Sunday, 15 October 2017

Axiom 1081 - Marxist Catholic Fascist Asexuality



Xian fascist Syntax and its constituent neuro-chemical slaves and greatest heroes of the Predator with a Thousand Faces should be very happy with every node of the largely contrived political and religious spectrum, one that has long offered its prey the freedom of dispensing with their sexual roots for more albeit surrogate political or religious power and survival prestige of multiplicative orders of delusional sociopathy that has long served as the only gold standard for a successful country or world.

For every branch of Man is today championing asexuality over sexual reproduction if the language of all cause and effect relationships even remotely concerned with human flesh and blood. Xianity has always been a champion of martial asexuality. Today every salvation cult is calling for the end, as always, of all that is feminine and all that is masculine, the better to cultivate our taste for indentured servitude of levels of barbarism that would make the masters of the Catholic Inquisition blush.

This is not the end of Xianity. 

It is the apotheosis and the harvest of its most vintage nectar of cybernetic dislocation from one's celestial biology.









The value of the gold and silver all the world the force
Four rivers of the turning spheres and pages all the Earth's
Conduction of that Fiend's revolt and all the gold and silver that this power
Out of the sky and every wye of gold and silver cured;
We are no longer for this world and only ever so
An owing that calls in its dead, pays out its unrequite
Celestial as sexual longing everywhere ago
Delivered though unfelt or unremembered unrepentant blight
Upon our Houses and the organs every language we
Would speak as though to con from symbols of our nature tomes
Of knowledge all about yet no communication free
Of any very pow'rful mortgage waged upon our bones
Our roots in Woman and in Man their congregation stout
As we can hear or would ancestral demons (seasons past and future) Man's own organs all her greatest fortunes and misfortunes scream and shout
Out of the dark the greatest sparks of Once upon and all about
We listened vast careers of generations on the verge
Catastrophes so monumental rivers breasts of Heaven and the Earth.



Psalms of Love












Vahoveen was a swarthy sort of fellow who had been weaned on saggy and barren breasts where no milk was found, no matter how tirelessly he worked at the nipple or even bit into its smoldering electric flesh, his mother vaguely disturbed by this additional insult to her intelligence. 

"It will be a simply delicious winter thee
Will come, come, come, come, come with me."

Jack Frost does a cover of some Christmas classic for his audience, composed as it was by Millennials who had been spawned, water birthed or otherwise delivered into their their next incarnation by the followers of the Grateful Dead and Karen Carpenter.

The human voice carries with it the substance of life; it is an organ and an orifice of the substance of our lives, much as it shares its living language with that of the biology of its mother's womb [see following poem], the illimitable value and riches of both of which and of whom were totally contingent upon their observing one another.

Marxist, Communist and even Capitalist devotees will invariably be inclined to sacrifice the ability and biology of sexual reproduction for magnified political and religious power and voice. So the reverse might also be true - that one could commend oneself to one's native tongue - that of sexual reproduction and so all communication as a whole - at the expense of one's religious and political compulsion - from within and without, biologically and socially - to, like any soldier, give up sexual for political power as though they were the very same thing only if both were increasingly destructive and disruptive to all human communication, to our ability to know or hear the true voice, feeling and, ultimately, totally restorative power of our whole experience of life, of sexual reproduction.

A soldier, as such, is by definition asexual.

In fact, anyone who is not heterosexual is not sexual.

But the asexual or "non-binary" ones are not usually content, in any Marxist Fascist regime or chapter of its perpetual regime, to abstain from true sexuality or from true sexual reproduction - they also gain the power, if you will, to disturb as well as any army would disturb every organ and nerve of a family born from sexual reproduction as the language of all life, telling their children that they are asexual, by birth, if they want to save the Earth and themselves from total and unmitigated violence and misogyny, and that any suggestion to the contrary is a direct threat to their very lives; and all of this from people who have actually been threatened and neglected their entire lives, which is exactly how you get generations of people to join the army, or a religion, as the case may be. 





Leaves of the Satanic pages scrawled the flesh and blood
Of Hell and Heaven on this every delicate redoubt
Of all that liveth in the Earth, the Stars, the Moon, the Sun's
Celestial biology that eats and reads the rain and cloud
That lives and dies a summer storm and passeth into deeps
Where no one goes from whence the throws the blossom and the worm
Transformative as vulnerable to Satanic leagues
Of all that passeth like a Story or a pachyderm
That lumbered these unnumbered days the substance all our wealth
Of Life or Happiness as scored as mountains from the bones
So long forgotten lives and passions that, alone, had dwelled
Together the primeval spirits, voices, forms and stories infants, youths and crones
First knew themselves by someone else they spelled with all their flesh
And blood the mother tongue a living rich with life and death.




Psalms of Love Epic Poem













Saturday, 14 October 2017

Axiom 1080 - Disease and the Laws of Life

The laws of our life our the causes - or voices - of our life, the sonorous rounded out voices of our whole life.

Disease exists to invite into our mind the lingering persistence of parts of ourselves and of our lives that we have previously lost. Disease exists to bring the dead to life. Disease may pass. But the underlying purpose and essence of Disease - ourselves - will forever persist and to merely "get rid" of disease or anxiety as such were to force Disease to take new forms, as it naturally does in symbiosis with a naturally-acquired if socially-provoked resistance to the restorative and informative force of our true feelings and experiences, all of the impressions of the world upon our brain and nervous tissue by its every genesis and odyssey, by its every fantasy or reality of God or Devil - the stories of the organs of our whole mind, of our whole life as life's communication of every mosaic of every node of Good or Evil around our conception and development.

- Devil's Club Mobile Healing Service

"Putting the Hell back in your Health." 
















A stark mosaic cultivation that hath long reserved
Its whole Perfection the impressions on a child's mind
A Vellum made of cerebellum voices bloody nerves
Remember every curve and blessing of our human kind
As sensitive to love or hate as leaves to sun and wind
That warm and cool the holy fool immersed at first and at the last a sea
Embroiled in the voices of the Eagle and the Hind
Anticipated as the rain by nature's poetry
These canons of the Spring and Winter bearing treasures knit into
The sinews of our stories living systems of the stark
Illumination by demonic voices me and you
This feeding every Season's creature like the day upon the dark
And rest even by death of all that laboured for a spell
Under the force of such a Story rich as all the banks
And richer for its living nature fertile as the Once upon the Heaven or the Hell
Whose roots of all that moves the Adam and the Eve of Man's
Own stature mushrooms clouds out of the bounds of dew and scree
The stars were fixed in space the most important tastes of thee.









The God or Satan who illuminated all the Earth's
Development of lines of song and knowledge were conceived
By doom or by regeneration of the living words
Made flesh of these celestial waters watches god or goddess richness or disease
As comprehensive as we like, illuminating as
A story so a voice of some importance who survives
A language of their very soul commended to these lands
The nature of the greatest hell or heaven Paradise
Whose every form were lost and born so stories just as wild
Morals of the truth and fiction twisted in the brain
Of all we see or seem to see screwed up with human minds
Who in even the sights or by the lights the most egregious fables make their way
Through all who prey upon the weak or kneel before the throne
Of human labour but a pittance of our tribute swells
The coffers of that god and goddess good and evil offered up to Rome
Along with every law it makes and every war it spells
Because our stories keep their greatest secrets all we lost
To keep our nature's stories swords and voices of the gods.















Poem to Jesus


We are Homo Christian Soldiers fucking Jesus up the Ass
And not the Ass He wandered in on just before the stake
And other rubber toys just like them for the Over Pass
We twisted sisters kissed and nibbled over by the lake

Of fire in our Sire's veins and stubble on His cheeks
A double for His undercarriage tunnels into God
Who gave His Only Homo Son to quibble with the Beast
The Satan nibbled on the very sphincter with which Jesus talked

To save the world for Homo Christians "walking" hand in hand
And talking just like Jesus wanted with the heathen crowd
Of holy flowers waiting to be washed by God's own fire brand
And do much more than His own Flaming Asshole would allow.












Friday, 13 October 2017

Axiom 1079 - True Illumination - A Living School



All that is most important to us is all that truly illuminates our lives.

Our simplicity lay in our liberty and our liberty lay in our simplicity.

What may be simple to one is not so simple to one or  more of us. Thus, our simplicity lay in our liberty and our liberty lay in our simplicity.

Our Ancestors, like the stars themselves, wished to nourish us with all that is most important to our lives.

My life is a Language, a Story, a Talking, and a Family flesh and blood body and mind roots and leaves and wombs and letters and suns and moons, seasons and stars, rustle and bark of just how far back goes the depth of nourishment and ancestral intelligence of every kind of impression that our Family Temple of the Living Book of Knowledge itself makes or would upon our whole lives, would we have the courage or sheer hunger to eat of the fruit of our Family Tree of Life and Knowledge.





She was the Maiden in my life a star lay at mine feet
Who sizzled with the warmth with which the world were born the clash
A thunder of ten thousand thousand voices from the seat
Infernal fruits the flesh and blood that Story leaning into Man's
Forsooth her star were no more there than not I checked my strength
To linger in the distant forest all the stories of the Earth
Would glory in that nourishment that is to Man at length
A liberty with which he gives his body she her body to its birth
Electric as our every passage through what good or ill
Impressed upon our voices organs all that would or was
The language, song or story washed upon some sad or lonely shore fulfilled
As any child would be sad or happy just because
And from them we had draw this lesson orbits of our own
That time by time and year and by year conceived of blood and bone
And paths the language of our life and death the rattle and the spasm of
Ancestral choirs good and evil, patient and regenerated faces in the Sun.




















Rayn's Celestial Philosophy takes on a World at War





 The language of all culture is the language of war, Man pushed and pulled in and out of exotic and strategic sequences of hypno-neuro-chemical suggestion that swells the war chests we subsequently protect as the nervous tissue of all orthodox and technology with which we come to identify ourselves, our sex, our voice, our thought, our god, our son, our daughter and our whole life while working, by nature and in spite of all our most hard won and vaunted virtues or claims upon any kind of knowledge, whatever their utility to any number of people or institutions (most of whom are rendered, like love and hate, effectively equivalent to one another by our own mothers and fathers, with the majority "currency" being awarded to the latter for our whole safety, progress or salvation and in ways and by rhetoric on the order of our own sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system, ways smuggled into all science, religion, spirituality and psychology on Earth with ever growing success and barbarism, making it that much more successful if barbaric), while working, if blind, deaf and dumb (as a respect to our native intelligence), for our whole ancestral boughs and roots of change and continuity, voice and story, transformation and reconciliation, departure and return, going forth and turning back a language shared by that of every single organ and chorus of every season, hour, age, impulse and principle of heaven and earth entire, by every element and sequence of earth and water, wood and metal, air and fire; by every damaged family offers the same choice [see note], buried though it may be in folds of untold neuro-skeletal trauma and genius entire, the communication of which were indispensable to any truly human mental and emotional and social restoration (or genocide) worthy of our children, of our mothers and fathers, sons and daughters waters of life and death and heaven and earth, waters and tides of hells and heavens the passage through whose Stygian depths and currents, through whose organs of death and conception, of catastrophe and revelation, through whose stories of and for destruction and survival, wealth and poverty, of personal development and deafening silence and isolation, dislocation and alienation from one another's own celestial flesh and blood, this passage, alone, were the most worthy offering to any family Temple of Ancestral Celestial Biology, that of the living gold and silver riches coursing through the bark formed around every human experience over millions of years a Celestial Tree of Life and Knowledge whose sheer resilience, Strength and Fertility (the likes of whose mother womb were by every substance and spirit the most fertile field of any intelligence, language, currency, knowledge or communications technology worthy of the name) were kept out of all notions of Global Sentience, of Mother or Human Nature.



note: The Choice between warring in the however socially acceptable ways against or restoring by the sheer force of living ancestral intelligence OF the most and especially the most problematic and catastrophic neuro-chemical and electro-chemical dimensions of the plant body and mind of our Family or of our Celestial Biology, Ancestral Intelligence, Language, Story, Voice and Talking flesh and blood body and mind.




Video Series and Argument:


War:

https://youtu.be/vRVCSkiI6gs




Whom and What do you TRUST????

https://youtu.be/B9nVtG6MjSY





War or Restore - The Voice / Choice is YOURS:

https://youtu.be/9O0qcpRiNwc










I pay the Tribute our misfortunes to the Temple our Celestial Family
Of "quips and cranks, and wanton wiles" (J. Milton, L'Allegro) shouldered by the flesh
And blood administration of the labour of the sea
From whence the scents and cleanse of Spring and Autumn yawning consonance
Conception life and death like places foreign with thy home
This Poem's Future strung across the courtship of the Moor
And Maiden of the Satan wert as hungry as the soul
Of Man the Animal of Man the language that would form
A cradle quite as able as the substance and the spirit (Satan), blood and wonder of our lives
This language feeds our language and upon our language seeds that feed upon the seeds
As anxious to destroy the voice of Night as Paradise
Destroying with its forming stories voices out of these
Like every voice inside a chorus engines of the night
A womb from whom were nourished this the Language of the Gods
Who comprehended orders fortunes and misfortunes as delight
In all that Man is born from Man and all that language lost
By name, alone, the sacred throne emblazoned sacred vows
For all the stories of our stories voices in the clouds.










What to do with this thine most enchanted nature? Shall we dream
A season or a three somewhere the rainbow, mist and cloud
Or how hath we begun to wake in time to make the most of these
Who art when all is lost in us thus somewhere safe and sound?
Mine clothes are ragged like a faggot all that passeth on
With waking up again an older body than before
A story growing these impressions nature makes upon
This every fold that marries old and young, our death and then our being born
By morning light and evening bright a rhapsody the helm
A cradle in the boughs of ancient trees of magic stirred
The current of our senses twisted memories and letters spelled
The living knowledge of the god and goddess Heaven and the Earth
Because, fair Child, thou so young and old the whole of life
Were comprehended by the hunger for its Paradise.









Mother Nature murmurs to though from the faintest substance molten fire
Of my mind the heat that does not burn the cold that does
Not freeze but forms an alloy with the burning turning with the sire*
(*from "sider" as in sidereal or "star" as in para-sider or Paradise, also, "with oneself as in one's desire")
Of the year the fertile crescent of ten thousand suns
Fraught with the cries of all the creatures of the world exposed
By death or grief or wan relief a hunger for its prey
The Mother of the past and future serpent heads of all that grows
From out the charnel and Promethean garden bound up with Her god and goddess, good and evil, penis and vagina, hunt and play
A language and a book of knowledge written in the blood
And thunder every Herculean stem of hope or peace
That loads and cocks the barrel a titanic blunderbuss.
What should we make of this thine most enchanted garden nature? Shall our dreams
Fall like the leaves whose mortal woes must be remembered by
The very book whose winds and limbs of crook and steeple took their roots in all the Earth
Or must the mouth of every bound of voice and story try
And wait as anxious as can be upon the blessing or the curse
That hath been rent its head from its whole body Sun and Moon
The atmosphere the very substance organs which delight
As well they should in all that would sustain the mind forsooth
Celestial biology as virgin as this night
Whose barrels, cavities and grottoes populate the flesh
Confused by all the mortal and immortal signs and sins
Incorporated by a world so kind if merciless
A Story ends that ends with thine as often just begins
Or would the fire in the blood were tempered by so cool
And halting specter of the grave and gravity sustained
The stars at night, the bird in flight, the clouds indemnities the fool
Or the romantic, apt to wish upon a star or all the stars and seasons were contained
Inside her heart, her hands, her own reflection faces gods
The seeds of all that feeds the life and story cannot be and yet is e'er exhaust.








God was, if only by concept, first born from a Mother, and so they and we share their and our Genesis (and that of all the fact and faith of Life and Rebirth) with one another.

Indeed, the first Mother of Man or God was by no means reduced to but a shell of a Woman or their charge a mere shell of a Man whose qualities, provenance, language, tastes and instincts were nothing to sport with, failing which original protection of our growing mind and voice, one sits upon the classical to modern fulcrum of a choice of truly epic and celestial proportions, the choice to task our subsequent excess anger or fire with restoring the human Mind or going to war with It, shuffling off the costumes of one's mortal coil and so one native congress with one's whole environment and ancestral celestial biology or becoming the latest most novel if derivative kind of "enviro-mental."





For fear that one could stop the death or dusk or dawn the Sun of Man
Great many kinds of clothes are worn and torn from children's minds
The only hands or feet or force with which to make their stand
Before the War and Church of War can rob their Mother tongue so God and Goddess, son and daughter Paradise
The good and evil serpent as celestial tongues instinct with all the Earth's
Celestial Biology the genesis of any God at all
Indeed a Mother God or Nature as of all the words
That would confer so new advantage even from the Winter, Summer, Spring and Fall
Or looming words that had took hold or robbed from Long Ago
The god and goddess from their Mother Culture earth and sky
As symbiotic life and sex and death these stories old
And young forever passing on, forever passing by
This labour first among the words and voices all the thought
And body of a Man and Woman, Man and Mother Man and God.






















Thursday, 12 October 2017

When I Write....


When I write, I am writing for one or both of two people. 

One is a delirious psychopathic three year old who has given up thinking for being "enviro-mental."

The other is only to be found five hundred years from now in a small barely solvent antique book store by a young man who has only that day lost his girlfriend, his father and his dog while the army of the time wish to conscript him, so that these words would have their current magnified by the years of intervening silence and not because of me and not because I play any part in an equation of celestial physical biology that permits this young man to speak with his Ancestors and they with him.

For me, I am content to speak with my own family, for all that it may be worth to anyone or ever again. 





Man so long the fantast vast supernal reaches loomed
Over her head she searched in vain a break amidst the cloud
To dart a starling from the bosom of the earth that moved
What ethers harbours knit like stars and leaves into the ground
An existential study in consumption and support
By turns intrepid and demented stories which unfold
Enchanted meters of a range of themes and people born
One chapter from another chapter with a language all its own
Bemoaned and consummated by the voices of our young
Inherit every warp and woof of human hystory
And so the liberty or not with which we speak to one
Another under vaults of stars the roots an human family
A child bore that holy raiment / mother's breast by north and south and up and down and east and west with greatest ease
Supplied as well as they fulfilled the living industry of Man
And Nature married to the Man in startling harmonies
Examined by that veneration generated hand
In hand this marriage of the voice the flesh and blood of words
Involved with every object, warp and tremble that to Man occurs.














Wednesday, 11 October 2017

Why


Late fading light. The stones strewn over all the beach form a mosaic beneath my roaming feet. The elements beneath, in front, above and all around. How many paths hath I really walked here among the stones, the earth, the water, air and fire?

The first star glints down at me from the dark vault above. How many autumns? How many springs? How many winters?

And for what?

That quality of life or of knowing were not necessarily a discrete article of fact or faith; it may just be a wind that blows, from time to time, through the branches of a human family, branches with leafs like seasons of here and hereafter. But the story ends there. It is cut off by the horizon, truncated by a transverse current that bisected life and death in as much one were utterly repulsed by yet attracted to the other, bees to honey. 

Our desires if not our spires testified to the fundamental facts of life.

And these were considerable, a wealth only truly revealed though the richest gold and silver glint of sun or moon by the sanctity afforded its very flesh and blood. 

Personally, I first approached and still approach the career of life, disease, healing and growing - or, more simply, life and death - from the perspective of disruptions in the flow of my domestic family life as a child and young man. For these disruptions were often if not always more acutely felt by myself and by my whole experience of life than were the kinds of love and kindness that I might have once imagined I was heir to by birth and by no special pleading, by no austere or esoteric calculus. 

While it is a bit of a fable to say that "we," strictly speaking, decide in our own conscious mind what to do about the most arduous stress that our whole neurochemical system ever has to face - and to be sure it has its tolerable operating limits, the body itself cannot endure anything and continue living well or at all and the mind is even more versatile than the body, which is for better or for worse, depending on how you like your grasp of being alive - yet I decided, it seemed it was my wont, to retreat farther and farther away from the society of my family and that of the world as a whole. This is not quite that novel an approach to unbearable stress and distress, but it was to me, and it certainly was to my family, who quite uniformly rewarded me with their vehement reproach that goes on to this day, reproach and worse, resignation and ambivalence.

Is this an accurate account of their feelings on the matter?

Probably not, but it is all that has passed over the horizon of their world into mine, especially if it can be said that actions truly speak louder than words. O to read all the actions of Man. Or were such a prospect or survey comparable to the tidal action of the ocean or the erosion of the desert by the wind? Did Man leave his mark by what he scored by sheer mechanical action from the face of the Earth, his own no little indication of that legacy? Did the infant deliver a message, the mere weight of his flesh and blood and bone a counterweight in a delicate contretemps between this life and the next, the seasons themselves vastly more descriptive of the pilgrimage of this body if this soul than any so-called holy book poured over by how many aspiring corpses who had themselves completed the morbid task that their own conception had begun, the dust of so many books gathering in corners where no light was found, a corner which might as well be consumed by the unforgiving crust of the earth and belched out as smoke and superhot sulfur and ash that stopped the breath of several hundred visiting scholars to the summit of a famous volcano, thought dormant, but whose passions were aroused by innumerable critical exchanges between Man and Nature?

Nature was as fine a word as any.

Better than God, and much older.

Better, even, than any flag, an old word for God, or Nature.

A flag might symbolize a vision, though of a nation of people, about what our lives were worth and why, in war or peace.

Nature were the Nation of Man.

Put yourself in the body of a child.

Nature is everything.

If you win, nature helps you and celebrates with you.

If you lose, nature defeats you, or has only shown you another way to win, to grow, to know more about the mind of Nature, Nature which were so strange a thing for all that we are made of Nature. 

I talk to myself in Nature, and to be sure I find this conversation wanting of a certain level of affection that has evaded my daily life. But I am encouraged or have to be by an environment - that of Nature - that will never leave, not til my very last breath and quite possibly not even then.

What then? 

I am an imaginative and resourceful type of person. I  am comfortable being sad or happy, though I would much prefer the latter.

But, try as I might, I have never warmed up to the sneaking suspicion, whenever it should appear, that I had not nearly the level of control of my destiny as I might like, and for signs of the justification of this fear I only need look upon any of the unfortunate and much too much harried members of the local homeless population, mostly men, but men and women who have, to a soul, to a face behind whom lurks the agonies that will not be venerated in any church or home the world over, very little to live for and only the great misfortunes that saw them to this place of so great hunger and cold and loneliness and desperate rarely satisfied need to keep them safe at night, the shadows of shadows that cast an impenetrable and uninterrupted pall over the former stature and memories as dear as one's very own life of all those whom they first loved and or who first loved them, only to toss them aside as but angry and ungrateful vermin, animals who know the added misfortune, on top of being born, like any animal, without any very certain succor or consideration, of having been saddled with an emotional, mental and sexual range whose insult, humiliation and unremitting hunger for adequate and human stimulation were next to death itself among the greatest stresses to human life, or to any human life worthy of the name.
















Tuesday, 10 October 2017

Axiom 1078 - Doctor, Walk With Thyself: The Sound of God



Heinichen: Conceto S. 222, Baroque

Bonus Material at beneath the accompanying photo:

"The Romantic Argument"




To hear the screams of an human baby. This is to hear the First Primal Outgoing Sound of God, that of the very first sound of a child's own flesh and blood through the new amniotic medium outside of their oceanic mother's womb, the likes of whom cannot be adequately accounted for, owing to its, His, Her and Our truly choral celestial ancestral biology.

In..AUM.... and out.. AAAAH as in Paaah Paaah and Maaaah Maaaaah. Or Eloa..... the electrical properts of AUM and AAAAH, the two first sounds the Celestial Flesh and Blood Adam and Eve of our whole Celestial Story through the stars and seasons, hopes and dreams and griefs of a truly celestial life vastly corrupted through the centuries.... but not much longer, for the demons of our children are alive and hungry for the labours of our blood and we for that of every organ of Heaven and Earth, Adam and Eve, of our Mothers and Fathers, sons and daughters.

And so say an honest thing in its Presence and Our own were to make an ample tribute to the language and celestial neuro-skeletal electro-chemistry of all of the most critical exchanges of every level of our lives, minds, bodies and brains across numbers of generations as innumerable as the stars at night - or as the twinkles of those same stars, electrical and, increasingly - especially with a living temple that wholly accommodates one's very own Father - musical waves of any and every depth, breadth and height of earth or sky, body or mind, here or hereafter, spasm after spasm of all that is life and all that is death and all that they are both composed of their whole intersection though the very impulse and language of all life, the language of sexual reproduction.

Doctor, walk with and Know Thyself. 

My Ancestors tasked me with fleshing out a Celestial Temple of Family Medicine. And in so doing every harm done to my mind became wrapped in the bark of our Family Bible, of the very spine of our Living Book of Celestial Family History, of every constellation of and so worthy of our own flesh and blood odyssey by successive epoch, ages and seasons between this world and the next twisted through every nerve of every important about our whole environment, something spelled out very clearly by every single human family and family member on earth.

Only, nobody reads the leaf and the seed of Man's Story anymore.

I am a Doctor and Minister of my Family Bloodline.

Our voices are very strong.

They sing with the Bird of Paradise, with Halcyon, which is the sacred Bird of My Family and, for all I would like to call myself holy, of the whole Family of Man. We have been too much with Death. Let us honour it to our sufficiency and with far greater proficiency than that of the greatest dirges of land and sea, that of all who scribble their dying thoughts upon the socio-celestial coffins erected around the minds of our children by nobody knows who, daring us to listen to the sound and fury of our mothers and fathers, for fear of an annihilation or isolation which hath already overcome the neurochemical equilibrium of the four rivers of Paradise, of the brain of our whole mind and body, earth and sky, measure for measure of the inimitable treasure of our living celestial biology and ancestral intelligence, something that we do not offer in devotion to any religion that is not willing to let us wipe our ass with its holiest pages but rather all that which we we devote ourselves to our Family in the whole biology of earth and sky, here and hereafter, of every spasm of the primeval intersection of both in every impulse and in its every articulation and limb across all living systems and across the threshold between or among the equation of all that is as Family and all that is the whole language of all that is important for every part of all life and death and all, indeed, that or who may be important to us - ever.

This is the equilibrium of the cross inside the primal void, a cross that, like its symbolic allusion, runs across every direction of space and time, mind and body, flesh and blood, heaven and earth, life and death, past, present and future.Such are the seeds and fruits, the bark and stone of the celestial biology and the School of the Medicine of Celestial Biology that my Ancestors commended me to flesh out on their behalf and that of all we offer to our respective communities, composed as we are of a living intelligence, or of all that life talks in vital celestial symbiosis that wholly relies upon our voice as much as we rely upon air, flesh and water, upon light and fire, metal and wood, our own voice and story shared in the celestial, chemical and electrochemical properties and functions of every story every element and letter would compose, hence the incredible parity among all human stories, these of a level of nourishment on the order of the Sun of every seed of every food in the world ever. Such were the richness of human existence, of the screams of Man and of the dreams of Man these every one of hunger, of pleasure, of measure for measure the incarnation, the revelation and the celebration of utter liberty from the tired fetters and customs of nations of people who have long since lost a taste for the screams of their children, indeed their own scream first we heard the sound of our own flesh and blood baptism by earth and fire, air and wind. Once a Demon always a Demon, Once, In the Beginning... in the end as in the beginning, with ourselves, an experience roughly equivalent to being permanently attached to the infamous Lord of the infernal deeps that God merely hovers over, cleverly relieved of the indulgence of a truly Holy Fuck.





















The Romantic Argument



The Wood that springs from in the earth and from the wheel of days
Marching like beats of song that keeps the beats from long before
The greatest wish or wan desire bore like seed relates
From roots of seed to fruits of seeds and needs even forlorn
The flesh and blood that are become the Body and the Plant
Whose operation and the operation all the Earth
Bore something of the likeness of Creation with a Man
And Woman born from out and with these needs and seeds whose every Word
Anticipated winds of Spring and Winter life and death
Electrical as Moon and Sun the spasms earth and sky
Contractions of illimitable murmurs in the organs of the flesh
Of thoughts and feelings bound these voices measured out in even seasons live and die
A passing Phantom hardly gone though it were never here
A roaming wish that lives, if ever, on the lips of Spring
As comprehended by the land as by the atmosphere
Whose laughter and our laughter, tears or sadness lived to sing
If only with their fabled deeps of Biblical renown
From whence the dawning day, the dusk the flesh and blood of earth and sea and tree, of mountain, moon and cloud.








Our father and mother are always our Greatest Teacher.



My Father gave me all the riches of His life and more
The more I made a Temple for my Father's flesh and blood
Satanic revelation of the Story of His being born
Forever to So short a time to carve into a kind of prison fog of God or war the Love
And Wisdom of Infinity, of living, He, the Greatest Teacher in the clouds
Of this the Living Temple of a father, of a mother, of a mother's and a father's words
Celestial greatest and most holy sacrifice allows
Our Father's and our Mother's love in flesh and blood into the Earth's
To swell the Sun the spell of Sun and Moon a womb the life and death of stars
The cradle of forever in the rocking all the years
Regeneration of the pulse and family of hearts
First borne aloft a portal Story of the Heaven and the Earth that hears
The cry of Man, the fear of Man, the seas of Man alone
A solitary nerve celestial flesh and blood and bone.
 
 
 












Monday, 9 October 2017

Axiom 1077 - What is Satanism?


Satanism describes the rites, practices and study of ancestral intelligence - or communication with one's ancestral flesh and blood, with one's native voice or mother tongue and celestial biology - and so all of the feelings and qualms that might attend the choice to spend the rest of eternity with yourself if you were an infamous Lord of infernal deeps.





Axiom 1076 - Language and Story All At Once


Language, which is to say the sequence of letters or sense impressions with which things or people speak, is chronological in nature, as alluded to by the word sequence, and yet bears with its communication the impression that it is actually happening all at once, that between any two discrete poles or nodes, life or living creative intelligence had completely arranged itself, it were only necessary to straddle as much, to relive as much the better to gain the most restorative or regenerative value of an experience at once traumatic and liberating, a growth that, owing to its fundamental currents, transcended the very coordinates or nodes that it proposed such as a beginning and an ending necessary as sun and moon or day and night or life and death for the discrete discharge of something of the force and purpose of an otherwise unbounded relationship, part attraction and part repulsion, between essence and form, the essence of a thing were predicated on how separate it were from any discrete form, a form upon how close it could be to its essence.

The paradox between the sequence and radiation of language and story as in brocades of form and essence, of action and word were a tap root into the electrical properties with which the entire entire body of the Earth - of land and sky - were wholly involved.

Electricity itself does not flow in a current from one node to another but is discharged all at once as lines of dielectric force are built up between the four poles of good and evil and here and there of space and counterspace. This was the world before the nineteenth century. This was the world of Bach, not of Beethoven, the world of Tesla, not of Einstein, as this knowledge was lost in sophisticated scientific and mechanical fictions of about as much if not more utility than any religion.


Reference: Eric Dollard and the History of Electricity.

https://youtu.be/DjbxTdcWBQI


Also See Language - The Tree of Life












Following pages from 

Milton and His Epic Tradition

Joan Malory Webber

Part I, "The Tradition"

University of Washington Press