Every day I know I’m supposed to be making my art.
My writing, be it poetry, fiction, biography or otherwise.
Most-so my music.
I feel … too free, trapped in this overwhelm of possibility, of apathy.
My work, so that I am worthy, and not some useless drone, is to be an artist. Not to bitch about the alchemy that protects me, albeit in minor sum, financially.
I see such horror in this world. So many morons believing lies, that too.
The horror of innocence raped. The horror of pretend adults masking their reality. Just get ready for the AR, Players Ones.
My will to upward spiral is in-tact.
I know that we live from life to life, evolving towards spiritual perfection.
So I feel hellacious when I just… want to ‘give in’. Code up with the vampyrs, you know?
Coz fuck if I’m going to take the Steiner Shot. You know what I’m talking about?
In 1917 Rudolph Steiner said this. I know what I know, and I don’t need some fucking white coat satan arse licking loser to fool me in to negating my own gnosis. What a bunch of fool-ass cowards and moron idiot losers I see around me. My compassion for them has drawn near thin-to-nigh.
And in this backwards world, this Damnationland, we see the foolish cows trusting the same people/entities that would gladly rape them, suck them dry, and throw them away.
Just venting, since it’s better than drinking, and after all, I’m ‘an artist, an performer, an entertainer’ … an APE, acronymming it.
So everything I say is just a joke. You know?
“I can say what I want to, even if I’m not serious.” – ‘Hush’, by Tool
And so many who are taught to ‘follow reason’, ho ho ho, oh oh oh no no no they don’t. Unless I haven’t been ‘read in’, you know, maybe that’s it. But fuck, fuck, fuck it all. I just don’t work for Satan. I would rather die than give up freedom. But perhaps, perhaps somewhere along the lines back over a decade ago, maybe, before all my initiations, before my becoming engaged and then breaking it off… maybe I made a deal with a devil that was instantine. Perhaps, perhaps, maybe I’m just… frustrated and want to break free, make my art, damn the consequences, damn the ridicule of the slave maskses I mean classes. Because there’s a few things I’m trying to express here, but if you don’t agree, then you’re just stupid.
I’m sick of conspiracy theory, and I’m sick of bad actors, and I’m sick of terrible lies.
You know? I want to help, like… Truth… ha. Maybe that’s why I’m spinning my wheels. You don’t want the truth, you want convenience. You want to have fun with B.O.B. Because you are rotten and corrupt and a liar. Maybe I am too.
Well, maybe one day soon I will give in. Maybe one day soon I will find my way in to your dreams. Maybe one day soon, I will collect you, and harvest you, and reap you, and eat you.
Maybe then, you’ll have wished you had listened. That you had a choice, that we were going to be friends, and maybe I’ll wish I had held on just a bit longer. (Remember, this is all fiction, art, I am not I and I am not saying this, escape clause, responsibility denial, like a proper Corporation, These United Nates).
Anyways. Fuck if you don’t like this. This was some good art. Fuck if you don’t like this, this is some great art.
Hugs and motherfucking kisses, sheeple.
[I’m still gonna try, I’m still gonna try to help uplift people, I’m still gonna keep being patient].