Here’s what they want…for you to black out between the dots. They want your reference point shattered and your memory to wither and crack, aerated into a glittery sieve. Forgetting forgetting forgetting. They want to take away any chance you have at perspective…at stepping back and breathing in for two goddamn seconds to yourself. Every move you make is watched and analyzed by the crowd…who wouldn’t become a numbed down, window watching derelict after all the social expectation… car after car after car passing between the glass? Who gives a shit what stop you’ve passed on the tracks? The train keeps moving baby, and that’s the fix that they get our kids addicted to, an endless next leaving in its wake a nothingful now.

 We crave that next message, that next digital assertion of our Mickey Mouse egos, that next pat on the back, the next new best friend (even though we still IM our old one, then talk shit behind his/her back). This generation isn’t ready for a goddamn thing. We need our 3-Day Park Passes and instant front of the line access and endless spools of cotton candy so we can ruin our over-priced  Gift Store sweatshirts…the whole family silent and staring, sometimes kids screaming, no one smiling…just staring at their phones and i-whatever’s waiting for some one a million miles away to tell them they are one of god’s children.

 But don’t let the evil fool you like it has fooled them. They do not worship the Sun God who saved the Earth, who willed humanity and consciousness to life, who we killed and keep killing and will forever try to kill until he says fuck these lunatics and squashes the whole deal…not the Sun God that guards the karmic highways and souls of the righteous and truth seekers and lovers of the dream…tightening the gyre towards the Zero Point. No, the men and women of good ol’ USA (and beyond) have been hi-jacked…their energy has been misguided. They worship the god of the airport jackals and the cash for flesher’s and the invisible lamprey mother-lord’s huddled in Caribbean mansions guzzling Crab Louis’ and fucking black market virgins. They dress their evil gods with authority and ritual and $$$ so they can quietly destroy the original messages of the Sun God. They rework virtues and tell us to work overtime and pay our taxes and not ask questions and never let the blacks into town…they want a new 10 commandments…Honor thy screen and thy server.

 I would like to also clarify between the two they’s…the they’s at the theme parks and the they’s behind the control boards. The theme parkers are lovable bastards, even though in crowds, as Huxley saw, they can  be moved to utter stupidity and cruelty… they are malicious finkster fucks if they are not approached and handled correctly, but more often than not there is some spark left in the flint box of their hearts. You really need to give them time, they have been getting spoon fed by the other them’s for so so so long…and in every aspect of their lives. That’s some serious psychological conditioning in need of rewiring…and I always suggest a nice mild dose of LSD and 7 hours on a beach with some of their loved ones. They are alright…they take time but so does everything worthwhile…we all have the center of our universe in us…well, except for them.

 Now this is the they, they who are nameless forever and lurk in the shadows and deal invisibly like Soviet counter-insurgents…they are tricky tricky tricky. Since they control the gallows’ hang switch it will be hard to get at them now…but once the other they’s are all rewired, then we can get them, together. Because their gallows, them’s gallows, those gallows are invisible… their laws and rules and control mechanisms are unhinged and unnatural… more authority rests, in theory, with the librarian catching you eating a PB&J between the shelves… but (this is a big BUT) they have turned us into tattle tale henchmen and have filled us with doubt and distrust and a SEXUAL FUCK LOVE DESIRE for the $. We carry out their bidding and are naive enough to think our intuitions to buy and sell and spend spend spend are from our own brains…or for some higher good.

 Once we realize that we are a means to they’s end, and all of our desires and wants and needs to party in their Caribbean compounds where liver flukes lay wagers over the weight of their third wives silicon tits…once we simplify things, and get back to you and me and not a network of 7 Billion, then we’ll have a shot. Maybe the they’s of today are getting too fat and twisted in their prostates and bilious… maybe the old rapists will escape our torches, choking on their jowels in a silent midnight…but even if we can’t, the Sun God will get them. They can’t escape the Sun God.

And neither can you.



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