mein Ehre heist Treue

You break me and yet I stand at the edge of Paradise. Like a perfect thought in the god mind, suspended in Chaos between two pillars of contradiction.

You spat on my face, but I abide. The best when left alone, are those who carry their cross as the Golden Mean!

Cloaked with the chasm of my soul, entitled to nothing. I make no plea for help, not to anyone! 

In this heart there's no room for intolerable plight, where blame or dishonor could beg yet without shame. 

Our fortunate or unfortunate predestination, is ours from the beginning by choice. 

But if not, I'll make it mine and bet against Satan even if I should lose. It's not his corpse'll hold me back when I'll get off to elsewhere!

My pride is such that both my unquenched thirst and insatiate hunger just can't make me bow down.

I stay cold inside. 

Like a haunting that wakes me in the dark, saying: " Wake"!

... from a horrible slumber I rise. And like a lantern in the shadows, when all else seems without life, I put all the spectres in my home to flight. 

I am the blood-ghost of all my noble friends. 

Their souls together beyond their each consort gleaming like a star in the sky, behind in the background blackness, breathing, the supreme mantra: 

"Heil, Sieg Heil"!

** * ** **

I am happy to die for the earth grave that waits for me. Or the pyre that'll burn. Or the wild animal who's in hunger. Or because of a stone thrown by some likeness of a man of lower breed.  

To be in Hell with the brave is all that I wish to fulfill. 

To be with my Blood, bleeding for Eternity with the best of what Almighty God conceived in human shape:  Great serpents of Light from the infinite crypte, thunderous and heart rending!

Knights at the Temple Door of the Great Abyss, awake.

A Knight Templar at Chinon.

  

A Place In the Realm of No Where: الواقت

To abide by nothing, yet in all places to be nowhere. Having been stricken by a bolt of dark emerald. Seething downwards from the battered cindered soul, ablaze. Blasting through the weary head, awaking what is wise with Eternal Love near to the entrance of the Immortal Fountain.

The Sun in the grey clouds, arisen and the stellated-mind lashing at the dregs of it, which recoiled, from within the seat of our curtailed awareness, beclouded the secret mind who was waiting, in all friendship for good Love's sole purpose to shower its sacred dew on our foreheads.

Here in this forlorn and rejected country where the waste material of dejected and mutilated races, suffocate those who are wise, ...the good as if damned by god!

But we navigate internally, far from what rusted eyes of unhealthy intellect might interpret, like seafarers in the heavens unseen. Breaking the intolerant waves of ludicrous misdemeanor. We are black suns hailing on this flat plain of no requital. Our hearts unafraid of illicit church and state.

From this abysmal darkness germinates the lord of our light in sweet love. The Black Wheels  discretely healing from within the hurting wounds, the injured and down trodden warriors. 

Those who were neglected. Who were scoffed. Who were too proud. Abandoned!

Faithful to theirs and yet forgotten. Derided.

On the edge of high precipices. Laid down to rest, betrayed.

...and there beside, waterfalls cascade downwards into distant dispassionate desperation.

** * ** **

The great gammadion churns the whirlwinds on the face of the Deep. Revealing through indefinite Time, our Eternal and always Final Victory because of an Honorable and much awaited Death! Above murder and rape and without reparation, nor without repent. Becoming through out eternity those myriad stars of Holy Martyrdom. Between the Great Boar and its Polar Child. 

Yet unredeemable. Having died with all one's bodily self but not dead.

...and this, because of a silly trick at Mekone, for the sake of all true Mankind. 

And again, this one dies because the other is alive.

Hail to all Kamerads.

  

CRAPULE

La Croix à bras égaux définit le Monde & son équilibre naturel.
Voilà pourquoi il y a 4 Temps, 4 Races et 4 Eléments.
Tous les 4 sont dans le Cercle du 5ème.

A force d'agir en crapule, ce qui était un homme se transforme du fond en comble en inpardonnable déchet. 

Après, il n'y aura point de retour. Aucun amendement ne sera possible.

Eh, non,... même s'il croit que comme tout est une illusion, que tout ce qu'il fait, ne signifie rien en fin du compte, l'inactivité morale qu'il incarne à travers maintes et maintes excuses et pardons, ne sera pas absout ni dans ce Temps ni en aucun Temps.

Et hors même de son propre Temps cyclique, il sera expulsé. Inconscient et oublié. Une honte même selon le Temps le plus inférieur!

Un Temps est un Yuga, et le Yuga est l'état réel du Temps qu'un être perçoit selon son état personnel du Sens Moral. 

On récolte ce qu'on sème! 

Le Temps mécanique de l'Arché-daemon le veut ainsi. Mécanique dans les rapports et functions internes qui gouvernent le chemin "karmique" des êtres organiques et minérales, qui préprogrammés, seront inéluctablement passés au peigne fin. Détruits en fin de suite et réduits en un bouilli de détritus plein de larves.

Pour le Haut il faut bien le Bas! 

Alors que des êtres de nature céleste fréquentent les plus bas quartiers de ce Monde, celui qui serait dans sa conscience efficiente du matériel de l'Âge Sombre ne saurait en aucun cas avoir de la juste estime vis à vis du Temps de ces êtres et de leur Nature, qui est Angélique!

Le Bon est Bon et le reste reste sans valeur aux yeux de notre Père.

** * ** **

Et comme il y a 4 états du Temps et de l'Être qui se diffèrent radicalement entre eux, autant il y a de méprise et de la mésentente conjecturale probable...autant il y a d'écart dans l'aptitude de se comprendre et partager un même sentir ou une même idée avec une honnêteté valide.

4 types de personnes qui habitent ensemble dans un même Monde divisé selon 4 parts du Temps. 4 Yugas ou Âges qui se le partagent le gâteau des Cycles et des marées hautes et basses qui tournent en Ronde!

Inondent le décor du votre Monde et du Mien, mais qui se croisent sans se connaître car entre les 4, s'étagent et s'opposent en complément harmonique, l'essentiel des Races. Leur véritable raison d'être, leur être, et l'inévitable conflit de leur Nature, prédestiné par le TEMPS! 

D'un même Temps chacun vit selon Sa Race.

Comprenne qui pourra, ...& ne confondons plus les divers plans (Yugas) de l'Être d'avec la Conscience Immanente qui surplombe en dehors des Cycles du Retour, la Totalité des Hiérarchies.

L'Homme Bon est du Krita, c'est l'enfant des Hyperboréens.

Sa nature est pur Satya.

Pour chaque descente dans les sphères du Devenir les hommes se dégradent en Vérité à cause de leur moindre qualité en Être. Ils devient sanguinaires, fourbes et jaloux. Difformes dedans et laids. Le Bien devient le Mal et Le MAL devient la Règle! 

Quand une Race n'est plus à sa place, le Monde se rend cruel, sans coeur. L'ami devient l'intéressé, l'opportuniste, une canaille, un fripon. L'érotisme mute en porno, l'art, l'éloge de la dégradation. 

Alors on est dans le TEMPS des Crapules. 

Et selon les Couleurs ou les Varnas naturelles qui dominent lors du Cycle, Dieu nous indique par là, la situation de notre globale déchéance!

Ou la qualité de vivre dans son Milieu.

  

The Blessed Immortals of Good Truth

The Secret Self of Creation

Everywhere in every crack and cranny, truth penetrates the tattered seams.  

A happy disaster for the contented wellbeing of wanderers: knowing who and what they are to be, here, where the light of the stars crumble into shiny stones in lime. 

Among termites in the quantic woodwork. 

On endless trails, pleading to understand and then transported, wash off the sad stains of their past invented histories. 

With their very own and heavy vision: gazing undaunted into the greater abyss below, while from above they gladly thank the severed skies. Severe but full of joy.

No tears fall from these eyes.

** * ** **

A sweet benevolent conscious light, descended from among the Immortal Factions of Heaven, a child of what is true. Infant of Good Facts. A Titan of Light & Love. 

** * ** **

Yet a cur is a cur, forthwith!

Whispering baseless ambiguities that arise holographically, without an ounce of fact which could support the aimless thesis!

Speaking and listening thru fodder for earthworms. 

Mistaking spectral reflections for the cause! Of what is seen and heard and lived.

** * ** **

To what extent does Evil lurk in the clockwork, bewitching living things?

Ihren Geist und Seele.

How many more creatures will it empty of awareness, gouge the flesh then defile? Proudly displaying these botched works of anti-art heaped liked unclean blankets on the bed of the earth? 

So bereft of life, that even a ghost would not there, abide. 

Who are these golems, enslaved to hapless uselessness? Who have no Moral Self of Inner Man? 

****************************************************************************************************

Ahura Mazda

Liebe ist ein süßes Licht.
Wie die Erde strebt zur Sonne
Und zu jenen hellen Sternen
In den weiten blauen Fernen,
Strebt das Herz nach Liebeswonne;
Denn sie ist ein süßes Licht.

The Blue Island of the Black Sun

To turn the air around you, inside out, inverting what was apparently something measurable. Distracting the devious ways of the world from the precincts of our holy secret ground. 

...leaving out 18th century calculus, in order to see much better, what it is, pours visually into the soul's simple chalice.

And watch how it seems that outside, this wasn't, but some feverish enbittering hallucination. Brought about by tinkers meddling, with the earth's subtle body in some inefficient and stupid manner. Throwing wrenches into the harmonic mechanical workings of the kosmic mouvement. 

Never been. But for an instant. 

Then all shuts up and disappears. 

Elves dancing in fairy rings on the heath.

** * ** ** 

Just some bad daydream waking in the wretched sewers of lower humanity. On the concrete, between yellow lamps in the ghetto evening! Debating violently with what is less valuable than the animals made by God.

Surely, at the same time, indecent blood defeats its very own reason to live, eating its own kind. Sweating through its frigid skin! To be devoured by its own internal lack of worth and fame.

Yet if I close my physical eyes, I see inside my heart, the Blue Island and Hyperion's arrival from the Southern polar cap emitting. Wondrous and unequal in its majestic solaire stature, advancing gradually in short even strides. Tearing down all electro-magnetic barriers, calmly. Dividing asunder into distinguishable parts what was once a tightly knitted invisible firmament.

Interrupting the immediate mathematical order inlaid between the planetary orbital paths. 

To cremate all untruth. Eradicating the bad memories that made this battered and worn out earth forsooth suffer to deteriorate in the hands of a decaying made up organic Evil.

** * ** ** 

...to go down into and salvage the other's opposite, at the risk of dirtying the third eye, the infernal chasm where a blatant slut thrones, horrid and despicable.

And behold! ...it's a scum harlot of popular cheap songs. A product of gospel hypocrisy with all its tepid splendor.

Decomposing from inside out onto the stage, in the lime light, for tattered teenage dolls and smart phone pics at Dodger Stadium. 

** * ** **

...and yet, if I close my physical eyes, I see inside my heart, the Blue Island and Hyperion's arrival from the Southern polar cap emitting. Wondrous and unequal in its black solaire stature, advancing gradually in short even strides. Tearing down all the electro-magnetic barriers, calmly. Cutting asunder into sacred individual parts what was once a tightly knitted invisible firmament in the once inner world.

And God saw that it was good.

The Eugenics of the Noble Mind

The Annunakim are those sons of god come from the far North. From far beyond the Borean Pole. Sons of the Great Sky and daughters of those who fill the night with a brilliant darkness. Of kindness yet detached, seeking no gift, never bowing to any flattery.

These are not perverted angels. Nor are they sinners of any kind. 

Fortunately for Christ's sake they come into this world where everything dissipates disingenuously,  to be engendered repeatedly for the sake of being insulted continuously. 

In this demented region where honor is impoverished to be mocked and derided, so as to exult the horrifying interior meanness that lower races of supposed men, admire! 

** * ** **

Below, nature cries out to the heavens, asking for redemption! 

"Come now ô celestial tenderness, gives us the necessary strength to vanquish evil and all that is degenerate in heart and soil(sic)!"

Let your sweet dew moisten the best of eugenic roses, that only our sacred scientific heritage can make, and give us victory till death kill in us, all which is vile. 

Even though, this gothic flower in all its inner eyes, and innate preciousness, is too good for this place of inhospitable vulgarity!

What is it, guides you? 

The soul of a better lady. A queen of justified pride and elegance. 

** * ** **

A real awakened mind, in a perfect receptacle, without uncleanliness: Beauty.

Compassion and courage clothed with loyalty, truth and honor: Virtue.

Divine intelligence administering justice: the grafting of a divine Intellect on a mortal yet good strain, a strong trunk: 

to know thyself...  

...here on earth and in heaven at the same Time: Hyperborea's Child.

NORNE

Urdr

Elle contemple qui vient, qui s'est issue de ses reins. Asperge du blanc et d'eau fraîche la sève qui coule à flots, comme des rayons en vortex depuis l'intérieur de son rond domicile, et fait jaillir de toutes parts à partir des immenses flocons de la ceinture d'Oort, à précipiter sa joie vers le noyau d'elle-même. 

Encore un destin. Une particule de poussière arrosée d'humide et d'affection: des êtres qui naissent et luttent tel qu'elle eût souhaité! Ou tout au moins espéré...des soupirs et des sanglots terribles qui accouchent de l'heureuse gloire et du crime perfide. De la Beauté ineffable et de la terreur qui rend laid l'extreme et juste idéal. Ici dans cette boule de mélange ambigu.

Elle murmure l'octave des enjeux synchrones: le roulement étourdissant à travers les plis de l'air et de l'azote environnants. 

Une résonance comme un mantram de multiples  voix qui rehaussent l'éclat de l'être vivant, ou sinon abaisse telle une coiffe qui pèse lourde dans sa descente, l'antique grandeur de notre aïeul!

Un incident suggéré dans un conflit sans cesse accaparé de vues intrépides. Se disputent le haut et le bas, ad eternum.

Qui prime, dans ce désert de couloirs? Quelle âme perce la coque blanchie? Dont la dégénérescence dégrade depuis des temps inachevés l'intime démarche des sourires peintes sur du bois vernis?

De l'eau pure et de la terre blanche conserve l'Arbre d'Yggdrasil. Et c'est Urdr la Shakti qui anime dans le flux de ses nerfs la belle écorce du frêne robuste dont les rameaux souples soulèvent la vaste coupole étoilée.

Je suis l'aigle qui des ailes bats le vent. Je fouette et suspend l'esprit au sommet du Monde.

Elle annonce ce qui vient est venu et adviendra: le destin, l'être et le mode opératoire: qui est  vivre avec hommage et respect! 

Ou bien mourrir avec griefs sans honneur!

d'un Pôle l'Autre

                                                  

Dans l'immense masse incrédule des foules, se hisse une vague dans le grand ciel inerte qui ride, et qui s'étale sur le dome mauve et las. 

Sans volonté personnelle ni vision propre, la masse du peuple amorphe peuplée de pensées dirigeables,  comme d'un heureux et béat ivrogne, qui glisse en sa terreur, s'empêtre dans la fange de sa paresse devant le poids de sa démission.

Ni aucun avenir, sans passé qu'elle évoque au vrai.

D'un Pôle à l'Autre tournoie la pression des souffles qui dans leurs parcours circulent, comme des vrilles de vigne étouffant l'arbre, à jamais le dragon le cherche et le dévore. 

Et le crime, ce n'est pas d'être né, ni de vivre avec l'air ou les éléments qui nous entourent à l'environs mais, c'est de s'empêtrer avec tout son volume d'âme dans l'oubli comme si, l'on était en droit d'exister telle une programmation organique et seulement telle, harcelée et envoûtée, alors qu'on est en droit, quand même de prendre en amitié, le diable et puis dieu!

Et le charme de progresser, s'achemine accroché au fil de la concubine d'Hermès, à la merci des quatre vents ainsi que des montées des vagues qui heurtent et heurtent les côtes: l'isle s'érode. 

Le récif de disparaître enfin, le monde qui était sien, d'être engloutis!

Echoué. Sur le ras des culs d'algues. 

Puis avec les eaux dans le nez, les poumons pleins de H2O au sel, le vaillant coeur de se ressaisir: Il piétine la glèbe au fond de la Mer, se dresse. C'est un Roi dans l'Agarthi.

** * ** **

Si je m'étire les bras de façon telle que j'agrippe la masse des flots, qui partent de côté d'autre sans direction sans sens approprié, c'est la volonté finalement qui aspire le Tout du Tout, ...au haut dans l'empyrée on divine l'éclat.

Ma Valkyrie rude, belle, féroce et indomptable!

La reine des mégères d'au-delà du Nord, douce comme la nuit glacée du soleil polaire.

** * ** **

D'un Pôle à l'Autre tournoie la pression des souffles qui dans leurs parcours circulent, comme des vrilles de vigne étouffant l'arbre, à jamais le dragon le cherche et le dévore.

AGATHO DAEMON

The Good God who breaks out to rule with the iron rod!

This great sadness is just an over-binding collusion on behalf of the ordinary man's misuse of the 4 elemental properties, unevenly woven together. Thriving on the throngs. Eating at the essence. Giving life to darkness within the void.

A situation located nowhere, where astral creatures and their material binary illusion stitch tediously upon the universal greatness of the infinite white soul of true men. 

Because of this incredible psychological weight pushing down, inwardly from the unavoidable outside corruption of things upon what is dreamt and believed. 

An unconscious dubious and complexe machination paraded by idiot people. Corroding their souls. Borne by a superstitious egalitarian tell tale of deception. 

Fraught with our blood. Intruding on our natural inner inclination.

** * ** **

The good demon watches and waits. Impatiently weary of the crumbling. 

Thus Love lifts the sky's crushing lid from over our head, throwing it aside! 

All that is bad, through its bad anti-natural being, struggles to deprive all real life of its supernatural essence: i.e., to be superiorly good, uncompromisingly noble, ...and honorable in all earthly activity. 

Consciously honest at all times with all that which lives, breathes, and will die! Because we walk on the sacred bones of our ancestors, crushed by those many feet that have past on by, having lived. And now supposedly dead, hold up our confident stride.

** * ** **

The good god is not a mechanical invention that has somehow been organically or synthetically elaborated because of some intelligent plan. 

Unabashed. He is a divine awakened virtue in the moving dust of things that go about. Unthrottled. Yet sure of its goal. 

His spontaneous self sustaining spirit, abhors all and any kind of psychological or physical restraint, any planned robotic sort of infamous education wrought with nice intentions. 

** * ** **

Nothing can in any way be explained away. Nor countered in any kind of dialectical joust of empty useless slogans. 

The brain with all its acrobatic neuronal inter exchanges, just isn't good enough to be worthy of what is Truth. 

The grey geletaneous brain in the skull is the material hole where Satan bids his hologram, without scruple, seeding his appetites and whims through the dubious use of numbers, weights, and measures into our eyes and ears and three other senses!

in hoc signo vinces.

Inside the limitless cavern of supernal man's ghost, the agatho daemon wanders in meandrous ways incomprehensible to the plebiscite, none the less, with his secret impervious aim. 

He addresses no external ethical code or social catechism so as to be sure of himself, to conduct himself in this World or in any other. But in all simplicity, with his own substance, assays his proper abyss, in all events and at all times, even when there is no time and no place. 

Be deep and the gods will speak! Because the gods are deep. 

And should no one speak, be god.

From your home in the heavens you wake and guide your progeny.

The Hollow Earth with the Heavens above.

à Elie Marie Elysée, mon fils bien aimé.

  

Elated for Nothing!

Would your god chase the wind ambushing the little that is diminishing, inciting the trajectory of missiles into the sea, for the sake of the wellbeing of some incredibly selfish superstitious semitic tribal fantasy? 

In the middle of nowhere. On the the brink of the usual world calamity, stirring. Desperately tearing at the seams of it all: the material numeration in the action of presumed atoms, holding desperately on and on to a broken barren and impoverished useless land? 

All this to pray to a demon god, who would destroy all the vegetal wealth of richer patrimonies elsewhere? 

That devious and pernicious extraterrestrial, who hiding in the Mesopotamian scenery, controls the fate of what he can't have like Samson, and bring down toppling eventually, with his secret weapons, the world's pillars? 

Harbinging the Big cave-in? After having finally succeeded, in brainwashing the earth's multitude of what were once free and praiseworthy men?

** * ** **

Bowing down to visceral astral things, which to start with, were fabricated by a lost soul's misused vitality, in a place, where neither eagles nor normal birds would ever fly. For fear of endangering their precious species?

That so in some desert land, near the beach we could go sun bathing? Drinking cocas and eating kosher?

Invoking to some extant, when in afternoon's boredom, multiple prayers to stay awake, underneath chemtrailed skies, in urban metal dormition, the god of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob?

Then afterwards, only to look up and see in the heavens over yonder, coagulating demons, come from another density? 

Thought forms parading  in ambulation, between cell towers over a mid-eastern iron-dome?

Coagulating thought form feeding on chemtrails.