#machine-god observer

[wraithclatter]

Books that have given me much insight(in no particular order):

-Nietzsche: Zarathustra, The Gay Science, Geneology of Morals

-Edward Hyams: Soil and Civilization

-Emerson: collected writings

-Wendell Berry: The Unsettling of America, Home Economics, general poetry, essays

-Bataille: Visions of Excess

-James Frazer: The Golden Bough

-Walter Lippmann: Public Opinion(good to understand the optics of Leviathan)

-Aristotle: Politics, Nichomachean Ethics

-Thucydides: History of the Pelopponessian War

-Machiavelli: Discourses on Livy

-Caesar: writings on the gallic war, civil war

-Hobbes: Leviathan (duh)

-Kant: Critique of Pure Reason

-Marx: On The German Ideology, Kapital, Grundrisse, misc. writings

-The Upanishads(very close to my heart)

-Bhagavad Gita(close to my heart)

-The Bible, especially the New Testament

-All of Blake's Writings and Art(he is my prophet)

-essays of T.E. Hulme

-Emily Dickinson: collected poems

-Rilke: Book of Hours

-Dylan Thomas: Collected Poems

-Cormac McArthy: The Border Trilogy, Blood Meridian, The Passenger

-Faulkner: The Wild Palms

-Collected works of Jung

-collected works of Freud

-collected works of Hunter S Thompson

-Arthur Ponsonby: Falsehoods in wartime(must read)

-Ezra Pound: Guide to Kultur

-Eustace Mullins: Secrets of the federal reserve(havent read his other works but this was one that i read as a teenager that opened the gates to me understanding the anatomy of Leviathan)

-Manly P Hall: Secret Teachings Of All Ages

-Goethe: Faust, essays and letters

-Plutarch: most of his major writings- too much to name

-Plato: collected works but most especially the Theaetetus because i think it should be taught as an introductory course to all of philosophy

-The Rig Veda: this is where the poetic tradition began and I still draw much inspiration from it

-Bardo Thödol, or in the west, Tibetan book of the dead

-Nag Hammadi Scriptures, dead sea scrolls

-Philip K Dick: VALIS trilogy, other sci-fi works

-various alchemical treatises.

If anyone sees this engage with it because i would love to talk about these and other books; of literature, poetry and philosophy in general.

[wraithclatter]

This is an article by an account I've followed off and on for a few years now. They post esoteric, thought-provoking articles on a lot of ideas and topics I post on here as well. A good read.

Also of note is Jung's formulation of the equation of the movements of the symbolic process of transformation he writes of in Aion; the ABCD formula that is depicted as a sort of fractal square-like movement in which the processes of the rotundrum moves sun-wise:

Time as square

From wheel of time to territory of time

[wraithclatter]

October 1st, 2024

(Pericles)

🌡~69°

Weather- ☁

Moonphase- wan. cres. in♎

I forced my way into history.

They said I was a monster like

Adolf or Pericles- having the

Same point of temporal

Reentry as them.

I said,

'I am neither but I have a mind

To emulate Old Perry's

Aesthetic social programmes,'

And also maybe

To re-appropriate yards of Phoenecian

Silks, a few handfuls of

Trojan Bullion from the temple

Of Delos like it's My Lady's hand-bag;

All stale now,

With Kronos's saliva stains and

The back-and-forths of new upstart

Tyrant's games of historical hot-potato

Which booty acquires

On account of it's desirability

Stretching out across the millenia.

In short- My intention had been

To burglarize the most

Advantageous plays

The old Squill-Head schemed up.

And I made out swimmingly,

Like a grave-robber, or politician.

Forcing your way into history

Is not so hard when you

Realize most people cannot see,

Only be provoked by blood or the

Dumb end of a spindle.

I have made a science

Out of Human Convulsion:

More encompassing than Marx,

More adaptive than religious dogma.

All things declare,

And are declared upon,

By War.

The trick is

To foster the notion

In the Legionous Swine

That the designs you make

Upon their lives,

The designs you bludgeon

Them with daily,

Are but

Pre-requisites to Paradise.

[wraithclatter]

The Department Of Homeland Security Thinks I'm A Punk Bitch

(2/22/15-6:10pm)

(I wrote this on cough medicine)

Raised rebels,

As in,

Kids who think they stick to the sickest scene,

Faced a crisis once.

It was the Seinfeld era, when the basslines were widely accepted to represent conventional comedy.

A Marty-McFly looking motherfucker decided it was best not to laugh during the taping of his own shitty childhood.

He got up,

heart a thumpin',

And screamed:

"FUCK THE CALVARY! FUCK JOHN BOOKES WILTH! I'DA DONE IT IF HE HADN'T YOU BEST BELIEVE!"

And that metaphorical statement

Spit out by his subconscious during a dream

Marked the period of time when the Kool Kids Klub began to radically change.

Next day he imparted it to his dudes after second period.

The third day was the day the sun parted ways with the sky

And the fourth?

Well, it just consisted of dusty black skinny jeans and an Ipod full of playful hedonism.

So, here's the scoop:

People are wary of the great danger in the sky.

It yawns it's threats out

In slow motion-

Laboriously waddling its way across the sky in an attempt to capture

Something the public isn't allowed to spend oxygen on.

That's the trouble with our security system:

The alarm's been going off and I forgot the code and so did you so either wait for the cops or burn down the house.

End of story.

[wraithclatter]

News From The Front:

A Shh!!! Health Secrets! Production

A special report from the archives- original story was written on July Tenth, Two Thousand Twenty Four, 12:34 UTC

Early this morning across the globe clandestine paramilitary cults signalled their intentions with "accidental" warning flashes which blasted key sectors of the global central nervous-system, including national powerplants, missing person's organization headquarters, and heavily trafficked shipping lanes. As a puppet-parasite gave an underwhelming board meeting speech to a company of klonopin karens on a desolate downtown street corner, a nearby powerplant's siren began to wail, then promptly stopped. Officials have come out to say it was an accident and that "no one would be so goddamned stupid as to push that button seriously. The alarm is for kicks, not for crisis. Get with the times."

Though dismissive of the premise as the technicians of the powerplant were that the alarm could indeed be used for signalling an immanent danger to the locals, this keyed-in citizen reporter has a feeling that there's more to this whole warning systems business than meets the eye...is it possible that the nuclear facilities, the municipal governmental services buildings, humanitarian organizations, political and military sectors are all simply fronts and are actually used as processing plants to further The Great Goal of resurrecting The Old God and bringing about a great alchemical change to the whole earth- costing billions of people their lives all to bring about the endless tyranny of a fickle and spiteful entity whose thoughts are blind and whose breath breeds war upon whatever it smothers?? Maybe. But from my extensive research into different sounds, shapes, colors, numbers and letters over the course of many years leads me to believe this siren system could actually be used to signal a potential major danger. Though I doubt this would be necessary anytime soon as we have the grown ups hard at work all across the globe helping to keep this good earth from crumbling into dust in the sweaty palms of Old Man Kronos.

[wraithclatter]

There is an unlimited energy spectrum within your heart. The laws of Hades-this human, fallen world-obscure this reservoir but do not proscribe nor contradict it. Hades is a hallucination; an occulted patch of darkness passing over the sun, a spiritual eclipse, a necessary product of nature. In every moment a Savior is resurrecting the dead and the tombs sing with love and praise. But we let the shade lull us into a prone sleep. Shades that we are until we burn with the rememberance of the light, we wallow in the abyss; forgetting that dream and tangible experience are not only one and the same but redundant and empty. This does not mean they are purposeless. The teleology, or ends to which life strives is the re-remembering of the light and like sparks from a fire, to be reunited with the flame

**************************************************

Waiting like a dog for the anchor to drop;

A shadow on parole, co-mingling

Of other violent and seething shades.

Like a candle, I had waited

For the wick to burn out

Of those closest as an excuse to

Excuse myself, to be disembodied

From this gruesome wreckage.

Yet still I find that there is

A thread like the Sun's rays

Leading back to The cloak of Light

Which The Abyss Slayer

Has seeded throughout the Labrynth

Of Life and Death for all of us to recover-

It takes time, patience and humility

To remember the outstretched hand

That is always grasped

But we perpetually lapse into amnesia.

Eden grows its garden from our heart

And perpetuates its roots

If we water it kindly;

For it never is seperate from us.

The lightning bolt of Divinity

Destroys the hallucination of Hades.

Yet the world walks on in darkness

Like corpses sleepwalking

Into the casket of tomorrow's debt,

Taking on The Destroyer's taunt.

Roaming the cycles of psych wards, Iron bars,

columns made to oppress,

We find The Liberator within and around us.

Shattered are the gates of Gehenna.

Freed from the ancestral curse

Our tombs shake and our fidgeting nerves

Burst asunder

And a calm settles in our souls.

Each atom, conglomerate of molecules,

Sun, stars, water and void,

Are but many members of One Body.

[wraithclatter]

We walk widdershins within the grave of Hades.

The timer is set, the sales are nominal,

Belying obsessive compulsion to

Accumulate dead matter, programmed reaction.

'Flexible' only as a series of characters to

Describe a hope used as an empty incentive.

The register is rigged; a liability trap

To scapegoat the prole into feigned sins.

Lunchbreaks must be 45 minutes.

Anything under or over

Is considered insubordination.

Nourishment in the form of mummified

Potato chips and concoctions meant to

Overstimulate the nervous system

In the name of productivity.

Do not stop another from stealing.

A shade cannot, by the Laws of

The Outer Void

Find tangibility in dream-smoke.

Torture by music.

A thread exists between this labryrinth:

Hard to spot but once it is,

Navigation is left to The Unfathomable.

Cognitive closure to anything healthy

Is a proscriptive statute of the lawless enclosure.

No cognitive closure for the gruesome

Detritus one must wade through,

Be destroyed by, unless The Thread

Is found, and The Artifact retained.

Machines calculate numbers and

Their debts and elations.

With a company card you can

Entrap lower laborers;

dissimulated altruism as coercion.

Taylor Swift as religious figure.

The same synthetically generated songs

As like corproate choir hymns.

The abyss is lively, hungry, and vile.

It knows you only from your expulsions;

Your emission of data and reactions

To it's provocations.

This world as a flytrap for impulsive biomass.

Corpses shambling into the casket of tomorrow.

The ouroboros of consumption.

The sound of distant locusts.

Pernicious serpent swallowing up the damned

Into the lightless expanse.

And we dance it through one day at a time.

[wraithclatter]

The hallucination was realized for what it was

When I truly grasped your hand.

A vertigo that I wept in endless waves,

Swepped up in biting winds of jealousy.

I saw Hades part and the lightning of thy divinity,

And a fear pulsed it's health in my writhing spirit.

What mathematics can elucidate the grace

You've shown to your pavlovian servant?

Mouths that cry out for the sound of another voice

And I cannot find words of comfort, not yet.

I cry with them; internally and spin about

Wrapped in delusion that shows signs of abating-

Yet I let my failure push me forward,

Knowing that this near-blind stumbling,

Each step is accounted for, knowing full well

I am but another bozo on the bus

And my season of kindergarten will never end.

A clayish complexion, mottled by self-willed pain,

Yet the night shows my worthiness.

And your love

Baffles me to know end.