For how long and since when have they been stuck in a mirror of their own making. Not to mention my own bewildering magical stupidity that placed me there as well. Clinging to forgotten silly quibbles, defending some idiotic philosophical institutional cell of contemplation! Looking in a glass made of Mercury.
We breathe our life's breath into man made idols. Plutarch's statues, where gods or genies would thus elect domicile. Offering our soul's life energy to a prison of Sacred Geometry. Imprisoned by our earnest work, within Euclid's Cage. Constructed before our eyes, surrounding us from all about.
...all that for Pythagoras and his endeavor to create a harmonious dwelling for monkey men, and the wandering spectres who meditate its harmonic proportions.
NOSCE TE IPSUM.
***
Is the Aryan soul, free to know for its own wellbeing? Or was it made to be a cloned repetition to inaugurate endlessly a helpless insatisfaction in its own progeny?
Just to be some organic holographic copy defined according to some dogmatic hypnotic model?
Unconsciously created with the idea of fabricating a blood of artificially intermingled sterility?
And eventually, barbarous ugliness. In will and deed.
