mardi 19 septembre 2017

What's the difference between the angel of the Morning Star or an alien from the planet Venus?


Dolores Barrios, another Venusian (or perhaps the same?) photographed at a UFO conference in 1954. Notice the strange, otherworldly eyes.


 The most primordial version of the "mermaid" story comes from Lake Titicaca, Bolivia/Peru, as written once and only once in Robert Charroux's phenomenal but mostly forgotten "L'Histoire Inconnue des Hommes depuis 100,000 ans" ("100,000 years of man's unknown history"). Her name was Orejona, and I've been obsessed with her since the age of 10. I've even had her name tattooed on my right arm.


 The very early pre-Inca people (and the few still extant Aimara tribes of the Andes) believed that 5 million years ago, a blue-skinned, blue-blooded amphibian female from the planet Venus came down to Earth, landed in her golden vessel on the Island of the Sun in the middle of the Lake, and mated with a prehistoric animal, either a large ape or an anteater-pig (!), giving birth to the very first animal-man, who would later become the first modern man, and remember her on a very deep ancestral level, mostly in their dreams and their psychedelic experiences, and base religions on this goddess from the sea.


 She might still be alive today, since they said she returned merely 40,000 years ago, to build the holy city of Tiahuanaco, and the famous giant stone "Door of the Sun", which was originally named the "Door to Venus", before the Spanish Conquistadors renamed it, renamed everything having to do with the Inca worship of the Venusians, and slaughtered over 99% of the population.


 There was even a story of how a Jesuit priest found the biggest, most beautiful green emerald in the world in an Inca temple, bearing an image of Orejona herself on it, so he had the emerald shattered into pieces, ground into dust and trampled it into the earth. The Church was REALLY f***ing serious about making people forget about her, they even cut out some of her followers' tongues, but fortunately the Inca high priests, the Orejones (the long-ears), they hid the sacred knowledge for centuries, until a great revival of the Inca faith began in 1958 precisely near Titicaca.


 On the same subject, you should also know about something called "Project Stargate", run by the D.I.A. back in the early 1980s. They used remote-viewers who projected their consciousness back in time to bear witness to the most important events in history (seriously, this has been officially declassified since). For their ultimate experiment, they sent their best "psychic spy" to view the origins of the human race millions of years ago. The result?


 A naked, feminine extraterrestrial being, aboard her "seedship" in the sea, using her own DNA to genetically engineer the first ape-men. This aquatic creature was tending to us like "plants in a garden".


 I'm starting to think she might be the Goddess Venus/Anima Mundi/Soul of the World itself. The Shekinah, the Shakti, the Shub-Niggurath, the one with a thousand faces who gave life to life itself.

mardi 17 janvier 2017

It's raining frogs!

The "Pepe the frog/Kek" phenomenon has now taken the form of the "Dark Kermit" internet meme, Kermit the frog standing in shadow, dressed like the Emperor in Star Wars.


Which makes sense, since Kermit sounds like Kemet, the Ancient Egyptian name of Ancient Egypt itself, and Kek is straight out of Kemet, meaning "dark/black".


But most people seem unaware that the "fleur-de-lys" is openly Donald Trump's symbol, as seen on the "Man of the Year" magazine cover, for he was sitting in a chair/throne with a giant fleur-de-lys on it. For centuries now, the fleur-de-lys has represented royalty or divinity, but long before French king Clovis 1st christianized it, calling it precisely the "lily flower" and a symbol of the Saint Trinity, it was a frog.


I'm not kidding. The previous design of the fleur-de-lys was much more bulbous, and somewhat ressembled a frog or toad. The original reason why the French people were called "frogs" was because of the three stylized frogs/toads on their shields.


It was an ancient Celtic symbol, said to represent something emerging from the primordial waters/darkness and crawling towards the light of the heavens (EXACTLY like Kek). Druids believed it to be the most subtle and harmless form of Cernunnos.


Mother f***ing Cernunnos, the Celtic version of the Great God Pan, a.k.a. the Lord of the Underworld, Shiva the Destroyer (who was absolutely identical to Cernunnos in his original form of Lord Pashupati of the Vedic civilisation), "The One who resides among the stars and beyond the stars in that unimaginable cosmic realm known as the Sabbaoth" (according to the most ancient Sabean faith which predates Judaism by millenia and was secretly at the basis of Aleister Crowley's theosophy), whatever you want to call it.


TSATHOGGUA, for f***'s sake. He's on our side now, or at least he's coming THROUGH to our side.


Interesting times.

samedi 7 juin 2014

The Blur.

I met a very familiar stranger in a dream. He was Merlin, he was Prometheus, he was the archetypal wise old man who initiates us all in one form or another when we are finally willing to accept enlightenment.

To me, he looked like Alan Moore, wearing a pale grey suit that obviously belonged to someone else.

We were sitting at an ordinary kitchen table, besides a rather large television set, surrounded by "co-workers". I also knew them even though we had never met (not in my waking reality, anyway). We were all looking at books filled with pictures of breathtakingly elaborate crop circles and infinitely moving fractal patterns.

The wise old man, he told me: "What if all there is between you and other people is a blur?"

I looked at my hands, and they were so blurry that I could see through them. I heard a bone-chilling sound, like a washer and a dryer being thrown down the stairs, and suddenly woke up paralysed, terrified, and covered in cold sweat.

This was my very first DMT-induced experience, and it traumatized me something beautiful. Instant, visceral enlightenment that leaves me today with euphoria.

I now KNOW that the individual is as much a set of probabilities as an electron, neither here nor there, existing at many places at once. What if I had woken up in that parallel universe I briefly visited? This life would have been merely a "dream".

mercredi 2 mars 2011

You wanna know how I got these scars?

On the night of February 6th, I placed a mirror against the wall of my room, sat down on my bed in front of it, looked at myself straight in the eyes, and very calmly slit my own throat.

Earlier, on the internet, I reviewed the essentials; where the jugular is, how long it would take. A mere 1 to 3 minutes, it was written. I bought a very precise tool for the job, an insanely sharp Japanese Santoku knife, it seemed fitting since I was about to perform the honorable ritual of Jigai. I was so indescribably sick and tired of this world, of feeling nothing more than pain every day, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It took 4 hours. Very calmly slicing one vein after another on both sides. Watching the warm, sticky blood spray across the mirror and running down my chest. I found it both surreal and darkly hilarious when, around 2:30 in the morning, I realized that not a single drop was left. I stood up, looked at all of the red mess everywhere, at the dried-up blackness of my own hands. I had peed four times in a bottle during the ordeal.

I couldn't believe I was still alive. I couldn't stay like this, it was an impossible horror show. I went to the bathroom to get a brand-new bottle of 30 very powerful sleeping pills, which were lethal unto themselves. I finally fell asleep, holding a picture of the redheaded goddess I once loved, thinking it was over. I would wake up somewhere else.

Beyond my last moments of consciousness, there was a vision of Pan. His most abysmal of eyes were hypnotic. As I admired the finer details of his big beautiful horns, like endless spiral stairways, I wondered if this was the afterlife.

I woke up two days later at the hospital. The doctors told my parents that they didn't understand how it was possible for me to still be alive, I had lost nearly all of my blood and then irreversibly poisoned myself. As they transferred me to the psych ward, the female police officer accompanying me gently whispered: "You must have an angel watching over you." No shit.

It took them three days to determine that I wasn't crazy. All they gave me was Tylenol and anti-biotics. I first looked like Frankenstein's monster with the staples keeping my neck together, but the lines are becoming less and less obvious with every passing day. The shrinks were concerned with how "cold and rational" my suicide attempt was, they said it took a "terrible willpower". First time I heard of someone officially being held in a mental hospital for being sane.

One of the more interesting patients here believes himself to be locked into an epic David versus Goliath struggle with every single public labor union on Earth. He also believes that Walt Disney's frozen brain speaks to him telepathically through his quantum computer, a quantum computer he built at home using a solar-powered crystal cube of Atlantean origin, given to him by a Native American member of the Anti-Illuminati Movement. They let him out early without his medication, a whole week before I even got to breath some fresh air. He is now suing the hospital for violating his privacy when they wouldn't let him masturbate naked in his room in front of the window. I'm quite serious.

But I'm free now after merely three weeks of waiting, my trust in the Universe is renewed, and the pain (both physical and emotional) is almost gone. I followed in the footsteps of Alexander, taking a sword to the inner Gordian Knot, which is quite exacting since both Alexander and I believed ourselves to be the Divine Achilles reincarnate. But seriously, now that I'm out of my own personal Arkham, you wanna know how I got these scars?