Inevitably we’ve arrived at a question.
Well allow me a little fore play.
It should be obvious by now that it isn’t the hermit and hermetically memed so-called jew RCE phukkers, Camel shagging pikeys, road warrior Jesuits or any mixture of Aetheistic armoured psychopaths or delusional affliction aborted killers that is our problem at the helm.
It isn’t the circumscribed circumcised and soon to be excised, exorcised chosen fools or the RISC Sabbateans and the most evil men in the world, the witches at their brew ‘n’ stew, the bush meat traffickers and assorted charabanged slavers that we should be targetting our keenest attention on. Their pantechnikon of distractional flavourings and spreads is enough to exhasust Xeno. Infinite and yet RISC’d.
It is not the manned womanned thing that weighs it’s shadow in peripheral shallow gold. It isn’t the delight of our foolish whim. It isn’t the dealers of death from Babylon’s false Khazar or the London scrapped U235 merchants.
These slobs are weak. That is why they flock like so much violent poultry. They are beginners at the cock fight we are forced to face down in our terminal decline from grace.
They no longer exist to us.
Thethe have surrendered.
Though I admit the whole lot love fucking us over and killing, killing, killing, killing……… over and over and over and over and over….non-stop, 24/7 and they cannot wait to start again. They hate everyone that is not part of their stupid little Mandelbrot infinite up its own arse world
The fact that we know this means we still stand. We are surrounded by friend and foe who wish us toppled. Good and bad, alike.
The question is really a question of Realty.
Who keeps our sovereign soul?
For we have abandoned the watch on the garden.
That’s right fuckers, don’t be getting all comfortable by pointing and laughing at the other psycho muppets. We’ll wipe them out in a trice, that’s what makes them shit their undergarments.
Long, long ago we allowed the desert to evacuate on our desserted hearts, upon the stillness of equanimity. An Other has bread enmity and placed beautiful plants out of their place. A foreign intelligence dines here to this day. Trenches at a table that we should populate with modest sustenance instead of the over pouring and heaped spoils of the pursuit of avarice’s bawbles and bawbees. The gluttonous pyres' offerings. All the deliberated unalive.
It Always Eats at our open hearth. Schooled in occulted Satan’s semen name. No name.
A little while back I asked if we had been blinded.
I will ask again before continuing.
Are we blinded? Have we been occupied? Has the stulted taken us? Are we not us?
Are we blinded to our misshapen form?
What caused this paulsy? The leperous stink and fallen limbs. Discarded digits of a humanity that cannot sign.
I took the task of pointing out the RISC at work last week?
Ignore the RICO simple invective, the effervescent sparkling stench of numbskulled skilling degenerate sloth. The task at hand is unending with no obvious triumph. The battle and war, our existence, against the RISC is infinite. Ad infinite, as the NamShub they cast through wordings and mouthings every day through their magicians’ hearings and sayings.
In hopelessness and triumph are the paralleled conflictsses tres-solved.
Not from one who profers truth’s poison pestle for us, use, usury.
And from us.
We are our problem.
If you think otherwise you are RISC.
Now that that question has been asked I’ll pose another to help us break out of our RISC programming..
Who are we?