Archons, Archetypes and Arch Angels. Part 1 of ?

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Continued today from Believe nothing sincerely and with blind certitude.

Well this has been hanging on me for the thick end of a year now, 2 in fact, and I still cannot bring it into focus, whatever it is. So take it and take from it what you will, this fractured thought, imperfect, flawed and yet somehow?; there is a kernel within, that will make sense, I hope. Someday.

Thanks to Akira for the unintended nudge to the lazy, a while back before his main site got torped again. Though by now you should know that your correspondent feels that the 100^th monkey syndrome is alive and well. I’ve dropped some heavy hints about what we will delve into once this lot is out of the way. Ugliness is genetic. If you have not guessed it yet the concept of beauty entrances my being. A full spectrum weapons grade gliding through the thorough long grass in the companionship of a lethal woman; enjoining the combat.

Also Cont. from Fiction Factory/Faction Affliction/FigmentedFilamented Firmament

This is not a ghost hunt, so don’t be getting all confused now as the white lady wanders through the darkened stormy garden and you, all snug in the ruined building, looking out and down at her. Casting your eyes.

No, no, no; this is a little wander through something I’ve touched on before and which I’d like to have placed in the context of what is to follow when I continue the 2iC, (there’s a time stamp indicating the snail like pixel hitting on this numpty’s qwertyboard), conversation with you. I had thought it would be the other way round, however I now think not.

The usual caveats apply.

If you got the musings on Heim space then I’m sure that, even though Heim’s work is an engineered construct to hopefully facilitate human intervention in the stars, you must have asked yourself,

“What lives out/inthere?”

Not amongst the stars, on off worlds like aliens. No. Just what could out/in habit those extra 1,5 or 7 dimensions? Not though, in this Alice in Wonderland sense. The British love fiction, writing fiction, reading fiction, creating fiction. The djinn at play.

A little recap on whatI’ve trundled over and through before. Do you remember I recounted that the old patriarchs of the Syrian church would remark on their contact with something humane yet not human? So what are these topics of this outing?

Archons,

which the usual afflicted bitchboy decided to turd all over in the usual ever soclever worldy wordy way. Let me simplify, unRISC and decypher what the clown was trying to hide in his in your face kind of way. The usual pretend civilised discussion until NOAHide feels it can off us unnoticed like. All full of rhetoric, loopy logic and reasoned debate about how to restore or amend for injustice, perceived or actual, until there is nothing standing between them and the murder of all who would point at them a laugh at their muppetry and assumption of rightful wrongeddoing.

The reason I highlight this guy’s overexposed approach to this thorney little item is that he clearly demonstrated the typical afflicted response to selffacedselfishbelief of RISC self.

“It wasn’t me. Big boys made me do it and then they ran away!”

Or

Finding yourself surounded by dead people visited upon by the LPP and a smoking gun in your hand, feign mental illness and hire the best QC that money can buy. Hire a rent a shrink and invent a new syndrome, double barrelled of course, to give cover for those who can use the pretext in centuries to come to hide their sociopathy and psychopathy coveted in obsequious group thought through vomit inducing syndicated sycophancy.

Or

If, when at last, you have been hunted down and the body count for the camps you enforced has been deliberatley underestimated, blame it all on a system that you had no control over. The system that gave you a great big hardon everytime you pulled the trigger.

Or

Having removed every witness to your crimes such that only rumors and legends remain. Die peacefully in your comfy bed knowing full well that it was the fault of your victims that you visited death upon them. Nothing to do with you. You are not culpable in the sight of your djinn.

This is the prototypical self fulfilling delusion of the afflicted who wander their murderous way through our lives killing anyone and everyone with all the temporal instruments they can lay their hands on. These instruments can be financial, cultural, moral, epidemiological, martial, psychological, any art or artifice; anything just as long as there are victims piled up dead everywhere these infested clowns settle.

The geneticmemetic can be summed up in the one word, me. “It wasn’t me”. Me,me,me,me,me,me,me,me,me….ad nauseam.

“All the dead people, nothing to do with me!”. Though I slept and dined in luxury the starving rent payers, tax herds, out with my door were nothing to do with me. They brought it upon themselves, they gave me what is rightfully mine and then died. Nothing to do with me, it was their choice.”

This the signature of the destroyers of peace, infected by their own self reverential djinn.

Now don’t be getting me wrong. I have the greatest respect for the autochthonous and their beliefs. And from my limited reading the memories and beliefs of the North American Aboriginals are worthy of intense study and cultivation. That is socounterafflicted. Though I wouldn’t want to be them!

Pax vobiscum

TBC