What if the history of the world is only 300 years old… what if everything you have ever learned, heard, or recorded in your notebook was a terrible lie?

What if all historians live within their own imaginary illusions, which silently devour them every day, with a self-sustaining contingent of the most poisonous lies that jump from them to you?

The mental virus is surreally real, and its damned colony consists of everyone you love, hear, and know.

And all together, they project this almost terminal form, an unspeakable lie, which was never meant to be.

Books are written, encyclopedias are delivered, old maps are displayed for all curious eyes to see, to immerse in this or that ancient part of history, but everything is again wrapped in deceitful tentacles that grow larger and larger with each passing year.

If enough time passes, no one remains who has even the smallest piece of truth in their mind or heart to remember what once was the representation of the slightest breath of truth, worthy of being kept alive for the generation that will come, even more unaware than their predecessors.

When and at what point in time does reality as the original, manifested reality get lost, and all subjects of this new reality from that monumental, sporadic moment now live, walk through endless corridors, drowned in ignorance, crushed in the self-moving jaws of a semi-organic, highly flexible matrix?

Can a society deprived of the life-giving hands in the form of truth return from this dishonorable endeavor…

If they somehow find their way back, what will that element of initial isolated fragmentation truly look like?

What would be tolerated, and what will become taboo, the great no-no for those newly awakened, re-aware beings?

Will they advance rapidly in a very short period or plunge even deeper into the beloved oblivion of recklessness and self-love, because the naked truth itself, devoid of duplicative dubiousness, will simply be too much for our new Argonauts to handle; the sheer weight of this new power and the level of obligation grandiosely bestowed upon them will be too much for them, too much for their newly found hearts and minds.

Will they dive into an age of war in their newly awakened quest for truth, or can all these individuals be acutely tolerant and benevolent towards each other, as the voice of undeniable truth now connects them?

Who has the right over this freshly acquired knowledge called truth, or will the truth be equally distributed to all available and willing minds and hearts, without a trace of any discrimination…

Can all individuals equally bear what is freely given to them, can they meet the expectations of this truth, or will the truth over time again become corrupted and fragmented into a thousand pieces, lost and overwhelmed in the murky waters of selfishness and sometimes even mad ambitions to once again cold-heartedly rule over those who cannot grasp the deeper meaning of that truth.

Can the cycle that created this terrible mess be stopped…

Is truth only for some, and can never be given to all, because that sacred gift is too much to bear for the weak-minded or young souls, who want nothing more than to experience pleasure and fun.

If truth is only for some, are those fortunate and chosen individuals moral beings, working for the betterment of the whole society, or are they alienated adulterers of the sacred word, intoxicated by the power given to them by the source of the highest.

How much time will pass when these new subjects, the originators of truth, become what they perhaps so hated just a few decades ago?

Does absolute power corrupt absolutely, and is there no escape from this highly articulated event? Can we find salvation in the next realization, if only a few can break through this mind-melting, heart-wrenching supernatural barrier? Will the chosen ones finally mercifully give the masses the true path, the shining road that inevitably leads to the heart of justice itself?

Will the word of truth, once received, change with their understanding of that truth, or must the root of this primary essence remain the same so that others who come after them can enjoy its fruits and, once they find themselves, ascend to higher levels of existence?

One not-so-sporadic cycle follows the tide, the ripple effect of another, until there is nothing more to learn, is that the case?

What is the ultimate truth, if the finest derivative of that truth finally manifests, ever received as the finest possible alchemical distillate of that beloved truth, then what… do you go fishing?

You watch a flock of birds running carefree through the endless expanses of the blue sky, you calculate their path, their destination, or you watch a small stone that silently moved one nanometer, surrendering to its, own variable of existence, and lost at the same time in the pleasant murmur of water with the taste of green, emerald color.

Or you go back and repeat the cycle out of inevitable, capricious boredom, and watch your own creation, your own moving, and highly theatrical performance unfold before your omniscient eyes…

Do you do this so that others can reach your level of existence, or do you do it because over time your good heart and cosmic mind have become restless and somewhat bored, and now all that remains is to oversee the primary, secondary, and tertiary functions within your creation, your own game, your Sim City?

In desperate hope, maybe, just maybe if a multitude of unrestrained permutations allows, you will see something entirely new, something incredible, created randomly, out of a seething sea filled with trillions of possible probabilities.

Is being God fun, or with all divine duties, do you have nothing better to do than observe a breath of holographic imitation of life?

If this highly controversial product of your divine imagination, this projected imitation of life by sudden chance, under the right conditions can produce invaluable new seed transcended into the kiss of living breath.

What then, do you go further, always frantically in search of the boundless voice of multiple perfections, or do you nurture your unique creation, even if it is not perfect after all?

Is the voice of imperfection, the multidimensional length and breadth that connects the vastness of the cosmos, a depiction of a stable axis that will eventually reveal the path to crowned perfection?

When does the role of creator gives priority, selfless advantage to the role of silent nurturer?

What Would You Be…

Are you a noble ruler of a burning, ravenous hell or a self-loving autocrat with a heavy hand whose blink can be heard and seen directly from the promised sky-blue heaven?

Under and Towards the Brightest Sun

Are we not the same under the brightest Sun

are we not ashamed of our recklessness, our desolated fun?

Will the subliminal dream end

is all this,

one more shout to the word..pretend

is faith heaven sent

Are we not all close to the voice of heaven

are we not a striking rainbow that screams seven

Are we not the same under the brightest Sun

are we not ashamed of our recklessness, our desolated fun?

Will the subliminal dream end

is all this,

one more shout to the word..pretend

is faith heaven sent

Are we not all close to the voice of heaven

are we not a striking rainbow that screams seven

Are we, not the faces of the bluest, randomized sky

Why are all the right questions

hidden deep in the dead of night?

Close to the heart of the Sun

Close to the appointment with One

we fly high and low

where we will end

who, wants to know?

Crawl, beg, or fly

uncompromised truth will rise

a questionable lie will shamelessly die

what about the fine smell of the last tasty pie?

is she already

the distant memory,

a tasteless product of the proudest lie?

Moments come

moments go

it is all part of this chaotic, formed flow

reap what you sow

even if you are in the know

maybe your high mind is still flying low

dont cut the cord,

dont destroy

the shapeless gates of this mechanical, synthetic show

even your big brain will have to go

surrender,

dont be an estranged vassal an awkward

and silly pretender

smart fools will be disassembled

true beings with a kiss of life again assembled

Fate is always tirelessly calling

Destiny is with you unseen, effortlessly falling

Just a number in the deep dark ocean

careless love is servitude, affaire of the devotion

Darkest nightmare disfigured as sweet temptation

You are dying sphere calculated in voidless abrasion

volatile truth or frantic dare

oceans of love or cheap, resolute scare

to you, these terms

are just spiraling

warmongering invoice to the latest immoral fashion

what is the dawn of another dead nation?

All in the name of fruitless satisfaction

all to trigger a damaged chemical reaction

dying machine has no passion

you are the dying breath of a senseless and morbid equation

where is the Storm bringer of pious creation…

where is the blind eye of this heartless devastation

what is the latest, sad, sad justification?

Are we not the same under the brightest Sun

are we not ashamed of our desolated and stoic fun?

Will the subliminal dream, finally end

is all this,

one more shout to the word.. pretend

is the meaningless breath of dying faith, Heaven sent

Are we all not close to the voice of the most luminous heaven

are we,

not the purest voice inside the whitest rainbow that screams seven

Are we not the bluest randomized sky

will you be standing helpless or give an honest try?

Why are all the right questions

always, carefully

hidden ,

deep in the dead of smiling night?

Why are we in such dire need

of this metaphysical,

superimposed fight?

Why just not say

in the brightest night

my heart will be alone

but I will be perfectly alright

death is not the final night

true death is the dawn of

brightest light

I accept the fight

I surrender my earthly body

to the darkest night

to the darkest day

it is my decision

to take this way

but my true heart

is not part of this dark day

nor

this blackened night

my true heart

was always

out of reach,

out of sight

my true heart

my connection

to the heavenly bart

will

be, just

alright…

I know deep inside

I won, this last

fight…

I earned my right

to leave the day

to hide myself from

the night.

All the Best to All, and keep calm…

18 COMMENTS

      • HP, I always look up folk on the net, the young player is a rabid homosexual, pushing with a fervor the LGBTQ+ lifestyle. He runs charities and plays for these causes. I have no problem with homosexuals as long as they keep it to themselves and those so inclined.
        I have observed personally that homosexuals know who is and who is not wired in such a manor. Grooming especially of children is despicable behavior.

        • Well, this is news for me, to be honest, I dont have the time to check who is playing for what team…thx for the info, shame, it is a great song.
          I will leave this song in the article, but that will be it from him in the future.
          I think we all saw enough debauchery and decadent behavior for 100 lifetimes.

          Thx.

          • HP, the guy is a guitar genius, me? Not about telling the other how to live like he does.
            A seven string electric guitar and a guy that can play it. Perhaps he should play his guitar and let others do the begging?
            I see many things

          • So I have a wife from my youth

            Enjoy making love to her

            Forcing such a lifestyle

            Upon a homosexual

            Perversion I see

            Trapping a woman

            In their perversions

            Just what I see HP

          • I guarantee as good as he is there are ten other guys just as good who will play clubs the rest of their lives because they refuse to swallow Schlomos sword…

        • I dont judge,dont hate them,I just dont want to support their… vile actions…ass is a part of the digestive system, there is absolutely no reason to stick your thing in that “place”…none.

          I talk to them, and always behind this nature is childhood trauma or mental abuse from one or another parent, and in many cases from the opposite sex, nobody is born that way.

          No matter how good-hearted they are, like in the Jew this decadent seed always comes out, no matter how hard they try.

          • Mick Jaeger commeting on file sharing and the internet said that the Rolling Stones made very little money on album sales. Mick said he gives two shots about file sharing, noting that the internet brought in a whole young generation into the Rolling Stones music.
            The Stones made most of their money “clubbing” as you say Jack, except their venues were huge arenas.

          • https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pat_Metheny
            His guitar sound is like Pat’s, going back to Wes Montgomery and Miles Davis jazz super stars. Notice that soft touch on the strings? However, not a mention of Matheny in his bio since our Pat hung out and dated beautiful movie star ladies, is married now with three children.
            Still plays clubs for his supper.

  1. History is brought to you by the very same entities who brought you the Abrahamic religions and its effects are just as deleterious. What does western history “teach” you? That there was a secular empire filled with dozens of mongrel races and religions that prospered for two hundred years under Pax Romana. Yea just like the United States. “If we don’t learn from our past, we are bound to repeat it.” Yea well first you gotta know your past, that’s what makes this the most dangerous place on the internet, and the only one fit to read for those not planning on remaining a chicken in the chicken farm.

    • People,exellent writers, are writing, describing just 150 years ago about the same things, probably hundreds of them. These people either had bigger and far better imaginations than you or they lived in an entirely different world.

      I post on Substack here and there, works from these authors, mainly short stories.

      Cthulhu Mythos, Black goo, Sea Monsters, fairies, dwarves, elves…

      Even Otto Rahn and Miguel Serrano are telling you in their books that you could see fairies at the end of the 19th century in Europe.

      All these Clif Highs, Robert Sephers, and other rats are working knowingly or unknowingly for the enemy of humanity, for your enslavers…

      Maybe I was too lenient with 300 years…

      Now, does the sudden emergence of the “Kingdom of Tartaria” makes more sense?

      You have been given something that resembles the truth, but not the truth.

      And people love their heroes…heroes from the “distant” past or the present.

      Do you want to lose your favorite historical hero, what if he or she was never even here?

      Maybe we haven’t got far enough to disturb the tidal waves here…

      The question remains are the chickens from hell ready to come home to roost,ready to leave the confinements of a given coop, and leave their masters behind?

      Well, use your imagination…