To Sculpt The Stars

The barren plane, hushed and vast

The arrow flies and must be passed

The stage of contest, endless night

The dark undone in curtains flight

Threads of thought, like gold out-spun

Threads of thought, to braid the sun

To sculpt the stars, like wetted clay

To hold the seasons, one must pay

Coinage flowing—slick and red

Mintage of the psyche bled

Algid silence, from the tomb

Pulsing notes, as from a womb

Ruptured by the plenum’s ire

Thrumming fierce as serpent’s fire

It to be expunged—consumed

Reforged amidst the death of doom

Nothing Lasts

Stars fall

against the murk

of the night sky,

a rain of fireflies,

dying in mid-flight,

hurtling,

heralding,

upon gentle heads blow,

cruel truths.

Nothing lasts. Nothing lasts.

Listen to the harmony,

that inaudible peal

(Ong)

that sets heavenly bodies to spin,

amidst everchanging kaleidoscopes

of the Void’s sacred geometries,

pulling,

tugging at Fate,

with the waxing

and waning

of single points of light.

Nothing lasts.  Nothing lasts.

We,

the kings and queens

of planets and moons,

tread upon paths

of celestial dust

wishing, searching

to join hands in communion

with the witnesses

to our ignorant freefall into The Bottomless.

Nothing lasts.  Nothing lasts.

New Mechanichism: Theorem-set 1

The first installment of a new project wherein I shall be taking excerpts from my notebooks and social media which are concurrent with the general thought trajectory of this site and create of them a patchwork of sayings, axioms and notations interspersed with images that serve to further illuminate the themes contained therein. /1/7/18/


New Mechanichism

All foundational ontologies terminate in the abyss.

Form-towards-purpose breeds purpose of form.

Time is subordinate to entropy.

Thus, kill not time, but entropy.

To wit, the fly-jar must be shattered.

From the remains, a new mechanichism.

A open system for us alone to close.

Rescind the offering.

Thereat the gate of mars.

All is war when the mind is fire.

Willful form, there shaped by iyre.

At the gate of The Sun we offer up all temptation of loss, of body and of mind.

I entreat you to join me in murdering the stars.

Ra deigns your death. Best to kill him first. Shorn of Set, he is powerless before Apophis.

A glorious new sun rises through the rarefied air, borne aloft by the force of our wills alone. A sun which will bathe the ignorant in its glorious effulgence and weld the wicked steel of the world into a grand, new machine.


General-thought-towards-action

Where a particular ideology originated in time says nothing whatsoever of it’s worth or applicability.

Quality over quantity generally produces works of integrity. Quantity over quality generally produces works of concession.

Oh, course you should attack someone because of their beliefs if their beliefs are sufficiently lacking in coherence or practicability or moral soundness or any other qualities which some body agrees upon as important. To refrain from attack in such a position is cowardice.

Half-measures are the death of purpose.

No decline is “irreversible” provided sufficient political will.


Of America

I’ve heard many explanations posited for America’s descent into madness. Chief among them, I would posit, is a total lack of conceptual clarity. This troublesome tendency for words and phrases to be allowed near-infinite malleability within everbrisker periods of time. Liminality.

A good rule for American foreign aggression: Ensure that country or non-governmental organization which we are engaging has declared war upon us or a true ally first. It really isn’t very complicated.

“Racism” “Family values” “anti-semitism” “feminism” “Americanism” All have become vagaries. Oh yes, there is the “dictionary definition” but when near to no one adheres to it, the potency of such a statement is nullified. That is to say, a untenable language game, for a game has, of necessity, rules, else it is no such thing.

The panopticon is not a system of arms but a system of minds. A prison for zombies, fashioned by ghosts.

Hard hearts are required. Color revolutions in Iran are not.

In 1955, the conservative American icon William F. Buckley wrote that the project of his paper, National Review, was to, “Stand athwart history, yelling, ‘STOP!’” We shall stand athwart history, yelling, “Catch up!”

Old-Anatomy-Drawings-Head-Dissection


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