PHYSICAL MECHANICS OF GOD-MAN AND HIS SUBJECTS (FAREWELL ADDRESS)

(A page long, FOR MATURE AUDIENCES, same style of writing as novel here: https://anewgnosis.com/2019/06/25/71/ )

Set distinct frequency allocation to multitudes in every physical and temporal dimension, secret wavelengths run over every gap between them, hosting tempests over unseen but sensed, unnavigable oceans concealing in folds of waves sputtering drops of thoughts and phantoms haunting  internal entrances and trap doors, -thresholds rigged to be secretly crossed until inevitably, you as life becomes entangled.

Eyes tracking appropriate to attention paid, sure, -it’s consummate programmed function, perpetual, half of skull cavern owed to resonant frequencies mocking similar wavelengths distinct to simulacrum of interior dimensions. Organic processing with all the bells unheard because phones have been dinging for so long now no one counts it as sound, and the public couples, settling into groups of living limited consensus, – if unlimited consensus were demonstrated evil would end.

Set frequencies to distinction. It’s measured in their wallets. Blank out their eyes with light projected via resonant conveyance to overtake pupil function through optic nerves, tell them to experience it with eyes closed and tell them it’s God. (Then, what they’ll do to for it on their knees.)

Heroin liquefies psyche and psyche is epiphenomenon of the physical; consciousness concentrated to sentience bound to the filaments of neurons and axons throughout all somatic cells of the nervous system, coupled with less concentrated sentience bound to functions of all biological process. All cells metabolizing, no one is anything more. Heroin directs the physical to become liquid and the addict never sees it, but over time they’ll become convinced. Cocaine throttles to direct all neurological function to instantaneous reason, which becomes the neurological component of structured conviction, then provide the structuring. Bound naked noose around throat with the rest of the rope used to hog tie them, for example. (Then, what they’ll be made to pray for.)

You’ll always have control if you control the women, and glorify race, -the rich require act on command obedience and teaching secret cadres of each race that the amount of melanin their skin cells produce, -or the shapes of their eyes make only their kind superior, creates the exact cause for a people to act on impulse without thought. It’s a matter of security, but to sustain it requires an account of the people liable to serve for racial reasons alone, and to satisfy people that dumb you must control access to sex.

Introduce them to the programming methods, and their long term effects -the torture sizzling through the onion-skin Bible paper as the preacher’s groin stiffens each time he reaches to turn the page. Get him used to using the podium to hide it and offer him positions of societal authority, distinct to set frequencies, with all the roaring of cracking into porcelain-like solids complete with jagged edges piling on the floor at the foot of any reflective surface or mirror a victim’s image haunts. Do not pretend God’s watch or set wavelengths to distinct patterns of the sunlight through peeling reflective tint on the windows of a by-the-hour hotel room, where God watches over abducted children as they are ruined into submission, as long as the on-duty front desk clerk gets a turn.

Make complete covert industries out of identifying where and when rooms will be open for processing, servicing the needs of Judges, some of whose public religion is openly sympathetic to Lucifer as a relative to Jesus, and advance their careers after the required amount of children are sacrificed. Explain to them this will make them God, but it may take a few lifetimes -or leave the “lifetimes” part out just for kicks.

Billionaires who allocated resources to stockpile all heirloom seed, who own hundreds of millions of shares in GMO seed companies -making seed for plants that will not bare seed, who never are questioned on market fixing, are ready to exterminate the planet. It’s a matter of loyalty, a matter of breeding stock.

THE AUTONOMOUS ATOM OF EVIDENT AND DISCREET SYSTEMS

(Same style of writing found in Novel here: https://wp.me/paWQ0d-19 )

If I was broken down through the physical, or built up again incongruous to visible form and still appearing the same; distending from my presence unseen, then passersby can redeem themselves at any time as my new form courses through the streets -or cower in a foreign and sudden chill or flash of heat. It’s a sliding scale, a gradient of scars or improvements, solely dependent on proxemics -and on intentional distance internalized, caught in whirling physical plasma superimposed in pockets of air, but through the body, or through the floor.

-On the other side, -after the spinning stops- the universe may open to unknown location, at positions impossible to find and if you don’t question how the connection is made, you become theirs.

Homeland theme songs and international sporting events to push world community are a universal formative for goodwill in competition, and to watch and buy between seeing people who trained all their lives to compete fail or succeed for their nation. -Fundamental formative of “nation not person”. All matter delivered to the same result:

Getting broken down through the physical, but if you’re not knowingly participating your processing is function of unseen, fabricated space time. If you are knowingly participating, you are at war.

-Universal fabric contorting, twisting black and heaving with coal dark mist, preliminary catharsis, the endemic formative -snakes as holograms shot into the subconscious with what the newest printing of our currency is valued at, thanks to the international community.

TACTICS PRESUPPOSE OBSERVATION, WITH LITTLE CHANCE FOR FIDELITY IN BOTH

(A bit over 2 pages, FOR MATURE AUDIENCES, and not for those prone to take offense. “Creative” stream of consciousness, like writing in my novel here): https://anewgnosis.com/2019/06/25/71/

To destroy all concept for the sole purpose of directing thought, or some such the broadcaster said, it seems like it’s the only way to be heard, so we’ll lay the claim. Demand less than you give and never suspect how minor a role each person plays to save a sense of continuity, but not the knowledge of decent treatment; there is nothing decent about a war debilitating all existence of its dominion to protracted death -not for profit, though it appeals to peons content with the “academic hypostasis” defining right and wrong -hypostasis (not in current use) means “unknowable” and cokehead billionaires would never care to learn it.  

Their blackened hands are concealed by the latest bio-mechanic advances in the market of false skin, their grip is death but they wear robes and rape children, order around suits who rape children, and rub shoulders with Aristocracy who rape children. All of them enjoy hunting kidnapped children, they hear it makes the flesh tastier and maybe one day they’ll try it. More reward if you do, order the real person turned remote controlled robot from the exclusive catalog that is entertainment tabloid journalism, the “stage of their career” is finalized as their first movie hits screen, then robots are made to fill orders.

Function platform Saturn, where platform is function-specific, the light cast onto the screen and the music concealing tone, robot replacements controlled by out-of-phase handheld devices are collected by the males, a “leading man” means they have started their robot harem- the miscreants like codes like that dropped in the news broadcasts, it gives reason to demand blowjobs from the weather girl as a condition for hire knowing she’ll have no recourse, it provides laughter and a continual emptying covered over because that’s the example we need set. Every bit of it is secured by militaristic applications of evil, stand the line for routes running children, arrange security for the world-aid relief efforts because it’s a convenient pool from where their products can safely disappear.

The products, the children lost to the mechanics of a darkened intent left to churn for eons with no opposition, covered in drug profits and black market trade -of the type you are free to mention on the news because scarcity will only drive prices higher and no one breathes after mentioning the children, the commodity, taught and prepared for,

 “What make rich man tingle down there.” -knowing, “Rich man has to always be happy.”

 Line up the protesters who need a pad to the paycheck this month, (Knowing those details is why intelligence agencies exist.) -where platform is function-specific, a G-man takes his death toll and cashes it in for pleasure, secret extravagance, and all the free tickets complete with strings because when the only intrinsic value to you has departed, what strings could stop Platform’s function?

Hollowed out for how much attention he feels his penis is owed, a leading male star of the Luciferian set will have been trained on how to direct target cast members into industry-governing networks, and the process of making robots from people requires tortures. Death by plunging an excessively large blade into the vagina while the victim is strapped into position in a gynecologist’s stirrups is required, in earlier stages of the process product is typically chained to a wall and suffocated, they die and are revived several times. (The evil has the physics and with it the ability to remove sentience from physicality, reassigning “you” at its whim.) Not shying away from facts is required, as is the will to face the darkest displays of their evil, -but not in a method of saturation and mind breaking accounts; to remove all concept to direct all thought and to not become the listless observer.

But markets require products, and their physics requires the dumbed-down hoping to be rich and controllably famous population, it requires every demographic and it schedules when new demographics develop because they only develop when they are needed, -in steady proportion to the world’s growing population. This is field management coordination. Time-stopping, psyche invading, where frequencies built into unseen materials playing through the physical body come to invade organic process to become organic process, to deliver every circumstance and person to how they best provide the network of machines fabricating Weaponized Inter-Dimensional Space-Time future recourse. It is “build character in the shit-shoveler” economics and it arranges your dispositions for you, the frailty you keep hidden, leaving the world intrigue at how well you prop yourself up, the unspoken plodded out replies reserved to maitnain each moment’s decorum, repetitious and thought-owning directives blasted in signal, people buy the goods and their goods make them people.

Kill off the frozen, count on the winter die-off each year, factor it into the projected expenditures, and never question where the gold went, why the dollar’s not quite paper, and how Satan holds unquestioned dominion in cities and towns. Names of deities built from concentrating ideals and acts of nefarious intent have no power, without the mechanics of WIST (Weaponized Inter-dimensional Space-Time) there is no power available to the Satanist. The types of people attracted to acts required in the pursuit of evil are either grown-up victims themselves or they form so select a group they are easy to discount from any real opposition to our response. Conceptualizations build in different directions, anchoring new passages in varying directions, and thought is one function of body as sentient function response, where the will is internalized and the permanent ground -marked in opposition to the enemy, is consciously taken through discipline.   

Satan’s range is a thin fabric of gold and the fabric of space time is actually a tran-dismensional material known for providing mathematical, verified interpretations of academic Astrophysics its fodder, its “waste your life and feel smart” fuel. The thin gold sheets span stretches of miles, same surface area as Los Angeles, Las Vegas, -anywhere, with expanses bordered by horizontal floating gold rods, two atop each other, and the entire tubular construct hovers over the edges of the gold plane. -As seen in a dimension where void exists because the void was built to be there, and it only contains anything needed to feed the chieftains your children.

The “Fabric of Space-Time” is a contained, arranged darkness, containing thick gelatinous materials stretching in massive intersecting lines, and the material contains grids of thick plasmas in glowing intensities. An out-of-phase interface is paired to a ranking Satanist’s neck, it is resonant to the gold tubes because the relationship gives the Satanist instantaneous communication, knowledge and action when required to provide Satan’s security. Calling up demons at this rank is meant for broad application, and a dark, more gaseous allotment of the fabric of space-time transmutes through the thin gold range to become sentient arrangements of intents assigned to matter, called upon in curses, select utterances, and non-verbal commands.

Function Platform Mars. Running resonant to the tubes of the range, a rear section of a fixture in Mar’s underground station, the giant machine and flesh brain, through where the back-bottom of a brain belonging to the subjects would be, a signal splits to the right from where the “top of a spine” would be, to allow for Luciferain coordination and through identical -but specifically, uniquely different explained means, Lucifer’s “Powers of Mars”, or some shit. (None of their sounds are important. Our response builds in driven silence.) Whole mechanics relies on resonant field conveyance. The split allows the Satanist secret directing powers, to supervene the Luciferian when the machine deems it necessary, because nothing about their desire is theirs and every Satanist snuff film sex lord is proud of the demons inhabiting his dick.

It is childhood antics developed to the covertly enhanced mechanics of exacting evil in the name of unknown insecurity, ad infinitum, -and as the term applies to the inner domain, because the soldiers of the enemy persist in their unquestionable authority, knowing full well someone higher-up will reserve the chopping block for their head at the most inane infraction- their deal was eternal, and their side will lose.

PHYSICAL EXISTENTIALISM

(2 pages long -Words based on what is framed by the downloads at first two posts, written more in the style of writing used in -free download- novel): https://anewgnosis.com/2019/06/25/71/

Matter is fixed resonant variance, where target is function as spread-throughout frequency, and it’s all their houses are worth. Minute swirling plasma vortices dot the atmosphere from eye level up, they fall with night, -blend in with dark and light. It’s the enemy’s incursion, sent secretaries to do the warrior’s job, “errand boy” isn’t still in use for no reason, -oh, and what they do with boys, what they do to corral the individuated field of the psyche, the radio dial switches of splitting attention. Enlist the sex slaves, call them heroes, call it espionage, call it logistical rape of mind control projects to occupy the peon’s time, call it sound diplomacy and make it as cold as the war. It will take up decades as the evil gains ground through atmosphere cast into resonance near streetlamps, making the light fry neural pathways of pedestrians in direct correlation to their account balances, it’s for shits and giggles, it’s “until we build enough to build the next planet”.

This is for the girls, sixty year old man cigar stench, death breath, something about decay in age the child knows but no one sees. This is their ticket out, let the rest starve. Last time you’ll have to see this neighborhood, cozy up to the seventy year old in bed and you’re out, no the cocaine’s free, but the tab’s called if you ask to leave. It’s stated in petroglyphs, trans-dimensional projections pushing through nerves of hands used to carve stone, through stone to impact Astral senses, -the hologram assigned to you for spiritual experience, so that the contained ditzy and the Luciferian, (worshipping penises in the sun), wind up “finding each other”.

Thank you platform Saturn, balls of turning circles and flat discs of gold layered into eight foot spheres of giant clockworks controlling time. You are their distraction. You are their entertainment. It’s the circle of the clock face plus the toil and dread, anticipations, worries, need and desires of all sentience anywhere that ever looked at the clock. Let the sacrifices begin, a time for the demons the have the All, as promised by global Aristocracy and let them tell you what it means, sniveling worthless worshipping money in the name of death because viruses create venture-capitalist interest in vaccines. Cation Particle Silver is not backed by the FDA as approved treatment, and sugar literally rots teeth to the bones of the skull of the citizenry. Why offer dental care, the stench of decay suits you, smile through it.  Time travel is especially dependent on children staring at the clock in school, begging for class to end, the bell to ring, the weekend to begin.

All alone to think aloud no one would care to admit, always understated unspoken, this isn’t our stances making our world. It is hell brought to Earth.  Clockwork mechanics assigning vectors dependent on sentient concept, they are preparing you for slaughter in the name of how a body they forced into existence, with sentience bound to physicality through mechanical coercion, is subject to an individuated field it is resonant to through its DNA. The term “Aura” does not suffice.  Running through the field, creating an impact delivered by resonant field dynamics from platform Jupiter through hollow thin gold statues, both made as the “base mold of man and woman”, both anchored to a structure with a large box between the two: A processing center, delivering the matter of death, a substance treasured for its property of making bodies die on contact. It can be released into any sentient target because the interior of the “mold of man/woman” is charged with electromagnetic current, sustained to build and separate a single-atom layer of gold. The field of monatomic gold is prized for its property to entangle sentience, and through the individuated field half breed beings subsist on energy from “person’s field”, but those beings are elsewhere, (resonant field throughway mechanics), -the trans-dimensional roller-coaster, the bleeding mascara; how when eyes alone beg for help the lip quivers and the skin beneath the nose goes cold.

It pacifies the manic prey of New Age Luciferiansim, and those who are not useful for sex are useful as conduit- the machine running through all atmospheres, all atmospheres of all planets layered strategically, impressed into the air of the Earth, breathe in the perpetual carnival of death from platform Jupiter. Know gas giants as man-made nebulae, oh what they do with the boys, oh how the flesh rips, caught in their teeth, oh the children. Plasma in bands of Jupiter’s atmosphere particulates into gas in arrangements of lattice-works, templates for matter as storage mediums of untold sentient experience, to flow in enormous bands as they are fed the torture chamber’s sentient suffering slaughter. Throughout Jupiter’s atmospheres there are floating platforms where untold miseries are carried out by in the flesh demons, where men and women of evil exact their revelry. Mother-Daddy issue when the child goes missing from 2 to 3:30 in the morning for years, as far as anyone knows the whole house sleeps great those nights, and by turning a corner in the right hallway of the pentagon a President is on Mars, where he expects to be served the flesh of children in his meal.  Bow down to your rulers, or make sure to watch the news after work.

Back layout, between halls, running the length of corridors connecting maintenance closets with false back walls, are entrances to passages not easily navigated, escorts required, blindfold and possible ball gag for the newbs, but it you find it, certain corridors open to massive caverns hosting spherical control stations. At control board personnel is at center of a large gas and plasma sphere, the functioning aspects of all matters of all atmospheres, and for Jupiter, bans of brown and grey are available to be directed and repositioned to impress dominion- oh the screams, what they do to the boys, it is their pastime, but their suits are expensive. In dreary stripes of thicker black in shadows falling from walls lining streets between subdivisions, in the long hollow concrete passages with fury in frozen wind, thin scintillating membranes build through shadow and dirt, or openly conceal their bodies in streetlight. Function platform Jupiter. A shake to the spine, and the certainty someone’s about to die.

Stop taking these materials for retractable value, placing is more than placement because we are lost to the continual battle, grounded as iron, just as obstinate, continually melting and swirling thick, heated to near-plasma, holding as solid as the endless accusation made by the physicality of the world. It was never skin or floating smiles drifting beyond the confines of their faces. Spending time with people presented me with their fading, and it is never by their choice; the grasp of reality, as an actual existence, because anything beyond this can be no more than the fourth dimension, -reading time as function of field:  

All realms experienced are massive, allotted temporal dispersions, specific to parameters set for the matter of each.

Television as function of field, send postcards from the attic if the signal’s out, someone’s going to have to stay up there if this gets serious.

      -Dated, and nuanced to clever defeat.

Weather and Its People

(5 pages long, the same style of writing used in the novel -Download here): https://anewgnosis.com/2019/06/25/71/

Chaos demands form, form informs chaos, structured into prefabrications, amassed of all substance, –en toto– nothing primordial, everything beyond comprehension sustaining the limited view. 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. 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, their donned importance, laughter, uneasiness in hands extended to prospective partners. 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. 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. 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 worked long and hard for this.”

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. 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. 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. The sky isn’t hiding stars. 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. 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.

            In total sense, in absolutes realized in the throes of death, all storm fronts are orchestrated by a continent sized eye of 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, palpable enforced silence, professional diligent acceptance. 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. Where the schedules are made, out of more circular offices, the one storm’s eye swirling the ground of all air, hopefully enough gets stolen from lungs, plotting enough cause for decay so newer, less substantial and ever subservient eyes build.
            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, the applied mechanics of unknown science, calculated metaphysics accomplished for far more than fiscal profit. 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 secured to secure their graves.

Its physical ground dynamics structured to ensure your impotence upon the mechanism’s discovery because all tactics employed hit at once, every strategy formulated by their back handed shared laughter, the many headed monster assimilating anyone qualified. Tears your head to shreds and you remain solid, the nerve to believe in their assault, the piece by piece defeat demands all of you at once, no space to breathe, swallow endorsed pills and don’t question metabolic pathways, ask for new pills for the side effects. The nerve to believe your independence, the faint hearted misery passing as acquiescence once you believe you’ve been informed enough to make the intelligent choice by the bought and the sold, their floods are seasonal, the rhetoric practiced, plotted and agreed upon by think tanks, with the monstrous orchestration disregarded as unbelievable. 

            It’s in the tornado’s interest, rumbling loud enough to swallow you whole even through the foundation, eggs from nests a half a mile away bashed into siding and screen doors as the air horn sounds. Pass the cigars, don’t think too much, don’t know, you’re better off, better to congeal softened into the accepted form, purchase the additives so one day if you’re lucky you’ll be able to afford the bunker ten feet underground. Let them buy the legislation and offer country homes to whole country governance, let them pay for the children and build walls to secure clean permanent tunnels, points of entry for trade in the dark, let them decide what is worth knowing, every child left behind, patted by unseen hands, pleated or growled over from hidden angles, collecting bids, keep their markets open.

They’ve orchestrated the science and you’re too busy putting food on the table, they’ve put trillions into the signal and your eyes are entrances to wind tunnels, they’ve filled the vacuum after first allowing themselves sole access, resonant field equivalence, grey matters of the receiving end. Need three terrorist attacks, need the Muslim holocaust, it’s their turn, crowd whipped into a frenzy through ground transmission emitted by the PA, millions exchanged from both sides of every market eking out its profit in every stage of the staged debacle, but it’s families threatened, it’s lives ended, no one would do this. Turn on your television, open windows in the evening for the relief fall temperatures bring your power bill, hear the crowd cheering and react depending on who’s playing at home.

Refugees are escaping despots and despots babysit resources, capital supplying markets, their only interest, but you kept your mouth shut and got a raise. Support your aristocracy, marvel at their covert mastery, symbolic positions and functions of days long gone, the drawn, rushing to hit traffic backed up on their way to work, the quartered, crumpling broken at the spectacle of home-lives disintegrating in hours of overtime, the beheaded, outcasts deemed worthy of the hospital because they demanded your focus then cracked when no one listened. It’s their stage their play, and you’re happy pushing buttons on shiny handheld devices, liking unnoticed disasters playing out protracted over years punctuated by reunions, the tarred, posing half-conscious so drunken, the feathered, dressed up in a winning ensemble for the interview, the subjects, playing make believe, let’s vote, don’t mind whose wallets open.

Photons hit molecules of water vapor a thousand feet up, shifts through less dense cloud, elevates another two thousand feet, white billowing ceilings reflecting the sun as cold air moves in an upward front, sliding molecule to molecule riding excited vapors until it slips into the lower Jetstream, heat builds in low cloud reflection, a new storm gestates. The hand tailored dry cleaned fresh pressed ready for the next gala, the intoxicated unimpressed unelected indecent enamored of perfumed air, convinced its scent changes upon their arrival, playing concern over what will happen if their candidate doesn’t win. All that shifts is capital diversification in investment packages, all that’s mentioned are tropical depressions building status, every editorial is sponsored oratory, volume modulated pitch corrected, still ringing in your head after the first commercial, quieting without the words losing distinction while traversing temporal lobes in grey matters, sky darkens, time for dinner.

“Honey, call the kids.”

“What’s on tonight, Honey?”      

Brainwave frequency setters, radio, television picture, movie or computer screen, nominal disgrace transmission in game show audience applause, canned laughter happy hour products placed in structured alpha and beta brainwave crossed interference patterns, a thought of who you dislike, what you wish you would have said, outro music to commercial, in the black milliseconds, thoughts of what food will bring comfort. What can still the tumult, the progressing freezing fog bank, low to ground mist molecule to molecule crystalizing, frosting open grasses of the cemetery, the autumnal announcement, build your shelters insects, attend the election season rally, everyone keep smiling the mandate, vote millionaires into office because they’ll care more about us once their office makes them billions.  

It’s that no one has the time, and everyone’s too trusting, according people disposed to live their lives running for office the same decency you believe is in the common man. The bowtie gala, the invisible clamp tightening at the top of your back, base of your neck, through your flesh, note the thought just flashed into dismissal before it could formulate, parade the rhetoric of revolution through every market it fits, tell the image in the mirror this is the way to win, and smile when the out of phase apparatus arranges your facial muscles accordingly. The hurricane bombards you with sleet, fifty poster-board campaign mailings every two days, rain racing in wind pulling drops to sputters, the propositions positing which of the two sides will increase profits, the floods, the broken dams, the promises that halt your reason.    

Wires unable to contain complete signal, heat sheds through cables into the atmosphere, unseen moisture evaporates, air dries out in localized pockets, the piecemeal uproars detaching into blue sky, not counted in meteorological calculations so universities can open new wings, crimes never answered for because too many feel guilty and for inexplicable reasons eyes go blank. No one knows where to start, monsoon seasons grow more violent, wet hot summer plays into parched fall, dry cooling air lasts for months, put the pretty on television and call them weather experts, epidermis cracks, dryness sinks into muscle tissues, physical irritability, buy bottled water. Stock market index positions crawl along the bottom of the screen, EPA reports dictate profitability, whole paradigm parasitic, electrostatic embodiments carrying discord emanate invisibly through heated screens, denizens of the sun, brining havoc to ground in unnamed discontent riding electronic shifts in frequency.

What is done to entertain who depends on who’s watching, how many maneuverable pieces need how much suggestibility, what passes for passing time depends on how much your stomach can take, giggles or gales of laughter, dampened cheeks, tears caught in eyelashes, or outright wails, blood surfacing through scratch marks built out of unreal need, needle marks scabbed over because no one sees, or flesh exploded apart from bones of children guarding poppy fields. Chills build strength in nighttime alleys, between decrepit bricks and crumbling mortar sweeps dark cool air through respiration, visiting its victims for the duration of an inhale. Planetary ailments spread through whole population, metastasizing through commercial pathology, pandemic of pursed lipped disregard on account of how old their clothes look, from how nice the new purse is directed at how sad the poor get, from fine feathered lounge clothes to thinned out shoe soles, believe the air reaching their lungs becomes poison upon exhale, desperate heaving sobs grab the stomachs of the starving, the fine leather pocket book kept for nostalgia seems threatened, the only answer, put them out of their misery.

Elect designated screamers, the media does the rest, hide well-heeled perpetrators in crowds closest to the podium, dismantle reasoned assertions with appeals to how nice yachts are, why should those be taxed, peon economics led by red ties, international conglomerates capitalizing on incentives of globalized trade increase the frequency of mid-atmosphere fuel dumps, and they’re for the environment. Jet fuel tears into petroleum mists fragmented to particle to particle thin, twenty thousand feet in the air an incorporeal phantom arranges itself, fossils dithered down to fluid fine enough to combust in piston chambers, remnants of ancient life reflect sunlight at different frequencies than water vapor, a non-localized shield trapping upturned high pressure systems, chaos informs form, rain water eats statue surfacing, low-quality air hazards brought to you by NAFTA.

Legislative ruin fought fervently by both sides on stage, they all frequent the same brothels, the younger the better, should one, two, or three years before the brain can sustain self-reason be the line for statutory rape. Should banks fleece pension funds to set themselves up as financiers for the cocaine trade, leave it to the legislators, the hamster feed nipple sucking pantsuits with unflinching smiles, the hidden sickened smirks lowering lending regulations and voting down a living wage while bank investments overextend into real estate, this how to build then burst a bubble, whole outfit culpable. Whole bleary eyed throng unwilling to reconcile internalized pleas for decent treatment to their cheers and applause lifting assembly rafters, nonsense pomp is easier, convincing you you’re a part of something greater, bright shiny circumstance quells angst, covers wails echoing the hollow psyche.

UN relief initiatives secure trade routes in regions where black market capital grows, smuggling routes secreted by sustenance supply chains, hand dug canals carved into rivers by torrential rains, relief workers attend causes for event specific pop-up disaster charities laundering the proceeds of meeting black market demand.  How many shell companies set up by how many alphabet agencies, anything needed, pay enough look the other way then place the order to print more money after adjusting interest rates to offset costs, charging the middle class, there’s nostrils aching for relief, eyeballs begging to pulsate, faces longing to be numbed. Sixteen year olds whose only dream is an invite to a yacht party need your support, publicly clean hands wearing hand sewn ties and two thousand dollar shoes want you to watch the sponsored nationalized editorial played through local syndicates, dull your sight, vision flinching at the frequency as it hits, occipital lobe frenzied to react, rich man needs more whores and less thinking, delivered through all programming, signals subvert all content.

Inhaling frigid morning air cools nostrils, tames lungs, gives the brain pause, triggers half a second without thought while locking the door, till the electromagnetic hum of the nearest curbside transformer informs neurological function in its typical unnoted fashion, constant base-level noise pollution unites all seasons. Set the education bar lower because the textbook contracts are held with subsidiaries of oil companies, for-profit chemical laboratories fund academic grants in pharmaceutical studies to search out new recruits, to forestall death with minimal side-effects, approved treatments direct mental faculties, what regulates serotonin and makes them vote, what makes them cry at commercials. Exhaling frigid evening air stings teeth with the bite of invisible crushed ice, exits through open-mouthed wincing smiles, eyelids shutter slightly closer, triggers thought of bed covers as cold wind plays pillows of sound against eardrums, blends in with occasional ringtones in public places, idling engines and indistinct strangers’ voices, assembles a torrent of discounted noise, man-made static drives any sense of focused responsibility into postulations of what the primetime host will say.

Someone else will provide the fix, you need to blend in with and appropriately stand out from the wreckage, modes of argument shaped to invalidate the process of identifying who profits most in every market enabled by which legislative session, because turning the conversation that direction makes eyes empty, causes instantaneous brief halts in respiration bringing pain to surface, and then any diversion becomes worthy of pursuit. Sing-alongs in traffic, the status symbol of driving alone, shadows deepen, swallowing the hallway to the bedroom, colored-light family substituting game night for a movie rental in the tints of a dim broadcast, the three piece suit taking his nightly prostitute from behind, posturing fiscal prognostications between lines. The emblazoned and the faltering, shuttering from their sight, at their sight, so loud, so much ambiguity offered to hide their contempt, we the people blanking their faces indifferent and lining their pockets.

Blazing current rips from cloud to ground, setting earth alight in flashes, incinerating all atmospheres in its path, neurotransmitters fire current across synapses founding methods to simulate space alone, searching frantically to still the storm. At least give us the eye, the momentary eerie silent calm, air rushes to fill what lightening burnt out, no space left unfilled, no presence becoming apparent. High-velocity wind fills each vacuous aftermath, the decimating sound tears through form. The continual meet and greet, the thunderous, anxious, eyes bulging at the slightest entertainment. Lumps hide in throats, catastrophic landfall, all matter unfulfilled.