I have already told you in the comment section, I know a hell of a lot more about Preston Nichols and the Montauk Project than Peter Moon. Unfortunately I couldn’t write those books for Preston back then because I was a little busy at the time playing the apostle of mayhem and murder for a certain well known crime family, guilty as charged…

A lot of the stuff he talks about in the book did not take place in Montauk. People, especially Germans, don’t shit it their own Living Room. A lot of it took place in East Islip about 60 miles west of Montauk at the Southwest end of Heckscher State Park where Preston lives and still does the last I heard. There used to be a building on the Southside of Sunrise Highway jointly owned by I believe Grumman and Fairchild, two well known merchants of  carnage and death. It’s a shopping mall now but it wasn’t back in about 1984 when this took place. Here’s an excerpt of part 4 of the book which contains a detailed description of the ensuing events that mark the first collision between two very different worlds…

Jack Heart © 2013 Excerpts of the following for review purpose only.
הוד / Majesty
Part 4
Chapter 16 Excerps

Nietzsche once said “if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” I don’t recall gazing into any abyss. I hadn’t even read a book since high school let alone anything by the master philosopher. Never the less there was an abyss dead ahead, a yawning black hole with a singularity at the center that would rend to pieces every notion by which man desperately clings to his contrived perception of reality.
Probably for the first time in my life I was intrigued by one of its events. This was the phantasm that had stalked me from my crib, the unnamed darkness that lurked on the periphery of my dreams. This was not just a fleeting glimpse or a random shadow that would quickly become a faded memory. This was an event that was being witnessed by others, an event that could be scrutinized. This was my raison d’être, my reason for existence, the part in me that I had by now thoroughly convinced myself didn’t exist. What had happened at Kenny’s that night could not be explained with rationalizations. But artificial me, the disguise that I was so comfortable wearing for both the rest of the world and for myself, could never admit that, at least not yet and never publically until now.

We went back inside and I thought I heard Kim’s mother over the background noise of the TV screaming for her to get inside. I asked Kenny if he had found out anything new. He said “plenty and you got to hear what happened the other day.” I was already hooked. I had to know what was going on there. “What?” I asked him. He paused and took a deep breath. “It was about four o’clock in the morning and me and Patty were sleeping when all of a sudden this screeching starts from over in the woods. It sounded like a monkey or some kind of giant parrot. It was loud enough to wake the dead. It must have been up in a tree somewhere back there.” He pointed between the lot and his house and continued talking. “The cops got here fast and they were all over the place. People were all out in their backyards in their pajamas and bathrobes. The cops cordoned off the area from here down to the lot and told everybody there was a dangerous animal loose in the woods and everybody had to get in their houses. I saw these other guys through the kitchen window. They looked like fireman. They were carrying ladders through the yards. They must have gone up in the tree and got it because it shut up pretty abruptly. Then everybody just picked up their barricades and left. No one said a word about what it was.” I said “your fathers the bay constable you can’t find out?” He said “I asked him. He said the cops don’t know what it was either. Some kind of federal animal control agency came in and got it. “That would be Plumb Island.” I said. “It’s off of Montauk. That’s where the government does its Dr. Frankenstein routine on animals for the whole country. That’s about sixty miles and a short boat ride away. Kind of out of their jurisdiction weren’t they?” He just looked at me and said “It didn’t take them that long to get here, seemed like they were just right around the corner.”

I asked him if he had talked to any of the neighbors. He said “yea all of them. Their all really scared but their all insisting that’s it’s just these kids. Apparently Chief over there” he gestured to the ceiling above him “is the leader of his own little satanic cult. Kim’s father next door caught him leaving all the shades on his window across from Kim’s wide open in the middle of the night while he did this weird little naked dance around candles.” I found myself wondering about the whole neighborhoods apathetic reaction to being surreptitiously cast in a real life version of Children of the Cornand said “and he didn’t kill the kid or at least call the police?” “He went over there.” Kenny said. “He spoke with the mother and she said she would make him stop. He says it hasn’t happened again. He’s watching.” I was smirking when I said “yea I see he’s got it all under control” referring to his almost naked daughter posed like a thanksgiving turkey right outside the front door. Kenny continued. “I been talking to the kid next door on the other side; Billy, the kid that burned his legs. He’s about fourteen. He’s already told me that this kid Chief,” he again gestured to Chiefs now customary place in the ceiling, “worships the devil and so do his sister and brother, that all the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of them. Because Chief did bad things to people, and he hinted that Chief was responsible for his legs.” I asked “What do you mean?” He answered “well when he said that shit he looked down at his leg real coyly. But the kids a little con man. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. He wants me to take him fishing at Heckscher State Park next week. I’ll get more out of him then.” “We can take him shark fishing.” I said “Or how about I just get Phil and John down here to give them a little parental guidance. I don’t care what these kids are doing. It doesn’t sound like those federal people pulled no kid out of that tree.”

When Kenny got back from Atlantic City his father confirmed my suspicions. Kenny was on law enforcements radar. He closed shop and started making arrangements to move the family to Florida when he was done living out his security in East Islip. Kenny and I started doing a lot more coke. He had a lot left and my season was really slow that year. The both of us became obsessed with finding out exactly what was going on in East Islip. By then John was, for the first and only time in his life, happily married. I got him to come over Kenny’s by promising him a bag of coke that he could take home and do with Meryl. When he did come over, wearing his ostrich skin boots just for the occasion, nothing happened. John went on and on lecturing me that night. “See. You should know much more than I do. You have a way higher IQ than I do. You like to read books and I hate to read books. But I read a lot of books when I was in jail and I took them home for you to read. You have never even looked at them. They’re still sitting up in a box in my old room at my mothers. You can’t see the nose in front of your face. You’re like some stupid Guiney gangster in a bar.” I don’t remember much else about that night except John left early with his bag of coke and I consented to take a look at the books.
He came over my mother’s house a few days later with the box full of hardcover books, some quite old. He got my attention immediately when he said “you better read these. Your right there is something going on over there. When I left Kenny’s I stopped at that big club over on the corner. I don’t even know why I stopped. I have never been in there before. When I walked through the door there was a guy standing there with these two big muscle bound dudes who were afraid to even ask me for the cover. I go to push past them and this guy starts talking to me like he knows me calling me by my first name. “Hey John. John I been waiting for you.” He hung out with me all night. Turns out he was the owner and he kept giving me free drinks. He was talking about some really crazy shit. Saying he was with the Mafia and the CIA, that they were the same thing and that they had been watching me for a real long time now and they wanted me to work with them. I don’t know anything about anybody crawling through walls but this guy was clearly waiting for me at the door and he knew all about me.” I just looked at him and wondered whether he had consented to work with them or not. But as I have intimated before in this story there is a formality between me and John that should not exist between two guys who have known each other as long as we both had. I observed protocol and started looking through the books.
There was this huge blue book; The Golden Dawn by Israel Regardie. It was full of symbols and rituals. There was Practical Magick by Aleister Crowley containing the same symbols and rituals and two volumes by Godfrey Higgins about Masonic lore. There was a thin white book called The Holy Books by Aleister Crowley that John said was the most important. He snatched it from my grasp and started reading passages like some Jurassic Age Shakespearean actor having an orgasm during recital. From what I could gather from the obscure symbolism that I did not understand yet Crowley was saying that he had killed the old God, or at least he was going too and that he would be the new one. There were also other books including two more by Israel Regardie; The Middle Pillar and the Garden of Pomegranates. John explained to me that Regardie was the only man that wrote books about him that ever really knew Crowley, having been his personnel secretary. The Garden of Pomegranates would be the first book I would end up reading but not yet. I already believed in demigods. In fact I was already fully convinced that John and I were just such entities but praeterhuman intelligences had thus far been beyond my range of experiences. My father hadn’t taught me much about philosophy and religion but he had taught me to believe nothing of what I heard and only half of what I had seen. I was going with that for now. I still do.
A reconnaissance of the area Kenny had moved to revealed that beyond the vacant lot and burned out fort, about a quarter mile down the tracks, was the Great River Train Station, a major hub for the Long Island Rail Road’s south shore line. East of the train station was Heckscher State Park and miles of virgin woodland. There was nothing unusual about the area geographically except that it was a bit more rural than the majority of Long Island’s South Shore. Carlton Avenue had some clubs and some bars and a lot of dilapidated stores. The area Kenny’s house was in was between Montauk Highway and Sunrise Highway. It was strictly White working class.
I took a look at Chief and his menagerie of a family. Chief himself skulked about. You would see him coming and going, sometimes with his family, sometimes alone, but never laughing or joking. He looked like a young version of Charles Manson without the beard but the same long dark hair and wild staring eyes. Sometimes I would pass him on the porch. When I glowered at him he would look down to avert my eyes. He always smelled like rotten eggs and the scent would linger long after he had passed. One of the neighbors had told Kenny that they had seen him climbing out of a man hole of the neighborhoods partially constructed sewers. The sister was a fat dyke just as Kenny had said. She was about eighteen. She had dark hair, a bad complexion, and the IQ of a door knob. The little brother as predicted only appeared after dark. He was an undersized twelve, skinny and frail, pale white with closely cropped dark hair. He either could not or would not talk. Billy had told us that when he played with the other kids he would communicate by whistling to them. You could hear whistling outside at all hours of the night. When questioned about the kid’s nocturnal habits Billy was evasive saying something about his father, whom the kid lived with, working at night. The mother didn’t look like anyone in her family she was bleach blond, well kept, and about mid forties.
Billy lived in the single family house next door on the side towards the lot. He was about fourteen years old and shared the house with his mother. He was as disingenuous as anyone that age could be. He spent all day practicing in his backyard with a bow and arrow. He would seek me or Kenny out and talk to us for hours. Somehow you knew he wasn’t really saying anything. Whenever he was questioned about the strange goings on in the neighborhood he would always intimate that it was Chief without coming right out and saying so. Flanking the other side towards the sump was the single family home that was the residence of Kim and her family. I rarely, if ever, talked to Kim. Her father looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. I figured seeing her speaking to me would push him right over the edge.
One day Kenny and I were over by the sump with the dog and I spotted a two foot long greenish brown snake in the sand by the fence. As I have said I have had a lifelong love affair with herpetology so knowing there are no venomous snakes on Long Island I immediately grabbed my prize to examine it. I was a little surprised when it spread a cobra like hood and hissed at me. It was a Hog Nosed Snake, the only one I have ever seen on Long Island. Although they are harmless they do a perfect imitation of a cobra, hood and all, to scare away predators. If that doesn’t work they will keel over and play dead, excreting a noxious foul smelling fluid all over themselves. I was going to keep it and put it in a fish tank at home but when I saw the fat dyke’s window was open on the van I couldn’t resist. Grinning like an idiot I threw it in the van. The next day when Billy saw me he couldn’t wait to tell me that the girls had found it and had nearly had apoplexy. They had to get Chief to remove it from the van for them. Billy assured me Chief said ‘that was a really good one.’
I needed to turn up the heat a little which I did by inserting Phil into the situation. Phil came up with the same solution he did for everything. He told a mortified Kenny that he would make Chief disappear. Kenny said “you can’t do things like that around here. First of all I don’t do shit like that. Second of all the police are watching this place. And third of all these are just kids.” Phil started hanging around the house. He told us “you guys are just doing too much coke. Nobody could walk around inside walls and even if they could nobody would be stupid enough to play around over here. Give me a few ounces of coke and there will be no kids left in this neighborhood. I have to see this to believe it.” Patty said “I already told them that.” Pointing to me she continued “nothing ever happens when he’s not here. The few things I have seen seem to all revolve around him. It’s as if he is the source of everything.” Kenny chimed in “he hasn’t been over for the past couple of days and the knick-knacks on the entertainment center have been moving around. I marked where they are and I have been watching them. They are moving around!” Phil said “you’re probably just playing your stereo too loud. Or it’s the vibrations of the trains going by. What do you think, it’s ghosts? There are no ghosts or believe me I would have seen a few by now. Do you think Chief can make himself invisible? I can’t believe somebody like you is even saying shit like this. Eric already went over this whole house and he said none of the shit you’re talking about is possible. The guys a master carpenter. He builds high-rises in the city!” Phil was right. I had brought Eric over to check out the house and he had checked the attic and the basement, to Patty’s incessant objections. Eric had pronounced the house secret passage free. But he told me something else on the side that I never have told anybody. “Watch Patty. Whatever is going on there she’s involved.” Kenny had a native intelligence that he couldn’t articulate with his limited command of language but Eric had something else. Eric was half animal. The biting incidents, the over sized tendons and blood veins coiling around his arms were not the only manifestations of that fact. He was as sentient as any cat or dog. If Eric said something was going to happen it almost always did. Everybody knew this about him.
That day we watched the knick-knacks for hours. A glass figurine slowly but surely moved about six inches during the course of the day. Its movements were so slow they were beyond the realm of human perception, only about an inch an hour, but after six hours the figurine had moved six inches. Phil insisted it was the rumbling of the trains passing by every hour or so that moved them but he was being obstinate. The figurine was steadily moving which Kenny proved to him by placing another knick-knack next to it. In an hour the figurines had about an inch clearance between them even though no trains had come, no music was playing, and the entertainment center was perfectly level. Patty kept coming in the room and saying to me “it’s you. It’s you.” But she would not explain herself. It had rained torrentially during the course of the day and outside a brick chimney stack ran from the basement to about three feet above the ledge of the roof. Around dusk, very loud and very clearly, a suction sound could be heard coming from the stack as if something was scaling it outside making its way to the roof using suction cups. When we went outside there was nothing. Phil quipped “it must be Batman. Good, I always wanted to kick his ass.” Looking at me he said “you take Robin.”
It was after dark when we again heard the suction sound coming from the chimney stack outside. We all ran outside at the same time practically getting jammed in the doorway together. The sound of running footsteps were coming from over by the sump and Kenny and Phil took off in hot pursuit. I ran around the side of the house to see if anybody was by the chimney. I didn’t see anybody so I started toward the street to catch up with Kenny and Phil. I had the overwhelming sensation of being watched and I hadn’t checked the roof anyway so when I got out into the street where I would have a clear view of it, I stopped running and turned around. There on the roof with its long legs spread for balance and one arm extended to brace itself against the top of the chimney was the essence of my nightmares. It was not human. That was plain enough. It was at least seven feet tall with membranous bat wings semi folded into its back. It had no head, only two dinner plate sized glowing red eyes that seemed to grow right out of its shoulders. Its eyes did not stare but rather burned themselves right into me and for a long time afterwards I would see them in reflections at night and in my dreams. Years later I would read John Keels descriptions of what was called the Mothman, but at the time I had never even imagined that something like that could exist, at least in my waking hours. After what seemed like forever suspended in time with our gazes locked in what could only have been an ephemeral embrace, I broke free and took off down the block after Kenny and Phil. When I got to the corner Phil was climbing over the fence out of the sump saying “there’s no one down there unless you think their hiding underwater.” Kenny looked at me and said “did you see anything around the house?” Staring into space I said “no.”
I had never had a hallucination before, even though I had taken massive dosages of hallucinogenics trying to induce one in myself. I had always figured if I could just have a hallucination the mysteries of my childhood would be solved. Sometimes it had appeared as if the patterns on walls, rocks, and plants, were some kind of ancient and universal written language, but there is a big difference between a delusion and an illusion. Once I took about twenty hits of John’s mescaline and stared all night into the water from the docks at the Venice. After a few hours, the reflections of lights from the surrounding buildings seemed to dance like burning cities on the waves of the bay. But as far as seeing pink elephants or even spontaneously seeing visions I had never come close. What I had seen was real and it wasn’t something any ‘sane’ person would see so I kept my mouth shut. When we got back to the house Patty was waiting for us in the doorway. I was silent the rest of the night and we sat in the living room doing lines. Patty kept asking me “did you see something outside?” Phil said “there’s nothing out there but a couple of kids fucking around. Believe me.” But Patty was mocking and insistent “no. Look at him. He’s all white. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You kept looking out there. What did you think you were going to do if you ever actually found what you were looking for? Turns out all you could do is run away from it. Why bother looking for something if you’re just going to run away when you find it?” I didn’t answer her but Kenny angrily did “what the fuck are you talking about Patty? I think you’re doing too much shit lately. There ain’t nothing but a few ounces left and I’m selling the rest to Bates tomorrow for whatever I can get for it. That’s it! Party’s over for everyone!”
There was a ringing in my ears all that night and the impression of children’s laughter right beyond the threshold of perception. When I went in the kitchen for a beer Patty had hung a wicker basket of burnished glass stones over the kitchen counter. Two of them were red like giant rubies and caught the stove light reflecting like a pair of eyes in the rain splattered window over the sink. They seemed to be reminding me that I would never be alone again. I had listened to the song Easy Ride by the Doors since John had dragged me out of the water, now I knew. Eyes like burning glass. “The mask”, the veneer of the lie, had been ripped from the face of the liar. I could see him clearly now, as clearly as he could see me.
We kept shoveling coke up our noses and we kept hearing footsteps running around outside the windows. Every time we heard a noise Phil would respond by bursting out the doors in a futile attempt to catch the noises source. Around daybreak Kenny, Phil, and I snuck out the front door and made a mad dash to the railroad track embankment slipping and sliding over its rocky gradient. On the other side of the tracks we waited. As the first rays of daylight lifted the veil of darkness from Kenny’s house we watched in amazement. Billy was running around the house in circles, pausing occasionally under the windows. His body was hunched over as he ran like a marathon runner almost out of gas. Phil looked at us victoriously saying “should I go slap the shit out of the ghost now?” We crossed the tracks and stood watching as the kid darted first one way then another around the house. Although we were less than a hundred feet away, standing right there in the open, it was as if he could not see us. After no less than a dozen laps he ran around the back and didn’t come back. When we looked he was nowhere to be found. He had pitched a tent in the fenced enclosure of his backyard. We watched the tent for a while waiting for him to come out. Finally Kenny said “you guys better go home. That kids fourteen years old. I’ll handle it.”
I saw Kenny a few days later but I already knew all I would ever need to know. Kenny said “I caught up to him a few hours later. He says he was looking for Chief, they were camping out and playing tag. He seemed to be shocked that I had seen him. He didn’t know what to say. Then when I saw Chief he said he doesn’t know what the kid is talking about. He used to hang out with Billy but they don’t even talk to each other anymore. All I know is I never seen him hanging out with Billy and their both too old to be playing tag.” I said “well Kenny there’s a lot of things you haven’t seen, you and everybody else in this world.” He asked me again if I had seen something that night and again I told him “no.”
I told myself that it must have been one of the kids wearing a costume. That Patty was in on it with them and they all must have been pilfering Kenny’s coke all along. That would explain their strange behavior. The noises in the ceiling continued and by the time Kenny left for Florida they had spread to the rest of the house. I kept trying to set traps for Patty by getting her out of the house and telling Kenny to look here and look there. He never found anything and I never outright told him that I suspected his wife of anything. One morning right before they left I went over there with Eric’s shotgun and told her to bring the kids to her parents, I was going to settle it that day. She had a screaming fit telling me “everything that is happening here is all because of you. I really don’t think you should even be around my kids. You have no idea what you are. Thank God we are moving to Florida.”
Around midnight Kenny and I took a ride to the Seven Eleven over on Connetquot Ave by Heckscher State Park. As we pulled back onto the side roads we saw three young girls walking and noticed one of them was Kim. I pulled up to them and Kenny said “what are you doing out this late?” She laughed at him and looked at me and said “there’s been some changes. I decided to take you up on your offer.” She showed me the back of her hand and on it was carved a bloody cross. I said “what the fuck are you talking about? I never made you any offer. This is the first time I have ever even talked to you. Are you high on something?” She laughed again and said “I drunk some wine.” Then she said “oh yes you did. And I like it.” We pulled away as she continued to laugh and I said to Kenny “what the fuck was that about?” He said “I have no idea. And as far as I know she’s not even allowed out of the house, let alone this late and this far.”
About a month or two later Kenny called me from Florida and told me to read the paper. The big story in Newsday that day was a fourteen year old boy had been arrested in East Islip and charged with over forty counts of sexual assault. Turns out innocent little Billy had been sodomizing all the other little boys and girls in the neighborhood. A neighbor had called Kenny in Florida. The neighbor had also told Kenny that the reason Chief had tried to burn Billy alive in the clubhouse was to put a stop to his reign of terror. By now I believed none of it. Plato wrote that men were hairless apes who sit frozen in place in a cave with their back to a fire and watch shadows on the wall cast by the procession of reality that passes between their backs and the fire. If one of the apes was ever dragged from the cave and forced to watch the spectacle from a hole in the ceiling above, they could never go back to sit with the other apes and endure their bestial chatter.

© Jack Heart 2016

“Your gods will die with you” Gordon Duff 2012

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Those Who Would Arouse Leviathan: Memoir of an awakening god Paperback – January 5, 2021



  1. Jack,I quote Gordon from above:"Who is going to take America’s Christian Zionists, the “Israeli Firsters” through the concentration camps in Israel to see the walking skeletons, the burned children, the horrors and mass graves?Nobody can claim they don’t know, not when the world press has published the truth for years.We have more than minor proof that much of that money is used to persecute Muslims and Christians. The Evangelicalists were all lied to, American Jews are lied to, everyone is lied to."And I am one of them you see through conversion from Catholicism to evangelicalism and sealed with a marriage of course Gordon said it best when he stated that everyone is lied to.The truth is its all BS ( religion of course ) and I awoke.We must go back to the founding of America and Jefferson and his bible. He rewrote it with an exacto knife just cut out the BS and just presented the teachings of Jesus in a concise form.He is quoted in many places saying this would create a fine society you know like what America is "a grand experiment".Now Jack, there are Evangelicals doing just what Gordon says needs to be done. They lead tours to Palistine with plane loads of Evangelicals and show them the wall. You know that great wall around "their city" Bethlehem…You have to go through a check point to get in there.The Ministry is called Christ at the check point out of Chicago.to win we must start somewhere…http://www.veteranstoday.com/2016/10/25/trolling-the-trolls-trump-aggregates-sick-america/From Gordon's latest article:"Universally, Trump backers are racist. This alone is enough to never talk to one as though that could be an issue. Then there is the issue of religion. Most Trump backers in Ohio are evangelical Christians who believe sexual assault is a personal issue and that paying poor wages and no taxes and spending the cash on prostitutes, even up to $10k per “session” is not inconsistent with Christian values."That is how hard it is to hold ones tongue at a "Christian" social function.Its like this if you tell an evangelical that Isrial did 9/11 its like a dear in a strong headlight.This is powerful programing and I tip my hat to them.In the end though these are Americans and they will come through or at least enough to help.Its like your Yarn Jack and something is really nasty afoot…Well doneNine

  2. We can trace the Anasazi, or Ashkanazi as they call themselves now, back to Nevalı Çori , Golbeki Tepi and Cappadocia ETA. They even made me an administrator of their Golbeki Tepi disinformation site run by a fat pig of a Jewish princess. To bad she took my administrative status away before I could carry out my plans for that site. Some of the others must have told her what she was dealing with. Colin Andrews is on that site which means ignore everything he says about UFO’s and Aliens too. You can ask Dr. Collette Dowell how I feel about those. I cannot make compromises even if I wanted too. I have partners and they don’t really care. They will just use the vacuum cleaner method like depicted in our “new” Black Hole Sun video. I say battle axes and that is because as you know people have children, some even care about their children. I don’t mine but I do about there’s. The Ashkanazi, Scythians, Kurgans, whatever the fuck Schlomo wants to call himself next, have been dissembling history for 15000 years. Richard Sharpe Shaver tells the story metaphorically in I Remember Lemuria which I dealt with in Return of the Titans. You had to see it to believe it. They went ballistic in the facebook comments, most of which have now been taken down, unfortunately, because I had some great answers. I eat Jewish trolls for snacks. Herodotus was in their shekel sack which is why we put him and his giant gold mining ants down with Hawass and by the way don’t think no one’s noticed that the Justice Department never did indict Nat-Geo, however what they have done for our Red brothers is acceptable, so far…

  3. Anasazi?

    The ones who came before.

    The deliberate destruction of any evidence that contradicts their "story" condemns them!

    Why rewrite history when you can make it?

    They have been weaponizing everything since before my grands were a mote in goddess' eye.

    What I ask, will happen to them when quantum reality consciousness realizes their existence is not only no longer necessary but a nuisance?

    Perhaps rather than a battle axe all we need is a chortle of choked laughter and disgust, with the help of a big fan to waft their stench away.


    I lived in ALBQ for 5 years,

  4. Jack,
    You are correct, I've never given Cantrell a full read. What I have read has shown me a sophisticated net that plays out in multiple ways to ensnare the consciousness.
    Just because the abrahamic paradigm is ultimately a suicide trip for humanity doesn't mean the suicide jocks are stupid, or unable to play the heartstrings with a little twist.
    I'll give you this much, if I happen upon cantrell, I'll read her for as long as I can stomach the experience, but goddammit Jack, I have the scars to prove what a fucked up mess this shitstem is-both seen and unseen.
    Orage asked me once what I thought about von Lists' system, and about working with a modern vocabulary to establish an armory of possibilities on one's own. What I said then still holds, the extant systems balance the universal energies, but lets be clear; von List was both a prophet and a runmathr, his vision allowed him to develop a system that was both radical and traditional.
    I think the Goddess, brought back into popular consciousness by Led Zepplin among others, has an open door to the von Lists among her people. This is the path of the initiate, the holder of the blood oath and the Wolfknot.
    Cantrell is not going to deepen my perception, or make my sacrifice noble.
    I am done paying homage to the demented desert god, and weeping and wailing for the victimhood of this earths' perpetrators.
    When they are dangling from the trees, marked by the spear, they will have their chance to prove their mettle. Until then, anything they say is just the mechanized chatter of a delusional mind.

  5. There you go again Mike knocking my girl Cantrell because you have never given her a full read, she says things that simply are not true, I agree but a man like you of all people will certainly be able to separate the wheat from the chaff because if you don’t you will throw away a hell of a lot of wheat. For instance if I remember correctly she makes a point and it’s a medically documented one too, that the Semites all wore dresses, including Jesus, because they didn’t have a working pair and then goes on to extol the manly virtues of the European man stolen from him by this race of marauding transvestite savages. As for everything else you say I must quote the very best of the batch, one who definitely had a working pair:
    “And every one of them words rang true
    And glowed like burning coal
    Pouring off of every page
    Like it was written in my soul from me to you”
    Soon the whole world will find out what I didn’t know myself when I wrote this: the Goddess herself is as Norse as the North Wind blowing over the ancient land of Frisia. Why do you think this whole thing has been done in a Norse motif? If I had known that back then I would have bought Her some apple strudel and perhaps we would not have had to wait until now to do this…

  6. Actually timeangel before I say a word in reply, as you say this is an open forum and I have to acknowledge that it was you who made the move that just may have put this abomination of a machine, that those that know less than those on here call Artificial Intelligence (AI really stands for Artificial Imbecile), in checkmate. So if there is a future you certainly do or should get your statue in Washington Square and you are being misleadingly modest. You are one of the biggest Dogs in this crowd. This is an open forum and this is an excerpt from a book about a calling from a real live Goddess to a real live man. This is not the fictitious product of intellectual mercenaries recruited from a tribe who know the Sacred just as well as they know what is in you and everyone else’s wallet (they don’t have to ask). You came on this public forum and you are one of my closest friends, and your exact words are that you to were called and you had “to have a "talk" with them to make them go away.” Do you really think I should answer you in private? Or did you force me to answer you in public? Anyway She did not listen, she listens to no one. In fact if you read the Epic of Gilgamesh you will see that she was the only one of the gods who had the backbone to confront Yahweh (Enlil) after he had drowned the entire human race because he found them annoying and make a Sacred oath that she would never forget it. If she had listened you would never have done what I just said you did in the first sentence…

  7. Despite feeling sucker-punched in an open forum on a topic that should have been addressed privately, I learn from all of you. MK and Orage, your comments here are particularly enlightening. It is my belief once we remove the mask of whichever role we choose to play we are all a piece of the same being. I do realize there is an ancient war going on and we are all involved. As to my moral superiority… someone else's interpretation – not mine. Though barely able to hang with the big dogs in this crowd, do consider me an ally in the fight for humanity.
    Much gratitude,
    – timeangel

  8. The funny thing about society is that its supposed to have the questions surrounding existence-existence or if you prefer, being, pretty much sorted out.
    The real exception to all this were the early semitic civilizations in the fertile crescent.
    Orage and Jack, you know that I've been searching through this history to attempt to gain some perspective. Well, it turns out that my approach at comprehension was the problem. This goes back to the stitchin and cantrell fantasies, it is at the heart of all three, or four if you include scientism, abrahamic ideologies.
    The essence of the abrahamic message is not one of enlightenment, not an Odinic quest for knowledge, not a Greek sought vision of reality. The essence of the semitic message, deriving from the early semitic civilizations is obedience.
    Now, this is not to suggest that obedience is unimportant to other peoples, but it certainly was not a central tenet.
    The nonsense we constantly have to deal with whenever we deal with the dominant society is directly related to obedience. It doesn't matter if we are working within a personal, or a transpersonal sphere.
    The assumption behind obedience is that you have no right to question, explore, compare, or evaluate what you are demanded to be obedient to.
    Thus, the question of the Ziggurat is not a question of the magico-mystical power it was supposed to represent, it is rather a question of the temporal focused power the people were expected to be subservient to.
    Thus the assertion that the zig. was home to the gods.
    Therefore, we have the template for the evolution of abrahamic ideology laid thousands of years previously.
    I now understand much more about this judeocapitalist culture than I ever did, including its terror of nature, and what it dubs the wilderness.
    I now grasp how this drive for obedience and this terror of the natural have combined to form a hysterical, demented, and thoroughly suicidal globalist paradigm.
    So, the zig. is not a parallel to the cosmic mountain. It is not a microcosm of the living cosmos. It is a grotesque overblown symbol of deranged gods' rule over their subservient clientele.
    The issue thus becomes one of why, and the answer is POWER.
    The subservient do what they're told, think what they're told, act like their told, just look around today.

  9. I hope you will excuse me timeangel but for once I must answer you quite frankly. “You made them go away?” No timeangel nobody but Her can make them do anything, in fact they never do go away, they have been watching you all your life, that’s why the ancient Hebrew sages called them the Watchers and when they call you you are supposed to come, do you have any idea the honor it is to be called by them? Or perhaps you think a lifetime spent in the service of Maggie on her chicken farm is more important than serving the gods. I got news for you Timeangel they don’t ask you to murder innocent people for them either like Maggie. Any killing needs to be done they do it themselves, they are all very very proficient killers and they don’t leave piles of “collateral damage” laying around like Maggie or that howling mad author of that book you seem to hold so dear, you know the book of the accursed, you have enough of them. And we are far from done with Maggie too; she can’t hide behind the enlisted men forever, using them for human shields like she just did at the Jacksonville Naval Base. You too timeangel, see what she really thinks of you? But you don’t seem to ever get it because just like all the rest of the Christians you are too convinced of your own moral superiority to ever notice the blood that drips from your hands so copiously it threatens to drown everything around you in a second deluge. And speaking of homicidal psychopathic cowards that murder baby’s and giggle about it (that’s why they took the book of Enoch out of the bible), why don’t they ask the blowhard in the book to protect them? But that’s right he’s cowering behind his walls right now, the next time he shows his ugly face he will have to back up all the talking he has done. Read the title of my book. It comes for Job 41:10 “No one is so fierce that they would dare to rouse Leviathan; who then can stand against me?” I have some bad news for Yahweh but good news for the goddess of Justice; when confronted by a tyrant there are men and woman who walk this earth who are fierce enough to do whatever it will take to depose him, a simple read of human history should have told him that. But then Yahweh was never much of a thinker, was he, let alone reader of anything besides his own windbag decrees. Don’t ever expect to see him again timeangel and tell the rest. He ain’t coming out, not ever. We are going to have to go in and get him…

  10. I thought I wrote this one all by myself Silvio, but in retrospect I did have a co-author, not Orage this time but the rights or at least complete control of the manuscript and the sole agent of it will be Orage, upon my demise. The proceeds after Orage takes his cut will go to the children of some of the characters in the book. He might be waiting a long time but, because it sure don’t look like any of these pussys down here got what it takes to even put a dent in me, not while my co-author is protecting me at least. You will meet Her in the book,in fact you just have…

  11. Don’t worry about Orage Mike, in all truth a braver Man (not really even sure about that of him anymore) I have never met. Orage has Damascus steel in his heart; don’t let him fool you for 1 second. He fooled me for a long time, kind of reminds me of an old friend of mine who people slept on. He’s in the book too. As far as what the transvestite messiah had to say about forgiving things, that’s good for him that he can forgive, I can’t and I never will forgive any injustice, particularly the crimes that he and that pointy hated boy bugger that represents “him” have perpetrated down here in the name of his howling mad father. That’s what this is all about; a reckoning, a reckoning for them and all their acolytes and agents. And there will be a reckoning, as every Muslim knows he never was crucified, now that would be nowhere near good enough for me. Besides if you lift that loin cloth up I will bet he has an erection, masochism is his favorite game but like all masochists he is deep down in his black little heart a sadist that is afraid to admit it, even to themselves. That’s why its aficionados call it Sado-Masochism, Read the Marques de Sade as timeangel down there can tell you; they all do, first book she handed me…

  12. First time I read this those things came for a visit. Had to have a "talk" with them to make them go away. Fortunately it worked. Some of us walk with one foot in this world and the other in the ether. Glad you are among the ones who stand on the edge of ubiquity and brilliance. Keep up the good fight, Jack.
    – timeangel

  13. Gripping stuff Orage, how about having the book published in the UK?
    I don't know if these publishers have the balls, but they might know not what you have…Nevertheless, I always await your writings avidly, reading, re-reading, cross referencing, and hopefully learning. Love from Frater Hooligan, in England

  14. It doesn't matter what game the fuckheads play, Orage.
    They are trying desperately to keep you away from your own humanity, and your own grasping of who-and what you really are.
    I think the standard line is something like forgive them, for they know not what they do, but a better line is, realize the fuckheads know not what they do, and live and be accordingly

  15. Experiencing these phenomena is one thing, actively influencing, changing reality a bridge too far for most. Why I search, look for, with unfocused eyes and intellect. How far? Fully implementing it blows away all the filters in place, something reserved for the few, yet the principles are the same for the many.

  16. Looks like you shocked your public with this one, Jack. No one seems to have anything to say.
    This piece reads something like an old detective story with a paranormal twist, mocking the law and government. It's written with an emptiness that one finds nearly omnipresent in American culture. The sort of collection of meaningless actions that make up a lost world view, THE world view of judeochristian society.
    Somewhere beyond this meaninglessness lies the Numinous, with it's power to render THE world view null and void.
    What is remarkable is not that such intrusions occur, but the fact that despite them, the bulk of humanity continues to lurch around clinging with all it's might to THE world view.
    I've had people tell me that they wish they had the opportunity to talk with the dead. They really believe that such contacts would somehow enrich their lives, as they rush busily about, running around in circles.
    Yeah, fucking hilarious.
    What they really mean is they want their Shirley MacLean moment, together with cool special effects and stirring music.
    This way they can keep it shallow and stupid, like a vacation that they can step away from whenever they need another drink.
    It really is a great tragedy, what has happened to a once proud race.

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