About 7 total pages. Section is from the opening of the second part of the conceptual presentation / novel called [White Elephant Sale]. It used to be available here, but pdf issues and translations from Word ’10 to the latest Word have not gone well, so far. To provide context, this piece begins with a small bit from the opening of the first project. This is all just formatted as a blog post. Enjoy.
Statement of Warning T
Knowledge of the unified field in the hands of people who account for gravity, sentience, and the intent of sentience without classifying the behavior of sentience as right or wrong compels us to this work. Following text is an unflinching account of people struggling to define:
What exactly is going on; who is in control?
How far have the ones in charge gone with Physics?
What are their plans? And,
What can be done about it?
It is unfit for all ages, making direct display of how bad things literally could be while developing a narrative to provide a composited “big picture” appraisal that, fitting the tone, must be covertly communicated and shared exclusively among concerned parties. Asking to know what impact these full implications, the facts beyond measure have, and expecting to be taken by the hand and coddled into understanding is a delusion readers must abandon.
With steadfast refusal to assess the nature and scope of the problem – what with everyone citing needs of personal lives and their interests – we have arrived here, the untenable position.
(Decuun is pronounced Dee – Koon) -Start of [white elephant sale]2y
Decuun Processing Conduit Readout
Type: Neurological Display
Class: Intelligent by Design
Images & Libelous Content :
All visual signal through brown to umber fields first develops children at playground – and at fault biologically proven in signal – children somehow hidden in darkness, in crawling positions, sudden picture infant [not naked].
Then boys and girls old enough and tall enough to ride the public park merry-go-round, trapped on hands and knees under its spinning metal platform, moving fast enough to move the dark air above them, shadow air swirling across the backs of children moving close to ground, somehow ducking in crawl, inching under the veracity of the increasing speeding spin of the metal ceiling, in deep black without light, sudden picture of a tower overtaking the horizon (rectangle monolith – more grey than black).
Boys and girls ducking under moving air in darkness over them, air moving hidden in dark particle light, falling and turning under the metal spinning merry-go-round ceiling [ideal of monstrosity] unseen children in low crawl moving toward where the ride is fixed to the Earth. To maybe find silence in its noise and violent sun-drenched metal spinning above, providing its own source of heat, showering in waves down on the backs of boy and girl heads, sudden addition of enough light to make them out, sudden image of bright heating orange overtaking metal walls through tempered glass.
Prognosis: Pathways tapped were aligned more to biochemical activity than the neurological drivers biological current can source. Subject not parent, has had less than ten relationships in their life, and is clearly set in the mode of tasking their own brains with matters with which they have no responsible concern.
Case Closed and Archived: *-
Processing Conduit Readouts – The voice within the masses that corporations and constitutionally elected governments have every right to serve is now heard. Brought to you by Decuun.
==
Statement of Warning Q
The directing and assembling of all people into one lived amalgam of the subject and servant class no matter the integrity of the individual, using unseen, unconscious and subconscious forces, to the end of making the owners of the systems of governance godlike lords among peasants is treason.
Decuun Processing Conduit Readout
Type: Integrated Cognitive and Physical Display
Class: Intelligent by Design
Images & Libelous Content :
Visual signal develops to one internal visage rendered in fragments of focus; looking downward to the right to a phone screen, ghostly white light pales her forearm at the wrist, suddenly against the backdrop of nighttime car interior [superimposed glow of alone].
She awakes hours later.
Peripherals recorded in signal reflected through plaster surfacing off the sheet metal framing of the entrance to the dining hall:
She is in sweats without makeup [inattentive but reminiscent of bed] she nearly shuffles her feet as she crosses the open room and she looks up in glances to where windows meet high ceilings (abiding underserved aspirations and unsustainable goals).
Prognosis: Subject is on the other side of years spent missing social cues that are only conveyed with nonverbal communications. Their life will be lived in a coed world with no valid identification to their sex other than their bodies.
Case Closed and Archived: +”
==
1(4) Catastrophic Exposure
Billable conclusions precipitate organizational fronts, the self-cutting population is somehow needed to offset the public’s release of commercial demons – always travelling in secret in sheets of an inner skin through the listener and assimilating the viewer with certainty – or treasuries are allocated to budget only after they accord to Decuun bylaws, that grant fifty percent of what is taken in by congressional graft to every constitutionally elected official, that is to be paid out over the course of their careers in service – good morning, I knew you whispers empty head sex slave – only after the legislative proceeds from each bill make it into a general slush fund – you should have switched her into compulsory, Sir – no one gets their hands dirty – now someone is going to pay for that and no one gets their hands dirty.
It’s best you vacate the premises, Sir.
My country in thin fabric suits of the finest wool – flanked by rail thin cohorts of sexual drive – move policy in pants – because where a bill starts is sacred – after all, the blood spills – children ought to learn that early and constrict with the trends – not against them – in rotundas and under domes – with 5000-dollar shoes on marble.
Inside the rot of teeth my country tis of thee for whom – for them, fortified with intelligence – for one hundred forty royal-sanctioned landowners packed into a barn to begin a new measured promise – Lucifer and Satan in congress in silver with gold running in strands through its artifice – in late 18th century candle and torch light, in romance with the new and upcoming iron; that advanced – but it was the birth of a country, uniting in quiet torrid modalities the u and the s, united for the Arian sanguine.
Bavaria is their front. Their lords of darkness churning black death rotting with special interest so long it carbonized flesh, stretching endless between what seem like invisible columns spinning in place, through its own world, apart from the haunted corridor dominance by the US of the Arian for the states united to detriment, forced Bavarian dependence for all time – voice of a civilization turn on the ovens – and its sexy grueling death scenes, a dark room lit by one bulb whose girls naked tortured beg and scream into thick shadow to men off camera – the onyx bones through the Earth Bavarian infrastructure – the sounds of gunshot – for all age – world concealing the invisible spools stretching rotting fields of putrid flesh taut in torture, twisted from skeletons in one complete tear, one brutal turn somehow comported their awareness with the flesh of their bodies absent structure into terrifying strewn-out anguish.
They were people but they’re empty demons now gone. There would come to be fifty states, what with five meaning death and every zero a way in – Decuun archival system decoded – United States of America forces separate the skin from the internal content. White American backbone isolated the agency of performance in the citizen’s solid jelly filling and arranged it, now foreign hands maneuver.
Spontaneous needs to augment per case will be constant, and language inherent in legislative process prohibits open target civilian. It will forever boil down to seasons in session.
Vision is of the eyes – but through a secret method strewn – because of two fingers on the five-year old’s head – noted – sight retards outward in thin plasma strings, white cornea and strands of vibrant blue iris threads through the broken surface of the black pupil, pushing miniscule deep night columns invisibly outward into air – pupil surfaces break in protrusions – physical and unknown to common man – sight travels its own corridors – through the interiors of dark town-cars – arriving at plain house brothels – blame it on the navigation – we brought the chip manufacturing home – praise in lingerie.
Chaos demands form, form informs chaos structured into prefabrications, amassed of all substance – en toto – nothing primordial, everything beyond comprehension sustaining the limited view. Group has decoded a cryptex inside the Nova Express trilogy by William S. Burroughs. Agreed upon in silence, a type of quiet built from moments of misplaced awe, nothing of true magnitude, what the crowd deems appropriate, standing out is lonely. Group recognizes low likelihood the codes will be believed. Submitting that man is forced into a collective that interprets each person at three constructed levels of a forced-upon psyche, both Williams and Burroughs technically did not have to know they were writing a code – it would serve as evidence for what Group leaders have called the Eternal promise. Outside in a hurricane, built forth from torrential upheavals quieted to physicality, the constant demand to be engaged marginalized like a young green leaf freshly ripped from a tree battered into rocks of the tide break, every calculation articulates the plea, the broken, prostrated beg,
“Please, leave us the bay.”
“Your invitation, please”
Inside the reception hall everyone’s pockets are empty, and in the coat check, all the pockets empty, except for tips to the valet, controlled convulsions on display, their every motion, every interest, the donned importance inside their laughter, and uneasiness in each hand extended to prospective partners. As the Burroughs code is completely presented at its conclusion in the third book of the trilogy, The Ticket that Exploded, only portions of this section of the code will be communicated. Worn down corridors of flesh throughways inside arms, carrying electric signals of such duration the toll of repetitive usage dries out the fibers, what an easy smile, what a somber jest, give me reason, commission a newborn’s purpose. Burroughs makes it clear the reader should note commas in sections throughout the work, by writing several lines one after another that clearly omit commas. A coordination of focal, directed bodily seizures accounts for all this, it is the world of the distinguished, in these everyone’s included but not invited, creating the separations, the unacknowledged chasms of difficult to reconcile shortcomings in the chests of the unacknowledged, breaking men to wails upon their gale force dismissal.
It’s not easily noticed, whole being accommodated to subroutines of conformity, lost to its application spread throughout the crowd, each awaits their contribution’s recognition, it’s as easily ignored as a raging ocean twenty feet from double-paned glass. Before continuing, background on the source of the code is assumed to be that of an outcast scion who descended from the relative wealth of the Burroughs typewriter company. As no confirmation of this can be found and it is customary to fabricate the upbringings of people who bring creative content to market, no further comment on his upbringing is needed. Hits like low grumbling echoes of windows forced to reverberate, the pressure braced and dispersed through glass, those waves carry wind to the edifices, these guests, too loud to hear the portend, this wind and all its concerted effort carries water toward the hushed, mumbling attendants, the toast about to begin.
“We didn’t work long for this, but we worked hard.”
Tears well among the throng of well-dressed sycophants shifting in their gowns, women adorn the brightest shining men, stepping boldly with hollow legs, top heavy, brain heavy, secretly affirming self-worth through exchanged nods and glares. As having access to the market at the levels Burroughs achieved secretly always ties back to Satanism and, as it is recognized that involvement in Satanism is not chosen in those who are born into it – it is not chosen by most of the talent the industry discovers – as much as it is forced, many sections of the Burroughs code would seem to indicate that he secretly harbors hopes that someone or some force outside the machine of Satansist-owned commerce is actively intervening on the behalf of general decency. Chills sink into the space each body occupies, sliding into them, entering through gaps between their cells, outside storm temperatures coming to ground in elongated forms of low-pressure cold air nestling into their spines. Decuun marches on and there is no evidence that Burroughs’ pleas for aid, if that’s what they were, have ever been heeded.
Worth is measured quarterly in every hollow individual, only made whole through common definition, solid forms built solely through passive concord, unspoken agreements pushing poses and encouraging wind tunnels overtake their optic nerves. Following the code established by omitted commas, on page ten is the line “You attempted to be God that is to intervene and failed utterly . . .” italicized word in the original. The sky isn’t hiding stars. Nazis are known to spread the belief that the Arian man is God, taking this with the nihilism common to soldiers in Nazi ranks – which foreign intelligence previously assigned as meeting internal needs to psychologically place the horrors they were expected to commit – it is likely Nazi science itself has at its main tenet, that because all of physics is manipulated to the Arian’s favor, the Nazi scientist can make man God. They’re swallowed in the light the guests have acclimated to, with its invisible ceiling blending into opaque atmosphere, unseen blackness hovering intermingled in cloud.
Unheard raindrops ping on an atrium ceiling, underneath it all, the scene and its attendants forced into their custom compartments, the shell game, hope you find a filled-out suit instead of a solid specter, hope there’s warmth in shared proximity. Nazism has been proven to be a cover. Its leadership are Satanists and from their view, Nazism itself (was) a sex and death cult. Not this nagging sense you’re riding atop a rushing current, clinging for dear life through violent rapids, need to keep smiling, complimenting accessory choices, want the position furthest from the windows, if you’re too close their deep growl is guttural, physical, and it detracts from the toastmaster. The Burroughs code would suggest that Nazis were then and have always been Satanists in reserve, existing as an intra-dimensional para military force. In total sense, in absolutes realized in the throes of death, all storms are orchestrated by the continent-sized eye of a perpetual hurricane at the earth’s pole, perchance to glimpse the monstrosity upon your release, the hidden hope something will welcome you upon exit.
Universal head chieftain adjures over oval offices and their minions, clawing at blazers to expose silk lining, but only in dreams because it doesn’t fit the decorum, the phantom cardboard partitions dictating behavior, making the enforced silence palatable, the professional diligent acceptance. Para military as operating under contained skies filled with stolen atmosphere, unseen and seventy-two degrees at all times, air conditioned, clouds stolen for their hydrogen and oxygen, to make realms where pretty blonde boys all grown up can play with machines to intra-dimensional affect. Practicing submission and glorifying ascendancy, pretending to listen while waiting for the current patron’s arrival, the real head of the line, the bonafide feedbag attendant. Intra dimensional means through dimensions, inter dimensional means two or more separate dimensions that may interact; it does not mean they do.
Two rooms, one on Earth we could all walk into, one in its own dimension; we say inter dimensional to account for the two positions. Where the schedules are made, out of more circular offices, the one storm’s eye swirling the ground of all air, hoping enough gets stolen from lungs, plotting enough cause for decay so newer, less substantial and ever subservient eyes build. If the word intra-dimensional is used, it indicates dynamics as they are arranged in one dimension are pushing in some way into another dimension – because the two dimensions are linked to impact one another. Electric ghosts project through flesh as they substantiate gradually over every interface with any multimedia device, through silent signals riding soft static, form informs chaos fallen into place along nerves embedded in flesh, see the glowing electric blue washed into a faint white medium leaning out of the torsos of every citizen.
The living ghosts, it’s more than metaphor, it’s the applied mechanics of an unknown science, it is calculated metaphysics accomplished for far more than monetary profit. An interpretation lending itself to a global view of how a life in Satanism is lived, is found in the Burroughs code by following exclusively the italicized words on pages leading up to page ten: bottom of page 8 repeated, “This is a weapon . . an enemy weapon”; on page nine, again, only words in italics on the whole page and clearly befitting the context, esprit de corps, which is taken to mean comradery, on page ten, first words in italics are non-organization, and the next italicized word on that page is intervene. Keep them corralled, force their smiles, time, order, file their protracted death, prognosticate on how much the ruling class can earn in the duration, bet the futures market, amortize interest on the loans people secured to secure their graves.
[“First pages-addenda”] %-
DoWn By ThE sHoReS oF tHe ShAnKy BaNkY
wHeRe ThE bUlLfRoGs JuMp FrOm AcHe To LaNkY
SiNgInG:
Sprinkle Shakedown
Ha, you thought you’d get me- Heh-heh, you thought you’d get me
Your overcoats and badges don’t make you monsters
You can’t push me. I won’t move.
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Bibliographies: Williams, William Carlos. The Embodiment of Knowledge. New York: New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1974. Print.
Burroughs, S. William. The Ticket that Exploded. New York: Grove Press, 1992. Print.
