It’s not secret.
Mud waters and my own child swims in a damp sand storm. Bare ass naked and asleep. Round by razor blades sharp as a needle sky of a two horned Shaytan.
Secret story that unlocks the door to a river runs through the five pillars of SIT.
Talk and nosebleeds of a quatripiach kind. DUG.
It speaks past midnight right through the skull and bones of that soft area we call the Gil B. What if? Aiwas spoke thus an echo spear heading defying time and space and logic? That might explain the FIDELIO magic bullet.
Kid you not, there is no plot here. Who needs it? No really reads or gives a damn, rightfully so. Live or die by the sword and kneele sicko laban’s eye of a horous. This place actually exists. Might be the oldest place in the Kingdom.
Know thy place shall the whole of law. That what Aleister Crowley should’ve summarised and thought instead of treading on a worn path.
What does it mean to know your place? Meaning: A person’s position in the world of beings. Hold on! Let’s not fool around here.
Fear of dying, and aging is the God and Allah or the supreme being almost everyone worships.
Is there a way for an animal to change his name to a Death? There is a way.
How so?
Suicide yourself atleast a couple dozen times. Mark your neck with tears of joy and rain and thunder and kill yourself morning breakfast.
Didn’t Mark Twain say, ‘‘ Eat a frog for breakfast, it can’t get any worse than that.’’
So, that’s my genre, yes, wake up: Death. Rebirth yourself: Find your Godamn pen and pencil and RUN at every direction possible.
‘‘Every person wishes death, a closure, and a relief from duties of life and the system to which he or she was brought up in.’’
If You can find me anyone who says no, I’ll find you a scumbag liar, a thief and a sell out and a fake humble presidents and kings and professors of SIT down and LISTEN. OBEY and BUY. CONSUME or get lost. Death for sale? Haha, I wish you FAT CANCER and A bacterial infection that leaves you spineless and toothless.
Eye of Horous is the eye of…. not the eye you idiot.
The mind unleashed. And YOU my dear lady, will not get this, as I have swum across every ocean and drank the salt and even anti-pestisides, and suicided myself in order to rebuild myself from scratch. The Old Kingdom of Cannibalia. Beyond Animal Kingdom a glass celing echoes all of our brains and minds and spirits like virtual clock pieces.
This is Bryan speaking. Not that one we know of. But, a vision, it was labled as an episode. Yes, the episode of 2016. That which spearheaded the Artificial Intelligence and machine learning, and for the lack of the better word: A.I.
A few predicted this. Among them, maybe, just maybe, dates back to the early Ancient
civilizations. How do I know this? Because Julian Gideon knows this.
Sorry I couldn’t resist.
Seriously, We’re all fucked by a giant steele dildo made out of wood and plastic.
A.I Haggen rape.
Why not?
Call a theoritical physist and please, please, please invite us all to tell us what lies beyond the speed of light?
It’s so aweful here, that the thought of an Aerospace engineer fixing you a seat in a space rocket, ouiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, onto some planet unknown.
And that’s why I left everyone behind: Including myself.
Talking about death, have you ever been to a morgue before? It’s something strange about it. Imagine a large room deadly quiet, (yeh, the irony!) old yellowed tiles on the walls of a colour reminding of mental houses ages ago, windows opened in mid summer unable to cover the poignant smells of formaldehyde and methanol mixed with a subtle touch of rotting flesh (or that one is only in the mind of the viewer?!). You almost have the feeling that while breathing that contaminated air, one will inhale invisible particles of death flowing around, which will grow under the skin and spread like mold, like a chilling promise that you might be the next one on one of those beds laying in the middle of the room.
And there are the dead, naked, swollen, flesh yellow green with large hematomas here and there. The dead, stiff on their tables have a certain sobriety, still keeping some of the features of the former human that laughed and cried just days before, yet in their stillness they seem to be looking respectfully, with importance, to something greater on the other side…
You say that “Every person wishes death, a closure, and a relief from duties of life”… Are you sure? Call me a “scumbag liar” if you think otherwise but is anyone ever ready for that cold repulsive bed?