A Place for Truth

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She’s naked, and pretty, … yet no one issued from the great pit can perceive her. Even those shadows roaming in front of their opened eyes, leaves them speechless, …they were born to endeavor as blind ones from here to the end of Eternity’s wages. Dazzled by nothing. Enamored of nothing. Dead to the spirits which surround our solitary tracks in the Ether. 

No historical man is real. Let alone his concubines. Only the Ghost in the heart knows her. Beseeches the Royal Activity, which an innocent youth, boy or girl, would cling to, in all distress. In a City bewailing cavernous meaninglessness.

Naked and pretty. Silent between the behooved leaves. The trees of all colors, glistening. 

Who would honor her? Which man can hold her in his bosom and yet without burning to a crisp, can gasp, maintaining his sanity, then embrace the red lips of Truth and continue existing to continually cherish living in a LIE? 

In a body made by death from the start. Fallen from between two thighs! 

Into the wet dust of numerical whimsies! Directed ‘neath the dark avenues constructed by Minos.

She’s naked and is the sole thing alive. This ontological essence who is weary from carrying crosses among human shells. 

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10 réflexions sur “A Place for Truth

  1. …what we see splattered on the pavement of these deserted earths, is the grandeur of our unique hearts. Foundations to some imaginary historical event, ruined by Capitalists and their minions the Marxists monsters, along with some daemon god preying on all that’s left of what would be INNOCENT & without malice…it takes place in a certain space where Al Khidr rides the fish!

    We are his brethren between the cracks of the worlds, populated by spectres!
    A LION IN THE DESERT for some, where as, for certain selected ones, those who have responded to the CALL, the ELECTED, it’s the Place of Asgard. Gnostica Loka.

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  2. The Elect can only ever search for the ontological truth, shall we call it « Gnostika Loka »?

    Yes, the Marxists are minions of the Capitalists. And what was the Capital of the Marxists, those Marxists who came from Germany and the OsterReich – Vienna – Wein – Wine… After all they were only wine merchants to begin with.

    J'aime

  3. Like we say in Spanish, » es une broma »! Being stands on God’s Nothingness. Its ROCK-BED is in the Midst of Existential Rivers, a place where the Mind can lean on. A perplexing certitude in a RUINED LAND. The Bridge you are building across the great divide!

    But this Nothingness has a Spirit. A dry water from whence the soul can be consciously, & is unbeknownst to it self, nourished. In this World everything ferments. Is born then dies. Fermenting. Solve et Coagula. Yes, we can make wine! But can Nature all by herself without mankind, do it? You yourself are an ARCHITECT, n’est-ce pas?

    The Royal Art is to understand that, amicus Dei. To make wine and drink it to the dregs! Then on the Path, as our bodies are our vessels of Heaven & Damnation, conquer a Place in Eternity with our « GOD » guiding us to an Immortal edifice. Inspired by TRUTH and your HEART as its REALM!

    Ave Pelegrinus!

    Aimé par 1 personne

    • Nature herself can produce nothing, what is within Nature has been placed here, but we do not see what did the placing. « In this world everything ferments » – this is true, so what is placed here breaks down over time, nature is the breaking down mechanism. Therefore it is right that we seek that which is not nature! And this I see now all around, that which is not natural – that which is artificial wanting to appear as a natural process – the Labours of Hercules – solve et coagula, I have solved eleven.

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  4. Nature herself is our covenant with the Abyss. She is the reflection, Prima Materia of our hidden processes. Hold the Dragon tight! He’s a tremendous THING. Niohöggr. Leviathan. Behemoth. & Gulliver! Our being here, is God’s great wish. When you see, the gods then, do die. When they do the seeing, we’re just meaningless robots! Silly plastic dervishes turning like tops with no will of their own, save the hive-mind directing their appetites. The inerte trance imbedded within their so-called DNA. The ethero-biological chains which hold us in check. But then…

    Embracing and tired of wandering, the warrior knight at the foot of his own death’s cross. TYR. A Glorious Body of Immortal Resurrection.

    I imagine then, my dear friend, & ominous brother, that at the 12th labour you’ll « handcuff » CERBERUS.
    And then « RIDE THE FISH ».

    To drink at the Fount of Mimirr. Where the 2 RIVERS cross.

    The stars in the sky at night, and behind the « curtains » of day, will accompany you. For a child of the deep heavens will be born! And you shall know what Orpheus knew.

    Aimé par 2 personnes

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