Today I chose to be a writer

Tomorrow I think I'll Be a Fisherman

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What you are about to read is not your usual story, for the protagonist of this tale is none other than you! Prepare to delve into an exploration of human life observed through the lens of certain esoteric archetypes including: The Fool, the Empress & the Magician, and the Lovers. This exploration is not linear or causational, follow rather the trail of synchronicity occurring in no specific direction, maybe get a little high before you set off.

There is no real story here unless the story you seek is a reflection of your own. Experience is the scope by which we measure wisdom, so, As Jimi Hendrix once asked:

“Are you Experienced”?

In the Tarot, The Fool is always in transition from one state to another. A Being-in-becoming is enclosed by shadow which is disclosed by light. Huddled within this dance like a seed of potential exhibiting signs of life – rooting itself and beginning to grow; requiring all elements of both the conscious and subconscious realms which encompass it to become. This seed of Being is dependant on an observer (birth giver, Anima) to witness and care for its existence, and a steadfast (reason, Animus) to ground and maintain itself within until it can, through countless repetition and revolution, move its way towards the universe through the lens of self-awareness and rise again, whole. A neutrality achieved. Yet the new-born first knows only the birth giver, the shadow and then the light before beginning to reason with the dimensions of an existence and the inspiration of becoming. This is true not only to a physical birth but also a mental, spiritual, and material awakening. This is true to any acknowledgment.

Whoever you are, and wherever you hail from: you are a being, and so like me, cannot come to understand Being-in-itself until becoming. If you can understand these individual symbols of sound, which when spoken in order create in themselves other sounds that contain fragments of meaning, then let us bear witness to ontology subjected to a culmination of Human condition and tradition, let us partake in a trip you and I:


Serrated cliffsides delimit the limitless, a flux that requires it all:

Sanity clips at heels unbound by reason, an outward gaze reveals:

Sunrise, and vision of what is to come: A naïve journey towards ecstasy.

Black and white make an awful grey smudge across the land. Soot begets soot and a chimney sweeper leans against the beast’s decaying exhaust while a dove flies by and defecates into the swirling crowd below. Individual but indivisible the crowd meanders towards ephemeral goals refusing to see their unescapable synchronic Sufi’s dance towards oblivion, all while Moloch the devourer glees in the lost catharsis of youth; A hallowed-cost that pays for dominion.

A temple of Baal, Baalbak. The night sky looms overhead, Orion blares down on a father bereaving his eldest son who is next in line to be placed into the burning hands of God. An effigy of a snorting bull stands tall before the temple and holds out a golden hand. Incense and myrrh, the sound of drums and the priests’ song drown out the screaming – Mouths visibly watering at the smell of roasted kin. Kahna-Baal, divine devourers of inedible flesh await the coming feast in hope of abating celestial wrath. As the son walks forth, foolishly proud, he turns back to glance at his father- madness in his eyes as he steps onto the platform. Ah, but Abraham’s son was spared! a divine jest of faith – the burning hands had extinguished themselves for the time being. The sun now bore the handprints of God on its back.

The Vatican, Rome. A child walks up to the altar of a cathedral. Mouth watering in anticipation of its first taste of divine flesh and blood. Around, loom many effigies of a dead and tortured prophet of Love and his grieving mother. A vivid reminder that a ruthless empire has not fallen but has rather changed its form. A physical dominion collapsed on itself to atone for sin and to pave the road for prevalent spiritual dominion, a revival of the sunrise that chases away the night. In commemoration of the fact, embodiments of flesh and blood are offered on the day of days, the first day: Al-Ahad. A fierce reminder of the sacrifices required to maintain the divine acceptance of one and avoid the corrupt deception of another. Ah, what disappointment, for ‘twas but mascara, the ancient ritual tasted of mouldy crackers and rancid grape, heaven and hell never seemed too far away.

This heavenly illusionary field solidifies and is subjected, a spiral slowly digresses into a dull circle exhibiting no golden progression, stagnates. A crescent moon, a sliver in the night comes forth in defiance of an imagined harmony, a messenger of God they called him. The steady thud of marching and the bloodcurdling sound of howling overpower the gentle spell of the Sufi’s flute; dulling that outward gaze, a violent truth behind one true hashashins haze. The song of innocence lost to experience.

Have red and yellow yet come to be? Has Yorick ultimately answered the eternal question?


From darkness comes light, Infinity self-reflects: (still) being IS!

The flux collapses on one or its other, A flame of self-awareness is born and the shadow restored:

A focused Will, brings forth that which lurks in the darkness behind the mind’s Eye.

This realm is but a web of knowledge and Being is its fruiting body. Torn open, this mycelium reveals a great expanse wherein a turbulent stream of pure consciousness flows; flowing by in torrents of creativity, magic, and divinity. Violent maelstroms spray mercurial droplets onto ethereal banks in a thin mist. Deep within the stream’s chaotic flow, a pattern catches the eye and ancient shapes and archaic runes appear, resonating with Intention. Once, a sophist’s belief: One cannot step in the same river twice. Alas, the nature of sophism appoints this dance necessitated- thesis and antithesis, towards a harmony in sight. The river circles and encircles, awaiting an event horizon to push it back in motion. At the center of every galactic sequence exists a massive, dense, and inescapable void: the gift of a moment to breath!

The Sahara, Africa. Performing cheap tricks along the way to earn some coin is this Stranger clad in plain clothes that no one would look at twice. As the sun sets, a tent is pitched and stakes dig into the soft underbelly of the Organism. The Stranger draws a circle in the sand around and speaks an ancient name softly, willing safety into being. From a small yet endless hide satchel come forth four items of great value: a cup, a staff, a coin, and a scimitar. The Stranger routinely sets these materials about while focusing the mind, body, and spirit. Once aligned the Stranger begins to call each by its name, evoking ancient djinn: Al-Miyah, Al-Nar, Al-Ard, and Al-Hawa. When each name is spoken a small oasis bubbles into being, a fire is ignited, earth is cleansed, and a soft breeze blows around the Stranger. Four elements transmute a fifth one, yet each element is dearly reflected and these are not to be ignored: Al-Sahra, Al-Khiyal, Al-Faragh, Al-Skoun and Ghayri. A desert, where one delves into a dream, into the space where infinity lurks still and the Other wakes.

Deep space, the Orion constellation. A brilliant and benevolent Alchemist fuses heavy metal – a massive explosion- a death that provides life. An elemental surge that seeds the night bursts forth. A supernova wherein an atom vibrates internally at holy frequencies, echoing the prophecies conceived within each blazing part of the brilliant and benevolent Alchemist’s process- a proton shrouded in neutrons – each gradually becoming aware of their ontological states: wave and particle. Monolithic significance is born in these stellar bursts of dire consequences. Energy condensed by gravity is Matter, and as the condensation process continues – a golden inward spiral – this Matter blazes throughout the aeons until all physical possibilities are exhausted and the current process collapses onto itself in one of two ways. The alchemist is either in harmony (neutrality-wavy) with its nuclear state dispersing its matter for order to weave. Or in disharmony (conflict-particular) about the nuclear existence of one state of being or the other-no two electrons can occupy identical states. At the core of each Alchemist’s demise, a resolution of this transition could be achieved for an afterglow to be maintained, and an eternal being resumed- a philosopher’s stone. Or a transitional conflict created into singularity and the ouroboros maintained- a quenchless hunger for more. Either an ascension into Being or a descent into Non-being. Do not dare pry the eye away, for this process entangles the macrocosm into the microcosm again and again! As above so below, again and again! Eternally into the very crux of being: right here, my dear reader, where you and I ARE.


This is a beautiful occasion, which must be observed in order to occur. None witnesses itself as one, and one along with two perceives three in order to transcend five. Harmony is respiration, and Mind is born: an idea!! A Thought and its reflection; a meaningful sound, a spoken word! Choose either absorbance and assimilation resulting in creative and cathartic explosion or mummification and internalization resulting in the implosive hoarding of an unfathomable treasure, the singularity. Each Being and seraphic Form a part of the celestial process. What a present! To reach into that ebb and flow and gather a bit of knowledge, focus it in the mind and then release it through the mouth. Assigning specific fluctuations of space and time to vague ideas of the inner mind, in order to communicate and bring to light some understanding of one or the other or both.

The struggle within moves one’s will into being; onwards towards the sunrise shrouded in an uncertain destiny: the moon. A mysterious place beyond the scope of reason. A reflection of light and a loving embrace, a whole and healing touch – the confidant and muse that alone waxes and wanes, one beholder dancing about its other while they both dance around their mother- the still night – a motion that forms a flux that desires it all.


Love, Love, Love

A bright blue event horizon sweeps One away. Deep, deep, deep into Nox is the fall

Through a Multiverse One travels, finally inspired

Oh… The Burning bright stars that, at a gaze, unravel into a progressive slipstream of waves and particles.

Naked desire blooms within

Lux, oh Ocellus, is all that can be seen when Nox is all that can be felt. None of One without another, a blazing emotion kindles within the heart.

A soul so vibrant, the shadow it casts is a magnificent microcosm of any a fleeting moment.

A shade unexplored, yet, oh so familiar, beckons One to adore

Who are you oh beloved?

Shy not away in angst or amour, in passion or dispassion, in all your being and non-being.

For to behold YOU is a gift One can never ignore.

To stand before you as vulnerable as ever, in body and spirit, One will not falter, you are true and so must I Be too.

Oh, beloved if only you knew the way Eye see you

A dim lit bedroom, upstate New York. The room is alive with visceral forms as the flicker of light entertaining the constant shadow, give way to a setting just right. Two beings becoming a third, all entangled in each other’s arms, discover the cataclysmic glow of gyration and gravity. An attraction between them and a warmth that pervades them: their chests rise and fall as they harmoniously co-exist towards a fleeting moment of ecstasy. They dance and dance, around their poles and around each other. Revolving and revealing themselves to the secrets of indivisible being till a sputtering crescendo is reached within that moment where centres meet. Involuntarily igniting one another and spreading atomic matter for order to weave. Quivering affirmation travel outwards, creating bonds independent of reason and reverberating this process that leads us.

Bliss street, Beirut. A young student pledged to the Phalange, snacks on a ham sandwich while training his M16 at the mosque; awaiting the imam’s call for prayer. Upon this rooftop, he confidently awaits his moment of truth. Bird faeces lands on his sandwich. Enraged, the student looks around for the feathered culprit. He aims, then fires. The bullet zooms forward, the chain of synchronicity unravelling before it as it smashes through a window. Viscera splatters walls painted pink, a wingless seraphic form falls to the earth. No amount of wailing can mute a mother’s grief; the undulations of a broken spirit blast through aeons perpetuating the trajectory of lead. Nearby an AK-47 is loaded – an explosion – a death that voids life. The student slumps backwards and drops his sandwich, aeons away a super massive black hole is formed that pulls that sandwich through to the hungry ouroboros. A neutrino Star shimmers away in the distance: another link in the chain, the universe is achieved-a single word.

Within love, A complete 5th Element blazes through the void, and as a phenomenon, it does not know but rather feels: on the other side of death is possibility. A transition from the Fool to the World and into the universe again. From One which is born, to a whole that gives birth, the becoming of an all-encompassing being that is what it has intended to become: An alchemist that transmutes the dark into light, and the light into dark, a fulcrum that harnesses the flux that desires it all.


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The Parable of Origin

Ancient Titans play their games; Stasis and Flux don their staves.
Each their will and way; they circle one another in disdain.
Pushing and Pulling they remain, infinitely thus ordained.
Yet some foul day a catalyst would array, and tip that balance away.
-The Elder Prophecy   

A motionless center is surrounded by an everlasting cyclone; a duality that reverberates throughout the ages. Guided by a force much greater than simple intention, a vessel approached the fulcrum of all Being.

The Lookout

In the grey hours of the morning, a groggy lookout sat precariously in his crow’s-nest watching the mist swirl about the seas. He was glad that morning had come, as this would mark the end of his lookout shift. Tired, wet, and isolated he sat, eyes set ahead in determination, desperately seeking something. Soon, once the morning sun broke the horizon line, the first mate would announce shift change and he could get some much-needed rest, but until then he would hold his eyes wide open.

The Pearl of Faith had embarked on a perilous journey across the Seas and through the impassable storm towards a sacred end. It had been weeks since they had burst through the eternal storm with the help of the priest, and into the Forgotten sea. Yet still, their destination eluded them.

The lookout stared drearily across the waters, and silently cursed the events that had dragged him away from his land and family and onto this cold and lonely station. What could he have done when they had come to his home town of Hadath looking for a Sharp-eye to join the crew? His oath prevented him from declining a direct request from a high priest. The priests expected utter submission from those who worked the land, especially if one was born with the gift of a divine-gene and had to swear fealty to the First. Insolence and oath breaking were severely punishable, the worst cases usually ended in public execution. He only hoped that in his absence his eldest son would deal reverently with the priests which would come by each week to provide coin and collect the weeks mined ore. Priests never did seem like the trustworthy types to him anyway, with their lush purple robes and Mind-Gene tricks, always preaching Imbalance and chaos while reveling in their hierarchy. They certainly were, however, hungry for iron ore and had sent one of their own on this impossible quest. He chuckled to himself thinking of the Priest sleeping soundly in his cabin below, and how he had fret at dinner the other night when he was served the same slop as the rest of them.
He swung his vision around one last time before descending, and stopped abruptly. Surely his eyes were just tired, though despite the thick mist that had been plaguing the vessel for the past 2 weeks, his enhanced vision could just make out a faint ripple in the distance. Could it be?

He willed his vision to see further and pierce the thick mist. He reached over with numb fingers and began to ring the rusty bell which hung off the mast.

“By the Will….” he whispered.

The Priest

The Priest woke to the muffled sound of feet slapping the deck and a loud creak that resonated through the the hull as the crew came suddenly alive. Shaken to awareness by a commanding voice bellowing orders, he sat up and listened to the cacophony on the deck, a realization blooming in his sleep-addled mind.

“Stow those Sails!”, he heard the first mate booming. “Prepare the oars and get ready to row, men!”

What is this? he thought. After 6 long months, had this tedious and uncompromising journey actually come to an end?

He stood hastily and yelped as he bumped his head on an overhead beam. He reached up with a once well-manicured hand to check for a wound while ducking under the beam exaggeratedly. Luckily the only damage was a throbbing lump, which left him wishing his steward was there to bring him a healing elixir and run him a hot bath to ease his aching back. He glanced uncomfortably to the dull barrel which stood in the corner of his room, and was acutely aware of his present situation: There would be no steward or bath. In fact, there was barely any water left for a wash. He walked over to check the water level and saw that the barrel was nearly empty save for a measly pool of brownish water at the bottom. He reached in with a cupped hand and slurped some of it up, cringing at the bitter and woody taste.

The captain had refused him more water on account of the crew’s needs, the Principle he called it. He hadn’t even listened to the arguments the Priest had given concerning his significance in this mission. He was the high priest of the church of Revolution after all, the one entrusted with the duty of Divine messenger! This mission was hopeless without him. He was the only one on board with a Mind-gene, which made him capable of understanding things no normal man could fathom, and hence deliver the Will of a God. Only he could harness the magnificent power of the Origin and survive the ordeal. Still, he had to eat and drink like a lowly lesser-divine sailor! The fact that he could attune his Mind to tap all the sensory divine-genes gave him a power not many men could challenge but still, the captain ordered that water and food be shared evenly upon his vessel. His captains’ boon brought all to subservience while on ship. Subservience! An authority only the church should be able to command, but direct descendants of the First Exile were all born with the ability to influence the Minds of those who swore the Oath and their boons were very powerful. The church had paid a large portion of Iron for that crooked captains services, his silence was paramount. For too long have the ancient scriptures and Power-genes of the First limited the churches Evolution. He knew that would all change soon though, and that knowledge had given him some respite on the trip. But if he failed all would have been in vain… He couldn’t! The Priest would succeed, had to succeed.  Yet, despite his wavering confidence, his faith had taught him well; The Will of Revolution always got its way.

He walked over to his adorned wooden chest and pulled the heavy lid up. He would wear his most lavish robe today. The one stitched from dyed minx fur, its hood lined with bright peacock feathers that cascaded down the back of the robe and made the wearer seem fierce yet noble if worn correctly. He pulled it over his head and let it drop down to his feet, then turned the hood up over his head. He then picked out a beautiful white velvet stole and adjusted it so that the ends fell around his shoulders and crossed securely at the chest. He quickly inspected himself on a crude metal sheet the captain had brought in after he had rebuked him for the lack of accommodation in the cabin. Principle or no Principle, he would not live like a beast.

Satisfied with his appearance, the Priest whispered a solemn prayer to thank Revolution for this blessed and unpredictable day and reached for his Staff of Mind. He left his cabin and made his way to the deck in a slow, deliberate, pace so as not to trip over his robes. His ascent up the stairs was ever so elegant, something he achieved despite the rocking boat by using his Mind-gene to enhance Grace. He was the Divine Emissary, stumbling was not acceptable.

As he walked up onto the deck, he was greeted by a frenzy of busy sailors. None of which even bothered to stop and hail as they should have had. He stood there looking slightly irritated and focused his Sight, throwing his gaze towards the coastline slowly appearing on the horizon, away from the bustling sensory overload which was currently the deck.
“Oy! Priest!” a crewmate in passing asked without using the proper honorific, “ye ken she burns like the Book of Revolution says?”
Ignoring the insolent sailor, he focused his Mind and using Greater Perception, was able to make out an island in the distance, its single smoldering peak reaching up into the sky. He boosted his hearing and heard a distinct droning hum emanating from it. A warm pleasant sensation began to crawl through him and he knew that the insufferable months of indefinite travel were finally over. They had returned where The First had been exiled for believing in the Power of Revolution, swearing to abandon the Power of Origin. This was it! The Origin was within reach! He could feel the Will of Revolution stir within him as if awakened by the droning hum emanating from somewhere deep within the island. The power to destroy worlds would be his to take. The Church would finally break the influence the First had over them and reign the coming era of Chaos for themselves.

The Watcher

The Watcher hummed the Hymn of Sight and considered his duty. His father had been a Watcher, and his father’s father too, as were all his forefathers. And now, it all ended with him. The Holy Constant buzzed in the background, the island vibrating with the intensity of it, its pulse reverberating through the worlds. He stood on his perch above the clouds on the peak of Mount Haleka watching the distant vessel approach in silent disbelief.

He wore a glowing Q’aba jewel on his forehead, which contained a sliver of the Hearth and pulsated along with the Constant- the humming vibration that the Origin emitted, the anchor of worlds which kept the Eternal Storm at bay. A warm bear-fur cloak covered his strong shoulders and he was bare chested underneath despite the cold. A massive sword hung at his waist, and in his hand, he carried the large blazing staff which he had used to ignite the monolithic warning beacon that would notify the people of the prophesized return. The beacon, built over the generations, was so large that it had to be built around the mountain peak itself, and now it burned.
Many generations ago, the first Watcher climbed the mountain to act as guardian of the Holy Constant’s Power, for it had been foretold that one day in the future, the children of the Exiled First, which had been tainted by the Will of Revolution, would return to claim the Power of Origin and use it to tip the balance. Sure enough, that day had come.

The Watcher raised his free hand to shade his eyes as he looked away from the incoming boat to solemnly take in the rising sun. The mountain blazed above him, its fiery heat prickling his skin, he began to hum the Hymn of Courage. The tone of his voice merged with the Constant harmoniously and formed an inspirational resonance that calmed him, and helped him focus on the task at hand. The children of Origin could enhance and share many emotions by humming this way.

Everyone would be humming Courage on this day, for today Courage would determine the result. The Watcher looked towards the town center and saw that the community on the island had begun its journey into the Hearth, the hallowed crystal Caverns deep in the heart of Mount Haleka, where the Holy Constant’s hum originated, and the Power would be created. The people would strengthen the Holy Constant and hum the holiest hymn when the time was right, acting to provide the watcher with the Power of Origin so he could face the Agent of Revolution. If he succeeded in drawing the Will of Revolution into him, then he would hold the power of creation in his hand. He unconsciously began to Hum Resolve along to the Constant as he made his way to the coast to face his burden, his hand resting on his Bastard Sword. The Origin would survive this.

The Child

She stood before the crevice which led to the Hearth, hand clasped in her mothers, watching the people lined up to enter behind them. Not so many left, she saw, and they all hummed Courage. The Hymn was spectacular, though despite the waves of courage that shook her, the mouth of the caves frightened her. It looked suspiciously like a gaping mouth waiting expectantly for a meal. Bluish light emanated from within eerily, its Glow pulsating along with the sound of the Holy Constant, which felt really loud in her ears almost drowning her own Hymn of Courage out. She hadn’t mastered the Ancient Gift yet and was having trouble attaining the correct tones, making the hymn less effective and reducing her courage. She looked to her mother and saw worry in her large green eyes. She hummed Attention at her, attempting to gain acknowledgment. Her mother looked down at her tenderly and hummed Affection.
‘What’s wrong Child? Do you fear the caves?’ Her mother asked, concern showing behind her comforting smile. Dark face tinted blue by the light, she looked older than usual. Her black hair was tied back in a tight bun, causing her face to look taught. The child looked up and nodded her agreement.
‘It looks hungry’, the child said.
Her mother laughed, but it sounded strained.
‘Beyond that crevice, child, is a path that leads to the Hearth. It is our sanctuary, our safe place.’ She said sweetly, attempting to comfort the worried looking child. ‘You must not be afraid. Practice humming Courage loudly so that I can hear it. It will also help everyone else to have an added voice to the Hymn, especially me.’ She winked at the child and turned back to walk in pace.
The Child hummed Resolve to herself quickly, strengthening her determination, then switched to Courage in a loud and well intoned voice. She saw her mother stand straighter at that. The child buzzed with the hymn and it brought a wave of courage she hadn’t perceived before, her own. It was powerful, and removed any trace of concern she had had. She released her mother’s hand and looked excitedly towards the cave mouth, the Hearth now beckoning her.

Once inside, the sound of the Holy Constant intensified. It beat against her, and she forced herself to hum louder as she followed the flow of people towards the sanctuary. Glowing Q’aba crystal shards grew in an inward spiraling pattern around the cave walls, she knew that they would eventually join the Giant cluster deep inside; the Origin. The cavern floor was a smooth rock that seemed wet but wasn’t, it was cold under her feet as she stepped in line with the others. They were led downwards, and she saw where the cave wall grew so tight it would only let one person through at a time. There would be a large chamber up ahead filled with buzzing people as they hummed and revolved around the Origin. She could hear excited whispers all around her, the prophecy had come true, the time to support the watcher was upon them.
‘I saw the beacon, was a great blistering fire it was! The entire Peak took fire in seconds it was like hell-fire!’ She heard one man exclaim.
‘I saw it too’, came his friends curt reply. ‘Yer not the only one with eyes man! Hurry up! I heard the Elder would speak once we’re all safely inside and the ceremony begins.’
‘Really? Where d’ye hear that?’ asked the man, shocked. The Elder did not have a habit of speaking. The child had heard he was older than time itself.
‘Sister Aisha said so when she announced the Return to my wife, she said the Elder would address us directly.’ She heard the man exclaim in irritation.

The elder…Excited to tell her mother what she had overheard, the child turned towards her mother and saw that she was next in line after an elderly man.

“Mama! Did you hear what the man said?” But her mother just pushed her forward and hushed her. It was her turn.

She stepped up onto a carved out stepping stone and stared at the tiny opening lined with jagged crystals, even for someone her size it was a tight squeeze. she looked back and found her mother gently urging her forward, humming Urgency at her; the Elders speech would commence soon. She stooped and stepped through gingerly, careful not to hit her head on any sharp crystals. She stood up straight and beheld the core of the Origin for the First time.
A tower of crystals took up the entire center of the deep cavern, seeming to have once exploded outwards violently from beneath the ground. The cluster trailed crystals towards each of the connecting caverns. The crystals were brightest here and spiraled all around a single Giant shard that vibrated visibly, and pulsated brightly. It loomed monolithically around a swirling hoard of people all humming courage, the rhythm a crescendo of emotion and sound that beat against her and caused her to stop short. She looked for her mother, afraid to lose her in the crowd and saw her stepping in behind her. The child reached out and took her mother’s hand, and they began to make their way towards the spiraling mass.
‘The Watcher will begin his duty soon Child, lets join the humming ceremony and lend him our courage.’ Her Mother said over the loud humming, falling in rhythm with the massive crowd. The child followed, stepping in pace to her mother and not knowing what to expect.
She looked up and hummed uncertainty to her mother ‘Just do what I do Child, do not worry, let the Hymn of Courage guide you.’ She responded confidently.
The child noted how the Hymn seemed to reverberate here, as if it were always a part of the Holy Constant and not the voice of thousands of people. The harmonic resonances were perfect complements to the vibrations and emotions she could feel in her heart. This was natural, she knew this… Stepping and humming, then again, stepping and humming. She stopped being a child and just became a fragment of the Origin, a hallowed frequency in the spectrum of the Holy Constant.
The Elder Spoke from within the Crystals, and the Origin shook with an ancient voice: ‘My Brother’s Children have arrived, The Watcher Goes to meet his fate at last.’ The chorus of humming grew frenzied and began to affect the crystals, the singular swirling mass that was gaining momentum began to glow along to the Constant.
The Elder’s words echoed through the crystal-lit cave. ‘With our help, He has a chance to succeed and hold both the Will of Revolution and The Holy Constant in his heart.’ The Large central column grew brighter than a star and began to pulsate faster and faster, the humming intensifying.

‘Through this act of Courage and Transcendence we shall be preserved, and continue on preserving in return. Let us bid him farewell and lend him strength, for only the victor shall ascend into Godhood and choose the fate of our Being.’ The mad swirling and humming reached an unthinkable frequency, tearing at the fabric of existence.

‘Now Sing my children!’ The Elder announced, ‘Sing with all your hearts!’
And the swirling mass began to hum the Hymn of Transcendence.
A beam of blue light shot out of the center of the swirling mass and traveled along the crystals seeking its way out, it rushed along spiraling its way towards the cave entrance and exploded out towards the place where the Watcher and Priest stood facing each other in determination, weapons drawn.

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A Strange Day

Mindless noise- incredible sound and bass variations entangled with fluctuating electronic chaos that shakes the earth underneath our feet. We are currently walking down the inhumane path that leads to the underground realm underneath Beirut, the air is dense with acrid smoke that lazily circulates right underneath our noses. Here we go I think to myself, one more time, down the rabbit hole… I inhale as much of the smoke as I can, while exhaling, I couldn’t help but smile. You see, in order to get to Beat City, one must silence the mind and its primary function- to respond to reality. Beat city is everything but “real”, it exists outside of our collective perception of reality.

The smoke was escaping through cracks in the soil , enveloping all that it touched, it rose in cataclysmic patterns, forming a thick plane suspended in mid-air that swirled and coiled as we moved through it. My loyal companion Nick was inhaling as much smoke as he could, crazy bastard! Only those in an altered state of consciousness could perceive the portal that leads to Beat City. I see it as a door, perception differs; the observer projects an idea which is manifested as whatever the conscious being imagines a portal to be – the smoke is the key to our beloved city.
As we wind on down the increasingly menacing path, the music intensifies. It fills our heads with fierce vibrations that cause solid matter to shake and tremble. The trees along the path that have guided us to our present location seem to have suffered a retched fate. They were rent and distorted, twisting and morphing into what looked like insane creatures infatuated with despair. The moonshine fell, almost unbearably, upon the hideous, sad expressions the trees were manifesting- a warning that plagues the mind as we walk on- Beware the madness!

A familiar vibe runs up my wrenched spine, I think I said something like: “hey nick, I’m looking into the eye of the strange animal. No, I’m looking at a little girl with red hair. We are being tested; can we support such madness? Can we prevail in such incoherent and mad states of mind?”
Of course though, my friend nick saw it too; his eyes were wide and full of surprise, and he was smiling. It seems we would prevail, time and time again, our minds still had not snapped. Suddenly the little girl with red hair turns around and begins to skip ahead- naturally, we follow.

We follow our guide up the path for another 10 minutes or so, she then stops abruptly, lets out an inhuman moan, and perishes. At first, the path seems unchanged, but a subtle change in the air all around us catches my attention, Oxygen levels begin to decrease. We are being mentally and physically prepared for the underground, lungs feel pressured, and every breath brings a rush of chemicals to the brain, releasing Dopamine, Serotonin, Epinephrine and Endorphins- our eyes roll back in our heads and our souls rush out of our mouths. They hang around, free of the shackles that bind it to the body. To see, taste, smell, hear and feel with intensity so fierce, the soul is ecstatic- we function at ten times our normal efficiency. Pupils dilate, we are sucked in through the awesome hole in the fibonaccian nil of our heads, and the door appears…

This place we have escaped to is completely unstained by human greed and self-conceived reality- the reality that has incarcerated the soul, the reality in which matter has enslaved the mind. We are the dreamless youth of our fallen empire
The desolate generation of the post world unification era, the children of this new world order.
Our intense need for comfort and our fear of uncertainty, our immaculate creation- our frail empire. 
Dissolved, nullified, annihilated. We are unlearned our perceptions can be reconfigured and rearranged 
Welcome to The Rabbit Hole – enter a whole different world of motivation
See that each atom in our anatomy was born in the death of a star 
Realize that all knowledge does not exist apart from us
experience the fleeting moment 
let the truth come 
A period is but a point at which one idea ends and the other begins, a point at which I am given the opportunity to transcend (or descend) my previous thoughts and claims. It is also symbolic of a singularity, the point from which the universe burst open and…

“what?” asks a disembodied voice.

Had I said that out loud? where was I?

“Huh?” I come too from this reverie to witness an awesome sight.
“You just said “the period came”! Groaned he. “Stop saying asinine shit man… not at a time like this… I can see the stink of some dog turd somewhere and… i can hear it too! it makes an awful squelchy noise…”
“well” I explained, “might be cause you stepped in it, and are doing so repeatedly you fucking retard. you’re not synesthetic yet merely… uninhabited.”  this calmly.

“Awwww! god damn it! tell me why is it every time we trip together one of us has to step in shit!! god damn it!”
Nick was evidently flustered by this, and just tore his shoes off with a mighty flick of the ankle. “Bah! Who needs shoes anyway”!

Goddamn hobbit! I thought. He was right though, shit in all its forms, figurative and literal, seemed to follow us each time we ate the fruit of it. well now, i think this thought requires no more transcendence…

“What are we gonna do now?” he demanded “My feet are cold and you look like you’ve been thinking too hard”, exclaimed he.

Indeed comfort awaited, El-Diablo Azure- Our trusty bong, pre packed and waiting to be ignited with a controlled flame we tended to generate with colorful plastic objects filled with butane…
Prometheus was a good Titan wasn’t he?

“Alright” I said, “lets head home then, Let me just go say good bye to that tree over yonder”.

“What! Wait! What! Fuckin’! tree! man! there’s no time for your hippy shit! the cold is creeping into my spine man through my feet!”
So we walked home, the balding, muttering-machine who was now shoe-less as well, and I.

As I fumbled for the keys, Nick, ever prone to Murphy’s law, begins to turn yellow before my very eyes.
“Ugh” he groaned
Damn key, why don’t these things ever fit into the keyholes? easy enough to open metaphysical doors out there in the ether, but these solid things were a real challenge i reckoned. Doors to our very own cell within this false organism we call reality. Shut out from otherness.
He was drooling now, oh shit, this is not a good sign… damn key!

And the door swung open, I looked at nick, he looked at me, a seemingly eternal moment passed.
“The Fuck?” I thought as i began to step forward
“MOVE!!!” came a frightening snarl from this livid beast.
he lurched forward and made to run to the toilet with his mouth covered with one hand and the other holding his stomach. While intention is a very admirable at this point, lets be realistic. Murphy fucking watches…
He stumbled, and began to fall…

I heard him heave before he thudded to the ground and projectile vomited all over the carpet, at the point of impact.
“uuuummmmm fuck” came the death rattle.

And the beast was still, laying ever so majestically in a remarkable puddle of regurgitated mushroom pizza.
GET THE FUCK UP AND CLEAN THIS SHIT NICK! I yelled, through a fit of the giggles.

Comfort would have to wait it seemed. what was it Lennon said?
“Life is what happens when your busy making plans”

We cleaned up, I had a few doubtful moments, common to all those of us who have cleaned up puke, where I though I was going to add to the mess rather than clean it, but alas for Murphy; even he is a victim of his own law.
We settled down on the couch.

“Ah! much better” sighed Nick.
“You fat bastard, first the shit and then a mile of half digested pizza! King of food in all its tenses! future, present and past! Next ill know you’ll be making your famous beef and broccoli stew which happens to smell the same as it does after you pass it!” I announced as I snatched the bong off the table.

I reached into my pocket to grab my trusty fire thingy and a sense of dread so deep filled me.

“Nick.for.gods.sake.the.lighter” I whimpered.

“Don’t have it man, think we left it near that tree you were speaking to, and now that you mention it, beef and broccoli sounds great!”