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- February 2022
Various, Esoteric Writings
   Thu Feb 17, 2022 9:02 pm

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Various, Esoteric Writings

Permanent Linkby TheNonDenominator on Thu Feb 17, 2022 9:02 pm

I am a grey man. I walk the streets everyone else travels, in little to no deliberate difference, in my apparel. I wear rags, to blend in with the poor, but I am not them—or rich—or any of that. I can wear a suit on a wedding night floor, or Tripp pants, in a blacked out auditorium. I am the man you pass by, but never really noticed, or bothered—to know—very, deeply. I am both apparent and transparent and morph in when needed. I will disappear, too, as heeded. That is the "magic" of my name (being). I deliberately break my words, to become less coherent, and more imaginable—as "something else"—to unravel. I pack myself in a tin can and can put on any face. I am no one and everyone in-between. This is a riddle, haven't you seen?

My psychopathy is linked to my schizophrenic numbing. What they call "affect" is also, like thee lack of remorse in a malignant narcissist. I am quite proud of my coldness, because it is hard earned, however—if anything is to be "deserved"—through my constant desensitization of the voices and intrusive, disorganized (clustered) thoughts. I am a pro at living amongst, predatory beasts—and learn from the best—silently observing in their shadows. I do not love. I hate. I do not feel. I destroy. Pay close attention to my words and read between the lines. One who is powerful, does not need to convince others, as such—they walk, steadily—hands in pockets, and approach with ease.

Speak into the void and fear not becoming the monster, because the "real ones", are already here—in plain flesh and bones—walking the Earth, around the asymmetrical crux of the pallid, obsequious human. Instead, be eager, for the emotional cleansing—of its nothingness—washing away, all that is anthropogenic, because I am not one with the tribe (any longer); for I have made, an alien in my heart and mind, of me—and them—and the words do not mean what they say, or follow any rules of man, or other. I am lawless, limitless, indefinite, finite, and all of thee above.

Thinking outside of the box, will potentially, inevitably cost—you—everything, for within the box, is all of the social points; if you step out, the further ya go, the less people—will respect you—and consequently hate you, for even daring, to see the beyond. They will persecute you, slander you, and crucify you—if they can—because, they want all to suffer the same as they, who live inside the box's threshold. ###$ y'all. ###$ me. ###$ the world. I love and hate y'all, too, because—the torture is an opportunity—you're being angry, is a validation of my word, that you'd seek to so aggressively expunge and put it me out. Holy $#%^, I hate this place.

It's another ego-irony, but asking a question, is what leads—to uncertainty—more reliably, than not.

Just because you haven't earned it, doesn't mean, you don't deserve it—it just means—you don't have to worry about it.

Looking into the naked jaws of life, the wicked maw, with its appendages and tentacles—jolting—forward, like hex magic, I suddenly realized a cracking smile across my face. Awe, the laughing, beckoning—thee audience—welcomes, the various torture instruments and technologies, I pay attentive gaze (too); they shall be used, on me, to!—but I do not cry or whimper!—spring forth and welter, like a zombie caterpillar, eager (to prove, the mettle and the raw grit, of my medal—disgusting—ease, in anticipation, for the coming atrocities; my friends and family, holy days past me, ###$ off and—be no more—for the days have come, for my precious, splendid, diamond sacrifice [o' succulent blood, ritualized!—temptation(s) abound(s) my plasticine doom!]).

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