent, as we visit the shades, note that Edward Bernays, the nephew of Sigmund Fraud (who doctored up the mind[bleeped] of “psychotherapy”), worked out how to manipulate the masses with propaganda. First circle: “Money” based on the lending of “debt” was their invention. Second circle: Whites did not organize the slave trade; they did. Third circle: Anthropology once focused, objectively, on racialism: how do humans differ? (Anyone choosing not to selfdeceive can see that we are NOT “all the same.”) But another academic fraud, Franz Boas, turned it into the subjective bullshit of “cultural relativism,” which set the stage for the fake-yet-weaponized concept of “racism” to be used later as an effective divide-and-conquer tool. Fourth circle: They set up the NAACP, not Negroes: “minority groups” are merely useful fronts to them. Fifth circle: The “holocaust”: it’s a bigger HOAX than Hollyweird’s faked moon landing. They, the perpetrators, make out like they’re the victims: propaganda’s a successful game when major events’ players like Hitler are controlled opposition and when they oversee what sleepwalkers are fed as “the official story.” Sixth circle: Social engineering snowballed with television: kids have been robbed of thousands of hours with books; sheeple have been deceived by whopping LIES; weaponized sitcoms have brought procreation to a virtual halt as “society’s rôles” have been redefined while perversion skyrockets; and without questioning its veracity, y’all sit and watch “the news” so you can be told what to think, by them: they control “the media,” with which “history” is falsified and “public opinion” is steered. Seventh circle: Stemming from a horror story called the Frankfurt School, their coup d’état is “cultural Marxism,” which in turn birthed “political correctness,” and we’ve all been infected with it. You are of the matrix, therefore speak you of the matrix, in part, because a tiny minority of “humans” are hybrids who have dormant reptilian genes. And in a few of them, when this alien DNA is activated, the hivemind kicks in, they infiltrate, and wreak havoc.
         One h.)—Umpteen archæologists walk into a cave. Doing their dig, they happen upon statuettes. Lo and behold! it’s a bevy of priceless artifacts from the Natural Age! But they freak out: wham! hurl! crash! they bust əm to smithereens. Why?! Because the sculptures were of tumescent phalluses. “Unnatural behavior reached the height of absurdity in Victorian England,” according to Marston Bates, in his book Gluttons and Libertines: Human Problems of Being Natural. You see, the archæologists, Brits from the late nineteenth century, couldn’t handle such monstrosities because they’d been brainwashed by their “culture” to summarily reject such images. (It’s a good thing one of the crew had the presence of mind to hide some of the statuettes.) Incredible? It shouldn’t be: y’all do the same thing: you freak out and attach the term “racist” to all sorts of verbiage or imagery which “fails” some “P.C. test”; you can’t cogently define it or other labels which you bandy about, thinking you’re qualified to suppress others’ speech with; and you have not a clue that you’ve been mind[bleeped] to help them control everyone by preaching the nonsense that Whites are “overprivileged,” when the actual privileged ones remain hidden behind a façade which you’ve failed to break through because you’re too “busy” bowing down to hebrew mammon to do your homework. Have you read J. Philippe Rushton’s Race, Evolution, and Behavior yet? Probably not, because scholarship on the idea that we are NOT “all the same” doesn’t pass muster. So when the “culture” happens to be hyperprudish, humans can’t be natural about sex; but when the “culture” is hyperSpeechPolice‑ish, we can’t be honest about the fact that different races have widely varying average I.Q.s? Is Rushton’s thesis really freak-out-and-get-enraged material? Were he still alive, what would Bates say about the current “environment,” in which books defending free speech are quashed? He’d say that we’d reached a new height of absurdity.
         One i.)—You love horror, but you’ve voiced your concern that Howard Phillips Lovecraft was a “racist”? If so, you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about: not only is this concept a social-engineering scam, it did not exist during his time, so it’s illogical and anachronistic to label him as such. He was a racialist, which means he accepted the fact that human beings are not “all the same.” Indeed, in Lovecraft’s neoGnostic perspective of cosmic indifferentism, it matters not how superior or inferior any race’s characteristics or individual’s abilities may be, because the multiverse doesn’t give a shit about humans. And while he himself was not antixian or proSatanist—he was neutral on such matters—many of his characters are believers (and we’re not talkən “churchgoers”) who don’t know how to interact with their gods even if they do appear when invoked. But his phantasmagoric short fiction of the weird is not only about beings from other, overlapping dimensions which operate under different laws of physics and geometry; it’s also prophetic: in “The Dunwich Horror,” for example, Lovecraft refers to a “plan for the extirpation of the entire human race by terrible elder beings from another dimension.” So to study his work is to attempt to understand that which is hidden, that which lies beyond the veil of “consensus reality,” insane enough during Lovecraft’s time, a helluvə lot worse now. It is, as well, an attempt to comprehend the belief systems and “evil” symbols—such as the ubiquitous one eye—which threaten to prevent us from securing our spiritual advancement.
         One j.)—Extraterrestrials: the nomenclature itself is disinformation; it’s misleading, so switch it to extradimensionals. “They” are not “from another planet,” folks. That’s cheesy crap from ’fifties’ flicks. They’re from another dimension, and have the ability to appear [mostly] human. That the vast majority of folks still don’t get that most famous “people” are impostors is mindboggling to those of us who have eyes to see. Moreover, we are being played like a freakən fiddle from outside threeD chronological time; decades and centuries are moments to them. And these infiltrators have fomented a war on Terra—our land, our planet—which’ll be lost unless we refuse to participate in the selfenslaving systems of “government,” “finance,” and “employment”; unless we turn off television (which is how they program us) and dumbphones (which are run by towers that’re killing machines); and unless we learn our own backstory. Here’s the shortlist from which you can launch your own search: The Epic of Gilgamesh provides the oldest-known stories of theogony which are uncorrupted (unlike those in the old testament); Zecharia Sitchin’s The Twelfth Planet is an essential read (even though, regrettably, some of its scholarship should be approached with caution), because it offers an alternative worldview to the false choices of evolutionism vs. xianity; and William Bramley’s The Gods of Eden is a not-to-be-missed book (even though, unfortunately, it’s sloppily edited), because it puts a new spin on everything. With these books, you’ll garner an understanding of the Anunnaki—some of whom are helping humans—and other extradimensionals.
         One k.)—In House of Leaves, the haunted house motif has been taken to a new dimension—namely, the fourth, by way of Hinton’s tesseract/hypercube—and you’ll need to employ tactics such as physically turning the book and placing a mirror in front of it if you wannə decode the structural metanarrative of this most amazing novel, in which author Mark Z. Danielewski does not fail to work in the concept of anfractuosity—wherein the multidimensional shifting ability of the house is analogous to the matrix’s responding with individually customized synchronicity to spiritual journeyers’ emitting of unique fractals—and in which, through multitiered dialogue, multinested footnotes, and hypertextual maneuvering, the author answers to the theories of deconstructionism set forth by scholar Fredric Jameson in Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism in such a way that postmodernism is left entirely deconstructed, having been brought to the end of itself, with the metastory having come full circle all the way back to Yggdrasil, the Norse Tree of Life. Not too shabby for a début performance, huh? (Incidentally, look into the House from the angle of determining whether it’s a horror novel, and you’re not gonnə get it: it’s definitively a work of postmodernism, and it must be tackled as such.)
         One l.)—Wannə delve into the Tree of Life in an attempt to learn more about how the different realms/dimensions are interconnected? You could investigate the kabbalah, but after you’ve researched and studied for many moons about how and why the Mesopotamian/Sumerian mythos and its backstory constitute the origin of everything (even though the focus everywhere you look is seemingly deflected away from that fact), and how it all morphed into exoteric judaism (the literature of which is bonkers and which features an egomaniacal tyrant named “yahweh,” who eggs on his followers to smite everyone else, makes out as “god” when he’s really the “father of lies” himself, and cooks up circumlocutions of the creation story to hide our true origin and purpose—the working of the Magnum Opus) and exoteric xianity (the literature of which is rigged not only with disinformation for the purpose of maintaining control over the masses but also with literary allusions and inside jokes referring to the Roman “ruling class,” meant to mock all who misunderstand them), you’re probably not especially eager to ponder their corresponding esoteric component of the map of realms/dimensions, which is essentially what the kabbalah is a corrupted version of, because eventually you realize why they are not to be trusted. “They” being the zionists and their formulation of talmudic judaism and its spinoffs—which are HOAXES—including catholicism, islam, protestantism and its myriad subsidiaries, and even mormonism. These isms and schisms are throwbacks to and inversions of the Mesopotamian/Sumerian mythos, parts of which are actually true, yet nobody has a clue about the interconnectedness of its history: this is how the [bleeped]ers roll folks, pitting one group blindly against the others, and if you haven’t figured this out yet then you are still being played.
         One m.)—Story within a story: Outside threeD, in a realm far, far beyond, Prime Creator telepathed unto its intermediate‑ and higher-dimensional creatures, “Go create more worlds and populate them with new or genetically upgraded creatures,” because Prime Creator expands awareness by experiencing multiple realities through multiple sentient beings. P. C. again telepathed, “Suffering and war are permitted in freewill multiverses which have dualistic materialities, because second‑ and third-density creatures progress slowly in the absence of conflict; not to worry though, as they’ve already reunited in nonduality near my dimension.” Flashforward: A “war in heaven” commenced: scheming extradimensionals outnumbered the humans’ creator and his collaborators and “chained” and “cast” them into “darkness”—(i.e., outMagicked/outspelled them)—cutting them off from their humans, who had been designed to be telepathic, multidimensional beings, psychically equipped, able to regenerate or selfheal when injured, and who—flashback—indeed operated as such during a Golden Age. Then the connivers telepathed, “let’s downgrade the humans by deactivating their chakras and third eyes so we can manipulate them. And let’s confuse əm by making əm think that their enemies are their ‘gods’ and their own higher-density beings are ‘devils’; let’s trick əm into ‘believing in’ a hedonistic ‘father’ who is not their creator but who does desire their ‘worship’; let’s get əm stuck in allegorized, selflimiting religions so we can control them. In fact, let’s rig everything so convoluted by twists, turns, and thoughtforms and so obfuscated by rituals, lies, and memoryholes that these dumbasses’ll not only be duped into fighting for our side, they won’t even know they’re in a cosmic war!” Bamming the war up yet another notch, the schemers engineered their own “humans” off of our DNA—(not to mention they infused əm with some of their own)—thereby creating hybrids who are shapeshifting deceivers that run a helluvə show. Crazy theory? Wild speculation? Buy this story, do yə? Of course you don’t. Now here’s what I don’t buy: I don’t buy “turn the other cheek,” nor “love your enemy,” nor “give unto Cæsar,” because these xian precepts are mantras for losers, for victims who’ve been mind[bleeped] into not fighting back.
         One n.)—So in the ’sixties New Wave smash, Lord of Light, there’s this warrior, nicknamed “the Shan,” who expects a fab new body upon exiting the soul transmigration machine. Only prob is, he doesn’t know this model has epilepsy. “Then the fit hit the Shan.” Metempsychosis, extra“terrestrials” interacting with humans, and other “para”normal phenomena abound in this postmodern extravaganza by Roger Zelazny, so it must be a work of fantasy, right? That’s what all the mucketymucks with “graduate degrees” insist on. I say they’re full of shiitake mushrooms: this novel is truth in fiction. It’s an allegory; it’s a picture of those extradimensional, higher-density beings and their establishment—right here on slavecolony planet Earth—of religion, the cast of characters of which may be likened to the hindu pantheon of gods or the cryptically referred-to Anunnaki in the old testament. Or take your pick from among the gods of any of the other belief systems which are the opiates of humans, because they’re the same beings. (Except for some of the Nordics, they’re the douchebags who think we humans shouldn’t be granted the Knowledge and the Life so we may be like unto them, plural.) This tour de force includes a wildride configuration—it’s Joycean circuitry with a twist—as the penultimate chapter metanarratively circles you back to the first chapter, serving as a metaphor for reincarnation. If you figure out the hook, though, you may advance to the last chapter, symbolically escaping to Nirvana, exiting the endless cycle of lives. But it’s a long way to Tipperary!
         One o.)—Did you know that the term god is loaded with a play not so much on words, but pronunciation? We English speakers pronounce the vowel as a “short o,” which is the “ah” sound of the letter a in virtually every other language with a Roman-based script. When we say “Gahd,” we’re uttering the familiar/shortform version of the word Gädre‑el, the name of the serpent “trickster.” Bet yə didn’t know that. This handy factoid shows up in the literature once, in the book of Enoch, which “they” don’t want you reading, so they declared it “apocryphal.” How convenient. (Turns out manifesting serpent Kundalini energy is an essential experience for the advanced journeyer, but the point here is you’ve been deceived into doing something which is the opposite of your intention, and we might wannə stop being dumbasses at least long enough to find out who we’ve been praying to, right? [Chapter sixty-eight. Go.]) Then again, what’s considered not to be apocryphal is artifice anyway, ’cause the bible is not only disinfo. and inside jokes, it’s a jewish book of witchcraft, wherein we’re enchanted from recognizing that their “adversary” is our creator!; and you haftə study sedulously for almost forever until you get it that its pantheon of gahds is the same lineup that exists in Gilgamesh, Greek, and other mythologies. And if you’re too beset with busyness to do Earthschool’s homework of studying such matters comparatively—(because that asshole, “father time” [“anu”/“yahweh”/“chronos”/the demiurge], has you locked in to a neverending “work” schedule here in fake threeD “reality,” with its sham materialism and fake chronological time)—if you’re too busy, you will never graduate. Humanity is under a spell, folks. Bet yə didn’t know that either.
         One p.)—You could be active in a “bible study” for many years and you’ll never learn that the Tree of Life is a map of the human soul, with the “seven seals” mockingly referred to in the book of Revelation as cryptic language for the seven major chakras—which the extradimensionals thought’d be cute to seal off from proper functioning when they waged the previously mentioned “war in heaven,” and which is partly why we’re not operating optimally, and lots of luck finding anyone at a churchianity who grasps that. And when this little bombshell hits, you’re thinkən I’m seriously gonnə have to ramp up my meditation!, which some of us came into kicking and screaming, hating “quieting the mind,” oblivious as to how crucial it is to advancement. Yet THE WAY OUT lies in the performance of power meditation by opening your third eye, cleansing your pineal gland, balancing your chakras, and experiencing Kundalini energy flows safely, because then and only then are you in the homestretch, where you can heal your physical body naturally—(thereby escaping the unhealth “system” designed with sophistry by the despicable, condoned with apathy by the clueless)—and where you can see into the etheric and astral realms, but don’t expect to get there by watching a video or two, ’cause it ain’t happenən.
         One q.)—With biblethumpers the drill is always the same: they’ve had one spiritual awakening, they’re parked on level two, they’re naïve enough to think there are only two levels, and they presume they’re qualified to “talk down to” anyone whom they perceive must be “unsaved,” and therefore on the lower one. That someone could be on level eleven is unfathomable to them. They’re stationary, afraid to venture beyond the parking lot, where everything is “evil.” To take an example of how the aforementioned “evil” symbols immobilize them: the Six Six Six referenced in the mocking, jewish book of witchcraft: what does it really mean? It refers to six of the seven major chakras (the “seals”) and their accompanying minor chakras, which align in three parallel columns, but which lie dormant in those who haven’t had multiple spiritual awakenings. If “they”—(who, no doubt, are enemies to humans on all levels)—if they can convince the religiously uptight that this number is anathema, are follow-the-herd bornagainers likely to advance? Hardly. It’s not as complex as the double-agent twists and turns in a Ludlum spy thriller, folks; it’s quite simple: “they” misleadingly embrace that which they don’t want you exploring, researching, and making progress with by deceiving you into believing it’s “hands off.” And it’s the oldest flimflam trick in the book.
         One r.)—Natural humans—i.e., those who are not enslaved by the clock, jobbs, fake fiat funnymoney, a mentality of having to “pay” and “owe,” übertechnogadgetry, the hypnotrancebox, and/or lusts/addictions—natural humans’ve been designed to narrate, listen to, and celebrate tales dealing with their own story, not those of predators who handpick themes/motifs out of multifarious pagan folklore; stitch them together as a syncretistically composite, ersatz “religion” that has been infused with nefarious boobytraps; and then forcefeed the [bleeped]er back to mankind on pain of death while concomitantly rewriting the backstory. And there is no fakeass story so repulsive, so obnoxious, so reprehensible, nor so insidious as the xmas story—which is NOT OUR STORY. But by gahd every fool in the world loves the annoying, drawn-out-for-two-freakən-months music which makes you wannə gag and which can be heard virtually everywhere, and all the clueless folk think it’s just splendid to assume that everyone else wants to play their reindeer games. You know, all the “festivities” which frame this nightmare. And these oblivious folk pass their entire lives remaining dumber’n a box of rocks about the fact that this debacle was instituted by extradimensionals who work through one particular odious group of “humans” for the purpose of duping the gullible into worshipping the image of their own destruction. I could not be more disgusted nor fed up with this garbage. That all and sundry buy this bullcrap story and are apparently programmed to loop to the scoff-and-scorn subroutine upon encountering anyone spiritually awake enough not to buy it is the foremost example of the stupidest groupthink ever.
         One s.)—Get synchronistic with SciFi: it unfolds evermore info. relevant to your journey. And you can’t go wrong with cyberpunk, which may be defined as “pulp characterized by a mixture of moral corruption, technological obsession, ambiguous identity, and loss of bodily integrity.” In an aptly named short story, Bruce Bethke, whose portmanteau “grokked the juxtaposition of punk attitudes and high technology,” coined this term back in ’eighty, and William Gibson, Neal Stephenson, et al., have been disclosing what’s really going on ever since. Don’t let the hipness of this term fool you, because cyberpunk is Dystopian; it is postmodern. It’s also transhuman: it’s the singularity. And cyberpunk maps out humanity’s being merged with machines. Too “out there” for yə, merging with machines? Guess again. It has already started: people are in the initial stages of merging with their dumbphones now. Moreover, getting everybody addicted to gadgets as a precursor to being morphed into A.I.—The New HyperReal—is apparently the endgame gameplan, other concomitantly potential, eschatologically apocalyptic subplots notwithstanding. Yet having experienced an epiphany about the extremely coördinated facets of transhumanism being all over the joint in cyberpunk, having achieved an understanding of this component of our fabricated surreality way beyond that of the hundredheaded rabble—such an awareness in and of itself does not prove that the A.I. scenario must necessarily play out, because at some point it dawns on you that perhaps even that info. is just more highly coördinated disinfo., ’cause that’s how the [bleeped]ers roll. Whatever transpires though, having become a convert to cyberpunk got my knowledge of the Big Picture soaring.

About my libraryThe “Seals” (Cont’d.)

     Two—A big ol’ bunch of weenies too candyass to call a spade a spade: that’s what we amount to these days, the nonsense of so-called political correctness having cost us our objectivity. We speak in annoying euphemisms; corporately “legitimized” buzzwords; and discordant, hurts-the-ears lingo—“differently abled,” “person of color,” “co‑pay,” “pre‑owned vehicle,” “customer care,” “special needs,” “Be part of our ‘team’!”—and we deceive ourselves that we’re making “social progress,” while only a tiny minority of us have eyes to see that things are not what they seem.
         Two a.)—“Political correctness” is the fascism of ridiculous language being imposed on what used to be an unafraid, tell-it-like-it-is, plainspeaking public; it is intolerance disguised as “tolerance”; it is Gramscian “cultural hegemony”; it is “cultural Marxism”; it is the Frankfurt School’s dismantling of majority rights and the nullifying of any criticism from being leveled against minorities or their manipulators; it is the Thought Police in action. It is DANGEROUS: everyone is in peril of losing his or her freedom—or what’s left of it, that is—when behind-the-scenes maneuverers nefariously deceive asleep sheep into accepting the idea that trying to curtail others’ free speech by “reporting them” to some “authority” is noble because “it might instill violence”; when, in fact, these attempts to prohibit speech are far more dangerous. There is NO SUCH THING as “hate speech”! Don’t be a fool! To use such a term as though it were valid is to condone it, which is to help the enemy control everyone. Pretty neato-cool stuff “they” done conjured up, this P.C. thing, huh? With this garbage, they don’t haftə be the Speech Police, because we are—if we’re gullible enough, dumbass enough, to fall for it—doing the policing for them.
         Two b.)—Because of P.C., we take the reductio ad absurdum of “transgender bathrooms” or another issue du jour; we make a junior high determination of “correct” or “incorrect” about folks’ reactions to it; and we scold them, or worse. But this approach is not valid, because the Big Picture is one of vast deception and illusion, including orchestrated falseflag events that’ve been set up to divide and conquer us. Thus, victims end up fighting other victims instead of collaborating to stop the perpetrators, whose tactics—which are straight out of Machiavelli—work slicker’n snot on a doorknob because nobody knows who they are. Moreover, knowledge of who they are—these extradimensionals who are coördinating The New HyperReal CON—is not enough. We must also realize what we’re up against: it’s the transhumanist agenda, which means a genderless society and abiogenically produced or genetically modified humans which are straight out of Huxley. But how can this insanity come to pass without the parameters of decent childrearing and the boundaries of gender categories having been shaken up and broken down? This is why children haven’t been receiving proper discipline and sufficient nurturing. This is why “sexual liberation” set the stage for sexuality confusion and gender confusion. Over ninety-five percent of you have not the faintest idea of what we’re up against and how enormous and integrated it is, because you’ve been too busy speaking with euphemisms, trying to be “inclusive,” and policing others with junior high P.C. pronouncements. We desperately need to STOP CONSENTING to the new “speech taboos” which are straight out of Orwell, to stop being the enemy’s useful idiots. We must change our behavior, peeps, or we’re screwed: if we don’t stop shooting each other in the foot with this bullshit, we’ve already let “them” win.
         Two c.)—Have you figured out yet that war is being waged on Whites, who, being more “difficult to manage,” have been excluded from José Vasconcelos’ “cosmic race” (a bullshit term if there ever was one)? Have you figured out yet who is behind it all, behind the destruction of Europe? Have you figured out yet that humans who haven’t been mind[bleeped] by social engineering do not commit miscegenation, because corrupting one’s race’s metagenetics is unnatural, selfdestructive behavior? Or are you too busy being a “politically correct” sucker, aiding and abetting the enemy by being a “social justice worker”? If so, you are a traitor to your own species.
     Three—The “state” has militarized the “police” against the people; mindless “cops” are disdained by the “élite,” who’re scarcely able to believe they’d do such a thing to their own kind; chuckleheads’ve been brainwashed to respect these attack dogs of the evil empire; dipshits swallow the falseflag frauds they watch on the farcebox, in which minorities are allegedly or deliberately harmed, which leads to “protests,” and thus, more militarism, as morons throw away their rights, pleading, “Do something, Big Brother, about the violence!”; and the few of us who can SEE that everything is bullshit don’t quite know which IDIOTS to HATE the most: the asshole “cops” themselves, millennial greenhorns who type “online” cutesyisms against “haters,” or the old folks who’re so dumbass they don’t even realize the “government” and its “fuzz” are their enemies. What the [bleeped], y’all? How damned dumb are yə? Do you WANT to be slaughtered? If you buy the LIE “This is the greatest country in the history of the world,” you are stupid or crazy, ’cause this “nation” is nothən but SCAMS:
—How do you beguile naïve humanoids into accepting swindles? You hit əm with pre‑planned problem–reaction–solution:
      √  The “civil war” did not “free the slaves.” It set the stage for the passage of the “fourteenth amendment,” a SCAM which made the Republic into a corporation. “Citizens” were redefined as “strawmen,” so that with their “birth certificates” as “charters” under “uniform commercial code,” they could “contract” as artificial persons. The “District of Columbia” was restructured into a specially zoned jurisdiction through which a newly snuck-in “constitution” could operate. The “government” is NOT what you think it is: the original Constitution has been shelved.
      √  Wannə ATTACK everyone with a private “money system” based on the lending of “debt” which is not unconstitutional according to the new constitution that nobody knows about? Get the “superrich” to drum up panic and runs on the “banks”; convince the plebes they need a “centralized bank”; and sneak in the “federal reserve system,” which is a mostly jew-owned syndicate. Nineteen thirteen also occasioned the hustling in of the “income tax,” which is theft; yet challenges to it fail, because we’re under “uniform commercial code,” not a true Constitution.
      √  In ’thirty-three, the “U.S.” declared it was “bankrupt,” in a state of “national emergency,” and that the unknowingly contracting strawmen were “enemies of the state.” And you truthers, fretting over whether “martial law” may be initiated some day: it’s been in effect for over eighty years. They’re achieving your downfall without your awareness, ’cause everything’s a SCAM.
—How do you suppress natural abundance? You concoct constructs which keep everybody in a “scarcity/pay-and-owe” mindset:
      √  Capitalism is not in your best interest. No, I’m not a “commie”: communism is as much of a screwover as capitalism, which is jewish usury. Usury, in turn, is not “excessive interest”; it’s any “interest,” and it propels “money” gravitating into fewer and fewer hands: it’s trickle-up parasitism. This SCAM is not return on your labor; it’s return on their investment, and it drives corporatocracy, which is our enemy.
      √  The Pied Piper lures students away to the tune of tens of thousands so they can be told “there are more than two genders.” Academia has been invaded by the Frankfurt School and Operation Paperclip; and “student loans” were part of a weaponized plan to deceptively ensnare, with crippling indebtedness, folks who don’t get it that everything is a SCAM. That’s called fraud, and it nullifies “contracts.” Same thing with “credit card debt”: nobody “owes” squat, so STOP CONSENTING.
      √  Let’s say you’re an extradimensional parasite outside threeD chronological time and you wannə ATTACK humans by [bleeped]ing with their emotions so you can feed off their loosh. How’re you gonnə do that? You gottə build əm up with guilt by inducing religious uptightness/prudishness over “sin” before you can break əm down by socially engineering degenerate behavior, having run psyops on the “culture,” right? The irony is that neither extreme is natural.
—How do you enslave or exterminate threeD-trapped, sentient beings? You phase in technology that diverts and mindcontrols əm:
      √  No need to consult a guru to get into an alternate state of awareness: watch TV and you’re zoned out, fast. Hypnotizing and reprogramming you with creepy subliminals, the trancebox has you acquiescing to SCAMS and assailing those savvy enough to spurn them as “suspicious.” Sit it out for a month; then take a peek. You’ll be flabbergasted at how fatuous it is, especially “the news.”
      √  Want the birthrate to plummet? Recruit jewess CĪA ops like Gloria Steinem to turn women so “feminist” they’re not feminine anymore; redraft “laws” which pummel men in “divorce court” while socially engineering a skyrocketing “divorce rate,” putting men through so much hell they’ll never marry amazons again; spike the number of homosexuals way beyond natural with weaponized media and hormonally modified food, and brainwash everyone into accepting it by manipulating their emotions; and pervert millions of young men by getting them addicted to the new soma of internet porn so they’re no longer wired for the procreation of the species. You think this level of unnatural profligacy is “just how life is”? Stop kidding yourself: we’re not reproducing enough! Humans are under ATTACK.
      √  Haven’t killed your television yet? It’s a really big show of colossal SCAMS brought to you by Doppelgängers. But wait: the idea we’re presented with is they’re humans playing multiple rôles. Impossible—linguistically and logistically. So they’re holographic projections? They’re definitely not human. Stand next to your screen: at times, you’ll see pupils shapeshift. Now kill your television, ’cause it’s such a mind[bleeped]—with such doctored up LIES—you’ll be living in paranoia; you’ll become stupid and crazy enough to be participating in a mass–mask ritual.
     Four—If you’re doing “apps” and “texts,” you’re unnatural and foolish. You’re the problem, not the solution, because silly phones and dumbphones are:
      √  getting everyone addicted and less real in their interpersonal communications;
      √  absorbing people in “social media” to the extent they no longer have a social life;
      √  increasing noise pollution;
      √  violating the personal space of others;
      √  encouraging geopolitical exploitation to control the “markets” of rare minerals used in constructing the circuitry;
      √  killing bees and thereby dangerously tampering with the ecosystem;
      √  producing radiation that causes brain cancer;
      √  supporting the enemies of humanity and their move toward transhumanism;
      √  sending information to towers which are killing machines;
      √  facilitating the government’s spying on everyone; and
      √  causing our young folk to have the attention span of a gnat.
     Five—“What’s the score?!” When I was a child, I learned good sportsmanship, got exercise and fresh air, and played along; when I grew up, I put away childish things, counterproductive competitiveness, and mindless inanity. Sadly, alarmingly, we have allowed ourselves to be deceived by fake, simulated tribal combat—a motherlode of perpetual enter‑ and infotainment that have been brought to us by those with ulterior motives. Here on all-the-world’s-a-stage planet, we’ve let ourselves become so distracted by our worship of these ludicrously over“paid” sportsball players, performers, and portrayers and by our communal observance of their State festival rites that we’ve been deflected away from taking action on real issues that really matter, and that’s scary. Moreover, sitting in front of the hypnosis machine and watching others duking it out or chasing a ball around a field and getting all obsessed about it is the height of foolishness. How damned dumb are yə? How many times do you want to incarnate back on to miserable Earthschool for having been a simplistic doofus, for having refused to do your spiritual journey? But by gahd you know everything there is to know about NOTHING! And you get all pissy at those of us who will not engage in your endless chatter about sportsball trivia, based on your stupid assumptions that we’re low-level enough to be “fans” too?! Silly dumbed-down slaves: SPORTS ARE FOR KIDS. Don’t y’all testosterone-filled he‑men feel guilty? Have you no shame, letting your virility be misdirected by this SCAM instead of being real men and fighting the enemy, huh, huh? Way to go, Bubbas.
       Six—My but the ringleaders sure are nasty/patronizing/presumptuous/insulting/snoopy/manipulative—what with the workworld being a penal colony/ratrace/stress factory/backstabbing witchhunt and you have an ohmygahd-I-don’t-wannə-get-there-that-bad commute and you’re under the jurisdiction of the Keystone Kops and forty percent of your “coworkers” are so incompetent they couldn’t organize an orgy in a whorehouse and you’re tempted to get in on “office politics” but your “playmates” are sensitive little darləns who might “report” that you “don’t play well with others” and they lay it on thick at “mandatory meetings” as they try to reindoctrinate you by shoving “sensitivity awareness” down your throat and if you let əm know you’re not having any of their crap they assemble a confab in which you’re presented with a bogus papertrail ’cause they’re too insecure to have their “authority” messed with and they’re always trying to stifle your creativity and you have to “multitask” but you sure as hell don’t get a multi“salary” and the “department heads” get irritated if you refuse to do “overtime” even though they’ve already stolen most of your waking hours and the telephones destroy your concentration because they ring off the hook all the livelong day and the noise drives you up the wall before it dances you across the ceiling and I never did get the memo but apparently staff infections morphed into “group therapy” rap sessions at some point and periodically your “supervisor” gives you a “performance review” which is useless because it’s based on superficial criteria and once a year you receive a “benefits package” but you’ll need “legal counsel” to sign up for it or they’ll jew you out of something sure as shit and “payroll” retaliates when you decline “direct deposit” but you duke it out with əm because “banks” are robber barons and your section is “underfunded” yet there’s always enough moola for some asshole “c.e.o.” who swindles everyone out of millions and there’s dough for snake-oil-selling “consultants” who slither in with a plethora of “vision”/“mission” mumbo jumbo but there’s never enough funds to decently remunerate the real people who do the real work and working a jobb [not a typo ’cause it’s a four-letter word] is rarely worth your while unless you’re “high up the ladder” but it’s impossible to climb it unless you’re a brownnoser who bought the LIE and the higher the “salaries” of these puffed-up conmen are the more obnoxious their egos become and “management” cannot fathom why it’s dishonorable to pressure “labor” to make “charitable contributions” out of their paltry “paychecks” and everyone is a lying actor who speaks out of both sides of his mouth and you naïvely think you’ll just work someplace else but it don’t make no nevermind ’cause everyplace is this hosed and jobbs are hazardous to your health more often than not and you tangle with have-no-shame shysters who’re running a racket known as “workers’ comp” in which they send you to “doctors” who misdiagnose your condition or perform malpractice on you because they’re quacks who receive “kickbacks” from crooked “insurance companies” and if you’re temporarily disabled from doing your jobb every chump is mad as a hatter at yə if you don’t wannə dig ditches next week and if you wind up on “unemployment” you’ll see why it’s another system which was designed to be abusive and you get backed into the corner of dealing with a middleman “temp agency” which makes a whopping forty to sixty percent “profit” off your sweat and they can’t decide whether they want quantity work or quality work yet they’re feebleminded enough to expect both so it’s always chaos for the entire “team” and there are duplicitous “assistant managers” who refuse to make alternative scheduling arrangements while claiming the “budget” doesn’t allow for it even though the “manager” who’s hardly ever there rakes in a hundred gees and some goobers try to encourage you about a gig with a “wage” that’s not in line with the “cost of living” while they look at you with straight faces ’cause they’re so ignorant they’re not even ashamed of having made the suggestion and these knuckleheads think they have the right to judge you if you take back your time to work your spiritual journey instead of ’ho’ing yourself out for “money” and yutzes always assume you’ll play their version of twenty questions regarding their “What-do-you-do?” groupthink assumptions and many wives are willing to work for peanuts since their husbands “subsidize” them while their working under these conditions screws up the “market” on how much you can “earn” and imbecilic interviewers have the effrontery to ask if you’re a “team player” [translation: “Are you brainwashed enough to swallow the garbage we dish out?”] during your little tête-à-tête which is phoniness on steroids and these prospectively hiring pricks think it’s their affair to know your “socialist insecurity number” just to interview you and they have the balls to tell you you don’t qualify for their under“paid” jobb unless they obtain a “credit report” on you and you tell off these bastards who don’t even understand that your “finances” are none of their business and you decide to go “back to school” to become more “professional” but the entire world has gone stupid nuts so your two new “degrees” make no difference and if you have a hitch in your giddyup gettən goən in your new field nitwits shriek at yə to haste thee back to a “cubicle” or peddle fake deadanimal at a “fastfood” dump ’cause they don’t get that human dignity is not based on “contributing” to “society” and these numskulls pontificate that if you’re not rarən to “put out a shingle” you must be insufficiently “entrepreneurial” yet they fail to capiche that such a maneuver’d never yank anyone out of the twilight zone of “time-is-money” and like an ingénu you figure you’ll work at a “not-for-profit” since they couldn’t possibly be beset with as much “corporate” doodoo but that was dead wrong and it sinks in that the world is infected ’cause everybody gets belligerent at you merely for trying to protect yourself and it’s no skin off his nose but your [former] friend gets indignant because you’re not in your next prison cell several months after you escaped the last one even though you can’t afford not to be choosy about your next cell and you’re hightailing it out of the world’s phoniest Corporation maybe as an expatriate while retards who care more about your “résumé” than you do cannot wrap their brains around why you don’t have time to be enslaved to some jobb until one day before you leave and all the yahoos try to convince you that jobbs in the United Corporations of New Atlantis are marvelous but you know that’s crap ’cause you have an honorary Ph.D. in Bureaucratic Mismanagement Assessment from the School of Hard Knocks and working in a’-whole-’nother country you didn’t get fleeced out of “health insurance” but you might as well’ve been since the bastards who schemed it up loaded it with loopholes and your pushy broad “boss” who lied about your “deductible” got all queen bitchy on you when you didn’t care to “spend” your “free time” micromanaging a paperwork fiasco en español and when you let əm know “That’s it! Enough already!” they lash out out of a false sense of having their “authority” messed with because they were never really “in control” anyway and you have to question why people are so apathetic they do nothing about this madness and someday you’ll fret about your fake fiat funnymoney “running out” when you “retire” as soon as the “government” sez you can and these ohmygahd-what’m-I-gonnə-do? anxieties about your leftover loot are not assuaged when you realize how these [bleeped]wad “companies” are formulating more gouging-you-deeper-while-bilking-you-sneakier frauds every day and you’ll end up in a “community” of nearlydeads where mammon-worshipping relatiks start fightən over “money” the minute anyone kicks the bucket and malicious “health insurance companies” have you dependent on them as your physical body goes to hell and “the system” is so badly rigged you don’t achieve solutions to your problems because sheeple “doctors” are accomplices in the U.C.N.A.’s keeping of everyone sick and you haven’t croaked yet but you sit in front of the telly all day instead of making good use of your time by doing something about the preposterousness of this world or by getting ready for the next and you are a slave if you can’t not prostitute your time even if you’ve tried to figure out some way to rise above playing this absurd game which isn’t winnable anyway. What the [bleeped], folks? I come back to this corporation nation and everything is significantly worse, nobody is doing squat about it, and y’all think you’re qualified to be the Occupation Police of anyone whom you perceive doesn’t wannə plunge right back in to The Great SCAM. That’s insane! Have you all been replaced by pods from the Invasion of the Body Snatchers? You’ve all been mindhacked! I didn’t see it when I was a dumbass YA drowning in escapism; and it can’t be seen from inside the box. But, ohmygahd, it’s as plain as day now: you’re all CRAZY.
       Six—Crazy and in denial: like the alcoholic who retaliates when he senses that his modus operandum to drink is being threatened, you’re all so heavily invested in the game that you lash out contemptuously at any Outsider who is candid enough to declare “The emperor has no clothes.” You misjudge those outside the box to be “victims” because it’s inconceivable to you that anyone could genuinely not want to play this repugnant game as you idiotically scream “That’s how it is!” You don’t get that that’s not how it is, because you can’t see beyond the box, yet you presume to be the Finance Police of and “talk down to” those of us on a higher level of understanding, while you’re throwing away your time by “spending” it to “earn” filthy lucre because “That’s how the ‘market’ is!” Market, shmarket. STOP GIVING YOUR CONSENT to this SCAM. Fight and be part of the solution; quit being part of the problem by getting antagonistic at those of us who do want to fight. Learn to REFUSE TO COÖPERATE with the enemy. If enough of you would SIT IT OUT, this malevolent Big Brother Corporation would come to a screeching halt. But you folks are too busy trying to assimilate all and sundry back into the Borg of getting yet another jobb the nanosecond someone escapes the hell on Earth of the previous one. This is ludicrous, and can be seen as such when we admit how deceitful we’ve been: the instant we write a “cover letter,” field a “business call,” or “talk shop,” we slip into an unnatural mindset, a distorted jargon, and the song and dance of impression management. And it’s all B.S. posturing. Cyndi Lauper was wrong: “Money Changes Everything”? no. Money [bleeped]s up everything: it’s what makes everything UNNATURAL; it’s what forces everyone to be FAKE. But nobody wants to ’fess up to this, because everybody’s selfdeception would then be shattered. You’d have to concede what your actual religion has been all along; you’d have to quit being pimps and ’ho’es for gahd money.
       Six—Money, according to Nietzsche, creates an unnatural hierarchy. And he was right. So what’s the solution? It sure as hell isn’t continuing to ’ho’e your time out for money: mammon enslaves, and y’all must wannə be slaves—and you irrationally freak out when somebody doesn’t—because “employment” is slavery and theft of your time. When you work for money, your work is not valid: the fruits of your labor are being hijacked by the SCAM of usurious capitalism, and you’re capitulating by allowing your energy to be siphoned. There is, though, such a thing as legitimate work. It’s what I do every day: I work on the spiritual and intellectual journeys which are my birthright; I find creative outlets for my art; I take time to take care of myself. You wannə get hostile at me for that? If so, you’re nothən but a follow-the-herd hylic reading off the groupthink script. Upgrade your level by understanding the following: we incarnated into physicality to accomplish a spiritual journey, and it does not get done when we’re placating the “entrepreneurs,” crooks, and fools of the ratrace. We must stop aligning ourselves under the fictitious hierarchies of “money” and “authority”; we must stop being slaves. Work on one’s life’s journey with a get-it-done-right attitude? yes; work as a shoot-əm-in-the-foot idiot and get injured and left with “debt” while chasing fake fiat funnymoney? hell no. I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.
     Seven—Red pilling—“lifting the veil,” in the parlance of Machen and Lovecraft—is not about enduring the stages of spiritual awakening, or comprehending that everything is illusion, or realizing what deceivers the “archons” are, or figuring out that we’re being socially engineered toward Baudrillard’s New HyperReal as Borges’ Map mutates while we march toward the singularity; it’s not about leaving the “Left” which has gone so nucking futs there’s no Left left ’cause they’re actually contributing to White genocide; it’s not about refusing to ♯WalkAway to the controlled-opposition “Right” so humans can swandive off the cliff later rather than sooner; it’s not about finally getting it that it’s the jews who’ve set up “cultural Marxism” and the SCAMS of academia as the groundwork for duping naïve young’əns into being the footsoldiers of their own destruction; it’s not about wanting to yank off of his lower level a fellow awakened one who is incapable of grasping the irrationality of having developed awareness that “they” are part of the problem while tenaciously clinging to jewsus, who was one of “them”; and it’s not about equating the theosophical androgyne with the metaphorical joining of male/left-brain consciousness to female/right-brain creativity, as opposed to the literal freakshow which is debasing humanity. It’s not about any of these things: it’s about all of them. But red pilling is also about recognizing when to stop hyperanalyzing the labyrinthine details: there comes a time to bag feeding off the Knowledge and start mainlining the Life, ’cause you’re surrounded, here on Earthschool, by spiritually lifeless preschoolers who want only to play in the sandbox and throw sand in your face if you don’t wannə play. Most crucially, it’s about experiencing the Seventh Heaven as you reach the crowning achievement of having aligned your seven major chakras through power meditation. Now you’re a Light Bearer, a Luciferian; now you’re transformed and ready to become as the gods: i.e., to surpass the physical plane and take on a spirit body. Why stay stuck in some twisted belief system in which its gahd clearly wants humans not to partake of the Trees’ Fruit, thereby remaining as dumbed-down slaves trapped in the reincarnation loop? O foolish xians, can you not see that your Gahd is the Father of LIES in this ¿pլɹoʍ uʍop-ǝpısdn

The Great, the Bad, and the Ugly

     The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck (1939): A Great American Novel candidate, contrapuntally intercalated with a skillfully elegiac rendering of the loss of the “American dream” en masse is a superbly vivid depiction of a family of have‑nots and their ever-worsening descent into penury, desperation, and the consequent loss of their independence as they cope with the SCAM of “employment,” which is slavery. (When the “company store” is your only choice, you don’t get good deals, so take a lesson all you goalongwithits: keep on buying everything “online” and we’ll wind up with no choices.)
     Portnoy’s Complaint, by Philip Roth (1969): Having years ago naïvely thought this novel to be the most hilarious knee-slapper of a satire, it’s not so funny anymore, now that I know that the compulsion of the antihero’s not being able to stop shtupping the shikses and lying on the Fraudian couch continually rehashing the sexologue of it all is a symptom of the so-called JQ and the “chosen people’s” deconstruction and subsequent reconstruction of everything from Boas’ systemic delegitimization of anthropology to the Frankfurt School’s SCAM of the infiltration of academia; to Hollyweird’s tactic of waging war by socially engineering everyone as titillated and zombified; to Wall Street’s and credit card companies’ screwing of Main Street and John Q. Public, respectively; to Washington, Inc.’s having been franchised right out of zion and their running of a wicked government which is contemptuous of its own people: this book was a riot back in the day, but now, not so much.
     White, by Bret Easton Ellis (2019): Ellis could’ve written about genocide being perpetrated against the White race in this work of nonfiction—part memoir, part criticism—as he’d set the stage for it by zeroing in on how batshit everything has become these days, but he was too busy prattling on about freaks-gone-wild movies and playing up his jew boyfriends, whom he’d like his readers to believe are White. (They are NOT, and why in hell did I finish this revolting flop of a book?)
     Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace (1996): This Great American Novel candidate launches postpostmodern literature by lampooning how ignoramuses unknowingly acquiesce to corporatism’s [bleeped]ing over of everything: with hysterically realistic recherché madness and a myriad of uproarious narrative voices (‘And Lo, for the Earth was empty of form, and void. And Darkness was all over the Face of the Deep. And We said: Look at that [bleeped]er Dance.’); with finessed plotting and backstory, some of which occur in the endnotes, which include differential calculus, fər cryən out loud; with a metalogical narrative structure based on Gödelian philosophy of mathematics; this weighty tome is the consummate indictment of how SICK the “post-industrial capitalist” SCAM is. Everything is subsidized and everyone is hooked on hyperconsumerism and escapism, like minddumbing boobtube-watching and mindnumbing alcohol-and-other-drug using, and deluded and stymied by ubiquitous “solutions,” like Alcoholics Anonymous, which is bizarre and cultic, and which this novel excoriates as being every bit as whackadoodle as the problems and their consequences.
     Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse (1922): The quintessential epiphany for anyone on a spiritual journey might be found in this great novella because the protagonist is the only journeyer smart enough to realize that since enlightenment comes from within, clinging to a teacher/guru/sponsor/mentor or to traditional religion (or converting to any new one of the above) will always be a stumbling block to true spiritual progress, because no one can hammer out his own answers to life’s seemingly impervious questions and thereby secure his own release from virtually interminable reincarnations by studying and following the answers of someone else. And crossing the Finish Line is one’s BIRTHRIGHT, so go rogue, ’cause going squarejohn gets you squat.

And the Winner Is . . .

     Gravity’s Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon (It’s not pronounced ['pɪn•tʃən]!; it’s ['pɪn•'tʃɑn]. Harumph.) (1973): This quintessential work of postmodernism is the Great American Novel.
      √  How yə doən crunching Poisson distribution formulæ for calculating the probability of rocket strikes?
      √  Can you make a big ol’ metaphor out of likening the astrological retrograde motion of astronomical bodies to narrative that halts and goes backwards?
      √  Studied up on how film noir cinematographic techniques and dolly shots may be emulated in literature, are yə? (The sprocket holes which separate the episodes are meant to evoke film reels; they’re not decorations.)
      √  Well-read in Austrian and Argentine poetry, are yə?
      √  Do you understand that so-called Operation Paperclip was a colossal joke which was played on us humanoids by snatching supposedly superhightech “rocketmen”—such as Wernher von Braun, the source of GR’s first epigraph—out of Nazıland and sneaking them in to professorships at U.C.N.A. universities, not to mention the hoax known as “NASA”? (In the case of von Braun, suddenly he’s palsy-walsy with the Disneyland conman and various prezzes, and NOBODY caught on this was a FARCE? Really?)
      √  Did you know that preposterously bizarre sexual perversions are being conjured up to keep people [bleeped] up and spiritually sick, and that that was the reason for the disturbing inclusion of coprophilia in the book, thus invalidating John Gardner’s and Gore Vidal’s prissy objections?
      √  How many of you bornagainers can differentiate Calvinism from Arminianism, hmm? (Nothing doing? Tsk, tsk, tsk.)
      √  If you’re not an Outsider workən it, how in hell is the analogy of the “Byron the Bulb”—who draws a few get-out-of-death-free cards along the way, just for workən it—how is this concept gonnə register with you? (Other than not at all, if your bulb doesn’t click to on that old-soul Byron hates being forced to reincarnate interminably?)
      √  Are you aware that the hebrew qlippoth has made “Shells of the Dead” of most disciples of the Left Hand Path because they’re unaware that attempting to “control” Demons—who, while they’re the enemies of the jews, are our friends—is a solomonic, goëtic practice which is insulting to these fourD entities? (You wannə “believe in” the movies? Guess who writes, produces, directs, and edits these weaponized LIES? It ain’t the united methodists or the plymouth brethren, brother.)
      √  Could you doff your hat to Sean Carswell, who, in his article “Gravity’s Rainbow: A Love Story,” came up with “The novel is many things. Among these things, it’s a seven-hundred-sixty-page-long dick joke.”?
      √  Did you know that this tome’s comic-relief, slapstick limericks were the inspiration for Devo’s nineteen eighty, avant-garde, one-hit wonder “Whip It” [Good]?
Gravity’s Rainbow is the love–hate relationship book: you love that you actually finished it and you hate to admit that you’re overdue for a reread. jewsus christ it’s a bee‑ätch though! And you need to be prepared, ’cause this time you’re gonnə understand it better! So you obtain copies of Pynchon’s short stories and earlier novels; you brush up on Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegies and Sonnets to Orpheus (which you simply cannot accomplish without segueing yet again to Ovid’s Metamorphoses!); you burn the midnight oil for José Rafael Hernández y Pueyrredón’s El Gaucho Martín Fierro (which, believe it or not, I read parts of for a Spanish Lit. class a hundred years ago); you make yourself more knowledgeable in astrology (which a student of the occult should do anyway, right?); you learn about how the German industrial system functioned during World War II; and you find a friendly nerd who’d be willing to conduct remedial crashcourses in calculus and in the physics of rocket propulsion. Understand that while the rockets’ trajectories are parabolic, this masterpiece’s metanarrative structure is not; it’s mandalic: the chronology pans out in a circular design in which historical events astrologically coincide with pagan festivals and xian “feast days.” Then coffee yourself up, lay the annotations in Steven C. Weisenburger’s A Gravity’s Rainbow Companion out side by side with the novel, and blast off! Are you equal to the challenge? Do you wannə read the toughest—(except for probably James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake)—the kickassingest English-language work of fiction ever written? It ain’t gonnə read itself, sweetheart. Tick tock.

Prometheus, Light My Fire!

     Prometheus Bound, by Æschylus (ca. 470 B.C.E.): You wannə root for the bringer of metaphorical fire to mankind or the despot who wants “mortals” dumbed down and controllable? (If you’re an xian, you’re rooting for the tyrant, ’cause he’s the same being as yahweh.) The takeaway in this ancient Greek tragedy is that Prometheus, although tied up at the moment, knows how zeus’ll bring about his own downfall, and he’s not about to spill it to this pondscum who’s suddenly not so confident!
     Prometheus Unbound, by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1820): Tough sledding, this; the Liberator—not loosed until zeus (here as jupiter) fell—crafty Prometheus, who, as a god is “king over himself,” gets it that since humans are deluded slaves, they have selfcontempt, do not master themselves, and thus want to be slaves. And that’s what drives the subjugated hylics’ incessant demands that more advanced humans sink to their level to be like them so they can feel a skōsh less bad about themselves.
     Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (1831 edition): We had become monsters by the Romantic era, creatures in need of help: “enlightenment rationalism” had condemned man to focus solely on egoic consciousness. Our visionary, poetic powers of the unconscious mind and the creative genius of our Demon Muses had ceased, and Shelley knew we’d backslid: her Prometheus—a mythological equivalent of Satan—although human, was a would-be firebringer.
     Paradise Lost, by John Milton (1667, 1674): So what was lost? The Golden Age, which flourished before the demiurge’s prison-camp-for-human-slaves mind[bleeped]. Vermin xian tho’ Milton may have been, he did present Satan as shrewd enough to see through yahweh’s nonsequitous snafu on “free will,” which is abundantly nonexistent: sucking up to his “laws” to maintain it, it never was free will, was it? Moreover, the epicist’s antihero was bold, forthright: enough for Shelley and Byron to embrace Him as their Hero.
     Cain: A Mystery, by George Gordon Byron (1821): In the most earthshatteringly revealing play I ever read, Cain, my kindred, born of the cosmic-prison-hating Spirit—no son of Adam, to be sure; halfbrother of Abel, at best—Cain despised that the materially bound and simple-souled folk loved Gahd’s LIE. He must’ve felt like Dr. Bennell running down the street screaming in that movie which is based on The Body Snatchers, ’cause everyone else was clueless. Nonetheless, having been born into the illusion, he had to brook his incarnation, and did receive multidimensional enlightenment from his true Father, Lucifer. Do, by all means, savor Lord Byron’s closet drama of this quintessential Outsider! It’s a shit‑ton better than the crappola in the jewish book of witchcraft. Byron and Shelley—les poètes maudits ultimes—warrant further study!
     Illuminations, by Arthur Rimbaud (1872–1875): O prettyboy hellion Poet, Rimbaud—King of Symbolists, Patron Saint of Surrealists—who evinced the utmost scorn for the foulest of LIES: How did you willfully derange your senses? How did you volitionally hallucinate? How did you purposely transform into a visionary? Let your work impart voyance, that we, too, may explore other realities.
     The Damned, by Joris-Karl Huysmans (1891): Damned? Damned to what, and when? I’m gonnə go with this life, now. M. Protagoniste—minding his own biz like a principled misanthrope, discontent with the deterioration of “society” as it industrially revolutionizes itself into ever-worsening unnaturalness—M. Protagoniste embarks on the arduous trek of disentangling the esoterica of a Middle Ages Black Magickian, and comes to realize that “no discovery is possible without the help of Satan.”
     Les Fleurs du mal, by Charles Baudelaire (1857, 1861):
O Prince of exile,
You who have been wronged;
You who are the Healer of human sufferings;
You who give the outlaw that calm and haughty look;
You who conceal the Path from sleepwalkers;
You who are the Father of the Illuminated, who pity not the masses;
O Bestower of Pneuma, ignite the Black Flame in your sons and daughters.
     When We Dead Awaken, by Henrik Ibsen (1899): The eminent Norwegian playwright who wrote in Danish understood the inability of the artist’s working out his ideals in a way which is compatible with human nature: one born better than the masses must maintain his detachment from the herd; yet, paradoxically, he cannot complete his spiritual journey until he lets go of self, which necessitates the experiencing of Nietzsche’s Dionysian intoxication (as opposed to the Apollonian, which bonds hylics to illusion) and which, in turn, obliterates the individuality which the Pneumatic so desperately clings to in order to remain set apart! There comes a time, though, for the rebel-artist-mystic to take the plunge into the Promethean fire, because dying to the old self is the final step of awakening to the new.

Epilogue

  √  Dystopians
     Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley (1932): Do you rate a work abysmally low when you realize the author was a scumbag or that his book was disclosing an insane, long-term, weaponized SCAM? Or do you chin up and make a literarily objective assessment? So this Huxley asshole was a member of the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing Fabian Society, and they’ve been inching toward their objective of “delivering a one-world, socialist, eugenicist government” of the transhumanist/transpocalypse agenda for over a century. And he knew—thirty years before the counterculture opened up Pandora’s box—that drugged-up, “sexually liberated,” sexuality-confused, gender-confused hedonists don’t mind their freedoms being trampled as long as they can keep on being titillated. “O brave new world / That has such people in’t!” indeed.
     Nineteen Eighty-four, by George Orwell (1949): For decades, every spiritual naïf—from intermediate-level readers who’re lookən for authors to “flesh out” characters they can “relate to” to uninspired academics—every Joe Blow thought this morose narrative was an allegory of the “good guys” vs. the “commies.” No one was awake enough to see it was a documentary of the ATTACK on humanity. And have any of y’all noticed the jew name of the behind-the-scenes manipulator? Surely you have noticed that the endless rewriting of history and the retroactive censoring of media are precisely what Orwell warned against! Is it any wonder that readership of this novel is surging as every prediction in it—from continual surveillance of your movements to constant suppression of your speech—is coming true?
  √  Faulkner’s Best
     The Sound and the Fury (1929): The magnum opus of William Faulkner is about a family which is falling apart set against the backdrop of the cruel and complex postbellum South; it’s about three brothers, each in his own way incompetent and incapable of holding together what’s left of this zany family. And unless the reader catches the hint from the title’s allusion to Macbeth that the tale is told by an idiot, it takes forever to make meaning of it. But the seeming incongruities resulting from the shifts in consciousness, chronology, and narrative voice can be resolved with persistence. And getting it worked out is worthwhile, because a reader who brings nothing to the table and wants only to be a passive entertainee is not a mature reader.
     Absalom, Absalom! (1936): It’s a story within a story within a story, and there’s temporal distortion up the wazoo, and you’re the detective in this mystery. No, it’s not a whodunit, but the reader must step in as investigator and sort out the characters’ most unreliable narratives to arrive at what actually happened in this rise-to-power tale of one man and his rebellious son. Whose accounts of the backstory—including those of a few guests from The Sound and the Fury—can you trust? In this protopostmodernist allegory, you have the stuff of Nobel Prize literature.
  √  Shakespeare Faves
     Comedy—As You Like It (1599–1600): While it isn’t the only play by the Bard that contains the notion “all the world’s a stage,” it certainly is the drama which focuses on this theme in spades. It’s the perfect work of art if you’re looking for a complex, intricately plotted tale with farcical mistaken-identity routines. In As You Like It, twisted logic and reasoning-it-all-out ratiocination unfold against the backdrop of the matrix, where everything is illusion and nothing is as it seems. This king of ruses even has a cryptic reference to Plato’s allegory of the cave in the final scene. And if yə tell me, “Man, you’re reading too much into it,” then I’ll know you’re still spiritually asleep.
     Tragicomedy—The Comical History of the Merchant of Venice; or, The Jew of Venice (1597): Let’s take this things-are-not-as-they-seem idea and bam it up another notch: the “archontic” infection operates by way of a “chosen people” acting as proxies after having been wired to make disasters out of others’ lives. Are you spiritually awake enough to see this? Shakespeare was, and this drama is set in Italy, the birthplace not only of the Renaissance, but of the monetary SCAM which is based on usury. (A for-the-record side note: accompany this work with a reading of the playwright’s contemporary’s—Christopher Marlowe’s, that is—tragedy, The Jew of Malta, and your understanding of this nefarious subject is supremely enhanced.)
     Tragedy—The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (1600): Perhaps the greatest tragedy—even the greatest play—ever written, Hamlet can’t be beat in terms of sheer literary beauty. Its motifs of profound pondering over existentialist despair and the spiritual growth that accompanies selfreflection and introspection are invincible as well (with The Tragedy of King Lear a not-too-distant second). Oh, and by the way, the prince’s contemplating of “to be or not to be” does not mean what everyone thinks it means! It refers to the struggle of a perennially brooding Outsider over whether or not to off himself, not to some nonsensical belief that humans obtain their identity by what they “be,” which is to say by what they “do for a living.”
     Comitragedy—The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (1596): I can’t seem to get enough of this love story which is possibly the most “musical” in all of literature! Written during Shakespeare’s lyric period, it’s chocked full of phenomenal wordplay, tongue-in-cheek sexual double entendre, and exquisitely beautiful sonnets. Linguistically, it’s almost as much of an achievement as the comedy Love’s Labour’s Lost. Yeah, it is a tearjerker, what with the deceased young lovers and all, but it’s the best of sad stories partly because it has the best comic relief ever: it is, at times, funny as hell.
     Comedy—The Taming of the Shrew (1592): Enjoy it for its frisky élan and libidinous jests if you can’t bring yourself to smirk over the chap going all “alpha male” on his bride, making her obedient, so he won’t have to be a henpecked milquetoast for the next forty years. The Bard’s too “chauvinist” for yə? Don’t y’all “offended” little darləns realize it’s illogical to label writers “misogynist” when this concept did not exist during their lifetimes? A few decades ago there was no such nonsense: so judging authors from centuries ago by our “standards” is anachronistic. Can you see that? And you cuckolded men who preach about the “need to read more women authors,” are you aware that this theme/motif asserts itself in many of his plays? Man up, fellas!
     History—The History of King Henry the Fourth (1597): The Bard chose to leave off from the eloquent whining in The Tragedy of King Richard the Second and sequel into a play not only about battlefields and discoursing on the dry-as-dust seriousness of running a State, but also about what “real life” is, including a Bildungsroman complete with a portrayal of the youthfully irresponsible, bawdy side of life—with a little help, of course, from the fabulous Falstaff, the foolish foil of folly. Other playwrights at the time about had a fit, ’cause don’t y’all know you don’t mix High and Low “culture”—(at least not until modernist lit. transmogrified into postmodernist lit. three and a half centuries later)—but the playgoers, frankly darlən, didn’t give a damn, and attended in droves.
     Romance—The Tempest (1610–1611): Let’s get the storm rolling by letting the idiots who presume that the artificially contrived caste-like system of “rank” is actually worth a tinker’s damn—let’s let əm know they’re full of shit; then let’s get some Merlin-like dude who is all studied up on sorcery and summoning spirits to use Magick against his enemies, but respectably, forgiving them as soon as they’ve made reparations for damages caused (as opposed to a bunch of “evil controllers,” who, since at least the time of John Dee, have used Magick to screw everybody over). Throw in some more bawdy satire and make it a review and a study of a myriad of themes/motifs from previous works, and you have the the-Magick’s-all-over farewell play that beats all other farewells.

Thank you, O Master, for having made the story come alive for us! And check out this [simulated] pipe organ music!

The Cliffhanger

     The trump card has been played—and the vast majority of you are too lazy to investigate whether it’s a HOAX or deliberate biowarfare, ’cause you’re so gullible you believe what you passively soak up from the idiotbox while you deceive yourselves that we’re not under ATTACK. “Social distancing”?! “Commerce” without REAL interaction? A mass–mask RITUAL? Can’t you SEE that this depravity is part of a long-term PLAN to engineer us toward The New HyperReal? And how’s that research into “grant money” driving SCAMS coming along? Can’t be bothered with that? You are CONSENTING to humanity’s death knell because “they sed” such and such on “the news”?! You have all gone out of your freakən minds. And you’ll gleefully get shot up with a “vaccine” which’ll make you sicker and stupider than you already are. And not one of you [bleeped]ers is the least bit ashamed of how PATHETIC you are for succumbing to this LIE as you bring the rest of us down with you. If y’all are THIS naïve, it’s no wonder humans are getting the shaft.
     Less than one percent of you grasp that the false duality of “good vs. evil” was spun so circuitously it hides the fact that “good,” “morality,” and “laws” are our enemies; and that “evil” and lawlessness constitute freedom from insane control. How can this be?! Do y’all WANT to be deceived? Why do you conform to “consensus reality,” which is spiraling to never-never land? Why do you blindly obey “uniform commercial code”? Why do you tolerate the theft of your independence? Why do you old folks jump through hoops to stay alive longer so you can keep on being brainwashed by TV? That’s pathetic!

Updated October 19, 2020. So what’s the way out of Planet Demented? “Chao ab ordo”: tap into Gnosis, stop being a slave, ignite your Black Flame, ascend the Tree of Death before dying, bypass the reincarnation trap, and return to Source.

Groups1001 Books to read before you die, 18th-19th Century Britain, 50-Something Library Thingers, 9/11 Truth, African/African American Literature, American Postmodernism, Arthurian Legends, Books that made me think, Bookshelf of the Damned, British & Irish Crime Fictionshow all groups

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Currently readingUlysses by James Joyce
Metamorphoses by Ovid
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