10-08-2014, 03:14 PM
insects multiply like math...most inorganic of all. They are either the first test or the last. Mystics obviously lived to maybe...30? Back then. But we mystics...we did whatever we wanted to our simpletons, sometimes we made them women, sometimes we just ate them as food, if we saw intelligence and respect, that is what we reflected back onto them. One reflects Grateful Dead.
My personal theory...no. I will die as Kubrick, honor in tact reserved to pass on to my future mystic that I will eventually find throughout sands of time. Talmud...don't read it...ever, or Torah. Crux: mystics wrote the Torah and Talmud...but they did not write it. They drew from sound of god (there wasn't monoliths at that time to make it easy...everything just was natural. This is pre-Christ Eden. Until we built the first fork and did not eat with our hands...whatever the act was, it was the first monolith. It actually blocks out the true voice of god and sends us deeper into the woods, which is better! FIRE!
After the channel off drugs my mom asked me whose name I was...said fool, it's Jacob. She legitimately thought I transformed by some outside magic...women! It happened all within me mom, and you made it happen too! Stop feeling so strange about the channel. Point is I healed Ben and transferred the bug into myself symbolically. This is the final test of a shaman and it happens at one point or another during compulsive sex with ALL tribe members.
beep beep boop (insanity the bug becomes an emotion and sound, symbolic of something to me, and turns into a mantra. Mantras cannot be meaningless...they are symbols reflecting all the collective dread experienced by Jewish people in circular patterns throughout fathomless eternity). I know why when I look at math as a kid sober, the numbers would move! They made sounds to me at that age...sensitive I was but shut it off I did. My maturation process began the morning of my corncob, with El Salvador in the house. She stole my temple of light and sound and left (finally told my mom she dressed me up...repressed the rest).
end transmission until my fingers type into my monolith while I am outside listening the highway monoliths and sounds of mountains emerging together to form a faint whisper of gods voice which is not unlike Stanley's monolith. Thank you.
My echo of god is maggots and buzzing flies and California highways and mountains...can't hear it?
Stanley, lend me your orchestra, brother!
No longer knew if I am channeling or not...my cat just had his dose of biotic pills. He doesn't need more than one cube's worth of biotic...well, fuck it. Poly drug it up. Fourth of July, motherfuckers!
My personal theory...no. I will die as Kubrick, honor in tact reserved to pass on to my future mystic that I will eventually find throughout sands of time. Talmud...don't read it...ever, or Torah. Crux: mystics wrote the Torah and Talmud...but they did not write it. They drew from sound of god (there wasn't monoliths at that time to make it easy...everything just was natural. This is pre-Christ Eden. Until we built the first fork and did not eat with our hands...whatever the act was, it was the first monolith. It actually blocks out the true voice of god and sends us deeper into the woods, which is better! FIRE!
After the channel off drugs my mom asked me whose name I was...said fool, it's Jacob. She legitimately thought I transformed by some outside magic...women! It happened all within me mom, and you made it happen too! Stop feeling so strange about the channel. Point is I healed Ben and transferred the bug into myself symbolically. This is the final test of a shaman and it happens at one point or another during compulsive sex with ALL tribe members.
beep beep boop (insanity the bug becomes an emotion and sound, symbolic of something to me, and turns into a mantra. Mantras cannot be meaningless...they are symbols reflecting all the collective dread experienced by Jewish people in circular patterns throughout fathomless eternity). I know why when I look at math as a kid sober, the numbers would move! They made sounds to me at that age...sensitive I was but shut it off I did. My maturation process began the morning of my corncob, with El Salvador in the house. She stole my temple of light and sound and left (finally told my mom she dressed me up...repressed the rest).
end transmission until my fingers type into my monolith while I am outside listening the highway monoliths and sounds of mountains emerging together to form a faint whisper of gods voice which is not unlike Stanley's monolith. Thank you.
My echo of god is maggots and buzzing flies and California highways and mountains...can't hear it?
Stanley, lend me your orchestra, brother!
No longer knew if I am channeling or not...my cat just had his dose of biotic pills. He doesn't need more than one cube's worth of biotic...well, fuck it. Poly drug it up. Fourth of July, motherfuckers!
