the PROUD HOME
OF THE NEW ELECTRON
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FusionRuhnMinorPhaserBurns
BRAINTRUST
This night as I ponder whether and how much to take of my new medicine Risperidol, I languish in thirst. It has been two days since I have been released from a Mental Hospital, the profiteering version of the concentration camp, forcibly put there for no reason but my status as a mental patient after going to a psychiatrist's office where I incurred the "concern" of the doctor by admitting that I felt "so-so". The scope of the disregard for my well-being and the disgrace withwhich I was treated will now be related:
I was thirsty when I went to the Northcoast Behavioral Health building, a place where I had been lulled into feeling safe, and perhaps rightly, should be safe because it is where I chose to attend counseling for Post Traumatic Stress. They do not even allow the name of this malady to appear as my treatment point on hospital admittance forms. Instead, after being abducted and deposited in an emergency room by five cops and firemen, another psychiatrist looked at me and pronounced me schizophrenic. I have never been diagnosed as schizophrenic, but all psyche personnel want patients to be schizophrenic. I found out why-- Insurance will only compensate a hospital for this conjectural illness and not a PTS case. Indeed my insistence that I had trauma was frequently belittled, though I have a scar on my scrotum that says I have had considerable trauma to my person. I had driven to the building after downing a banana and was planning to get a meal and drink when I left. I think I appeared distracted. I had not had any perceptible problems recently of note. I was just due to be reeled in and invaded by the most pernicious and pitiless pig system in America, that which is above law and without restraint. To them I am a trouble maker no matter what I say or do. Evidence of free thought is seized upon-- and there is no defense.
I was set up and betrayed by the psychiatrists-- the one I had chosen for her description as "compassionate" and the diabolical one into whose authority I was placed by her in the hospital, Dr. Nathan and Wilkes respectively. I am not sure why I didn't bolt when I had the chance... I guess I really was seeking professional help. Dr. Nathan ushered me out of her office into the waiting room saying she didn't want calls to, supposedly, my relatives- actually the authorities- to upset me. I sat there for some time waiting for her to reemerge, knowing that I had come off wrong and that if I didn’t get back down to my car and jet, I was about to relive the violation of hospitalization I had experienced three times before.
Consumers all live in abject fear of this recourse of psychiatry. We are taught to fear our very selves. I maintain defiance and shelter my spirit, but this is a constant taxation. The agency of the Mental Health Mafia includes the consumers many of whom have been scared into roles of rats who pose as peers to those of us with integrity, lending a dubious ear in the lonely world of the afflicted.
People who have had their lives collapse from mental stressors seek safe environments. The psyches provide a simulated safe environment. In this holograph, control is established. Under the guise of care the drastic reality of behavior modification through the forced insertion of poison needles is introduced. Hospitalization is perfected euthanasia, completed by aspects of robbing the money and spirit before the inevitable. It is to such an extent that reasonably healthy persons are reduced to invalids, as I witnessed firsthand over five days at South Point "Hospital". People are routinely drugged to immobility and force-fed food. All the while blood is drawn for barely plausible reasons from people at incredible excess. I was detained in a hallway for these days with no room to walk among such cases-- a Korean War veteran who repeatedly remarked "they're trying to kill me", "they're taking too much of my blood." And so they were. The hospital employed an orderly with a Transylvanian accent chillingly attentive to his blood extraction duties. At the front desk, four wheelchair bound dying and stupefied patients were perpetually parked. A number of patients were drugged to immobility so as to urinate on the premises all the time. I wrote a "three day letter" but Dr. Wilkes didn't read it. He told me it was indicative of my overcomplicated thinking and faulty reasoning because it was three full pages and not "I request to leave the hospital". I had voluntarily signed myself in. Not being involuntarily admitted in contrast, a hearing and representation was forthcoming. But when I questioned the lizard like assistant to the psychiatrist whether I was there voluntarily or involuntarily she said the latter, elaborating that the police had brought me. Thus the guilt was conjured--ex post facto.
My privacy was in constant duress from staff, who could present themselves for a contrived reason and disturb my sleep or activity any time and the other patients, who could verbally assault you at every turn, and in any combination of their number. The dementia and desperation of these peers was the featured reality, incessantly intruding. My cellmate was the most aggressive and perplexing presence in the ward. I made common cause with him and transmuted rage into insight and humor, but for which I would have been preyed upon.
Why was I there? The hospital social workers and psychiatrists and nurses seized upon this question at every encounter. I had arrived on a gurney surrounded by cops, off a pinkslip. That I had done nothing to deserve this entourage was disbelieved. I had taken care not to answer affirmatively that I had thoughts of hurting myself or others. That is an automatic ticket to erasure. Still, this was my lot. No question could be answered in earnest or at any length without an onslaught of "intervention". Only once, in horror, did I break into convulsive sobs. The nearest nurse burst in and demanded to know if I was "hearing voices."
As I write I think as I often do about Andra, my love who I lost to suicide four years ago. She killed herself promptly after being put in an asylum precisely like this. In exasperation with her own pain of mind, after rebuking me for allowing myself to have been hospitalized the last time, she finally did allow the doctors to work their whiles. She was drugged, indoctrinated and released, into the outside world of cold. Her doctor went on vacation. She made up her mind to die.
They seize upon the meditation of suicide and aggression. They ostensibly try to remedy it. But it is obvious that their motivation is not life affirmative-- by the hospital environment and by the feel of their medications. The real motive is to deal with a person they want dead because the person is a beacon for light, and this society they protect feeds off of darkness. INSTEAD OF MURDERING THEM, THEY MAKE THEM KILL THEMSELVES. They claim it was the unfortunate result of illness taking its course. They've been getting away with it up until now. The theme of the psyche ward is craziness. But they don't cure nothing. They try to drive you crazy. They want you to go crackers. They chemically confuse the brain and present a menagerie of bedlam. You are allowed only a life of mundane nondeviation, in their care as well as on your own after training is complete.
Andra is why I went to the hospital. I carry a vial of her hair as a wand. When I went to the office of NorthCoast I unpocketed it and twirled it in my hand as I recited the nonevents of my mental state to Erika Nathan. She was troubled by this-- hadn't I stopped thinking of her? I waved my wand at Nathan and professed my innocence. Because I am INNOCENT more than anything, and she is a fuck pig with blood on her hands if anything. And she surrounded me with officers of the law who regarded the tube, which housed the follicles from a head driven dead by their ilk as a dangerous item. And my only protest, being at the behest of their confiscation of it, as the picture of mania.
The cognizance of the insidious conspiracy to silence the light is a danger to them. My freedom of thought will not be terminal to me but to them.
It is 4:00 AM now, and I am still thirsty. Will I flick a pill of poison into my throat along with water presently as I try to sleep? That is a secret I trust with no one.
FusionRuhnMinorPhaserBurns
BRAINTRUST
This night as I ponder whether and how much to take of my new medicine Risperidol, I languish in thirst. It has been two days since I have been released from a Mental Hospital, the profiteering version of the concentration camp, forcibly put there for no reason but my status as a mental patient after going to a psychiatrist's office where I incurred the "concern" of the doctor by admitting that I felt "so-so". The scope of the disregard for my well-being and the disgrace withwhich I was treated will now be related:
I was thirsty when I went to the Northcoast Behavioral Health building, a place where I had been lulled into feeling safe, and perhaps rightly, should be safe because it is where I chose to attend counseling for Post Traumatic Stress. They do not even allow the name of this malady to appear as my treatment point on hospital admittance forms. Instead, after being abducted and deposited in an emergency room by five cops and firemen, another psychiatrist looked at me and pronounced me schizophrenic. I have never been diagnosed as schizophrenic, but all psyche personnel want patients to be schizophrenic. I found out why-- Insurance will only compensate a hospital for this conjectural illness and not a PTS case. Indeed my insistence that I had trauma was frequently belittled, though I have a scar on my scrotum that says I have had considerable trauma to my person. I had driven to the building after downing a banana and was planning to get a meal and drink when I left. I think I appeared distracted. I had not had any perceptible problems recently of note. I was just due to be reeled in and invaded by the most pernicious and pitiless pig system in America, that which is above law and without restraint. To them I am a trouble maker no matter what I say or do. Evidence of free thought is seized upon-- and there is no defense.
I was set up and betrayed by the psychiatrists-- the one I had chosen for her description as "compassionate" and the diabolical one into whose authority I was placed by her in the hospital, Dr. Nathan and Wilkes respectively. I am not sure why I didn't bolt when I had the chance... I guess I really was seeking professional help. Dr. Nathan ushered me out of her office into the waiting room saying she didn't want calls to, supposedly, my relatives- actually the authorities- to upset me. I sat there for some time waiting for her to reemerge, knowing that I had come off wrong and that if I didn’t get back down to my car and jet, I was about to relive the violation of hospitalization I had experienced three times before.
Consumers all live in abject fear of this recourse of psychiatry. We are taught to fear our very selves. I maintain defiance and shelter my spirit, but this is a constant taxation. The agency of the Mental Health Mafia includes the consumers many of whom have been scared into roles of rats who pose as peers to those of us with integrity, lending a dubious ear in the lonely world of the afflicted.
People who have had their lives collapse from mental stressors seek safe environments. The psyches provide a simulated safe environment. In this holograph, control is established. Under the guise of care the drastic reality of behavior modification through the forced insertion of poison needles is introduced. Hospitalization is perfected euthanasia, completed by aspects of robbing the money and spirit before the inevitable. It is to such an extent that reasonably healthy persons are reduced to invalids, as I witnessed firsthand over five days at South Point "Hospital". People are routinely drugged to immobility and force-fed food. All the while blood is drawn for barely plausible reasons from people at incredible excess. I was detained in a hallway for these days with no room to walk among such cases-- a Korean War veteran who repeatedly remarked "they're trying to kill me", "they're taking too much of my blood." And so they were. The hospital employed an orderly with a Transylvanian accent chillingly attentive to his blood extraction duties. At the front desk, four wheelchair bound dying and stupefied patients were perpetually parked. A number of patients were drugged to immobility so as to urinate on the premises all the time. I wrote a "three day letter" but Dr. Wilkes didn't read it. He told me it was indicative of my overcomplicated thinking and faulty reasoning because it was three full pages and not "I request to leave the hospital". I had voluntarily signed myself in. Not being involuntarily admitted in contrast, a hearing and representation was forthcoming. But when I questioned the lizard like assistant to the psychiatrist whether I was there voluntarily or involuntarily she said the latter, elaborating that the police had brought me. Thus the guilt was conjured--ex post facto.
My privacy was in constant duress from staff, who could present themselves for a contrived reason and disturb my sleep or activity any time and the other patients, who could verbally assault you at every turn, and in any combination of their number. The dementia and desperation of these peers was the featured reality, incessantly intruding. My cellmate was the most aggressive and perplexing presence in the ward. I made common cause with him and transmuted rage into insight and humor, but for which I would have been preyed upon.
Why was I there? The hospital social workers and psychiatrists and nurses seized upon this question at every encounter. I had arrived on a gurney surrounded by cops, off a pinkslip. That I had done nothing to deserve this entourage was disbelieved. I had taken care not to answer affirmatively that I had thoughts of hurting myself or others. That is an automatic ticket to erasure. Still, this was my lot. No question could be answered in earnest or at any length without an onslaught of "intervention". Only once, in horror, did I break into convulsive sobs. The nearest nurse burst in and demanded to know if I was "hearing voices."
As I write I think as I often do about Andra, my love who I lost to suicide four years ago. She killed herself promptly after being put in an asylum precisely like this. In exasperation with her own pain of mind, after rebuking me for allowing myself to have been hospitalized the last time, she finally did allow the doctors to work their whiles. She was drugged, indoctrinated and released, into the outside world of cold. Her doctor went on vacation. She made up her mind to die.
They seize upon the meditation of suicide and aggression. They ostensibly try to remedy it. But it is obvious that their motivation is not life affirmative-- by the hospital environment and by the feel of their medications. The real motive is to deal with a person they want dead because the person is a beacon for light, and this society they protect feeds off of darkness. INSTEAD OF MURDERING THEM, THEY MAKE THEM KILL THEMSELVES. They claim it was the unfortunate result of illness taking its course. They've been getting away with it up until now. The theme of the psyche ward is craziness. But they don't cure nothing. They try to drive you crazy. They want you to go crackers. They chemically confuse the brain and present a menagerie of bedlam. You are allowed only a life of mundane nondeviation, in their care as well as on your own after training is complete.
Andra is why I went to the hospital. I carry a vial of her hair as a wand. When I went to the office of NorthCoast I unpocketed it and twirled it in my hand as I recited the nonevents of my mental state to Erika Nathan. She was troubled by this-- hadn't I stopped thinking of her? I waved my wand at Nathan and professed my innocence. Because I am INNOCENT more than anything, and she is a fuck pig with blood on her hands if anything. And she surrounded me with officers of the law who regarded the tube, which housed the follicles from a head driven dead by their ilk as a dangerous item. And my only protest, being at the behest of their confiscation of it, as the picture of mania.
The cognizance of the insidious conspiracy to silence the light is a danger to them. My freedom of thought will not be terminal to me but to them.
It is 4:00 AM now, and I am still thirsty. Will I flick a pill of poison into my throat along with water presently as I try to sleep? That is a secret I trust with no one.
FusionRuhnMinorPhaserBurns Mathis Amer = umberzerk
Bounty on a Snake-Eyed's Child
Maladies of the Woe Begotten. Novelty in a straight-jacket. The poseidon ruhnt clown; Mascot to norse. There away felt the scissoring to uncouple cartelage in the heart. At the term shine ruhntonces; goregeld words. Hearse blown avartes of the mirbidon ribbon. Nexus is the cascade event timespace allude to in its rain dance, but cantelouped on the trouble:Mars coup engages with the balance of Orion in the Umbare. Hytpilelael ? Yalledt pieleyl un Israel?
"Azrael"
The X Men had XZavier, the Enterprise Hegel. If terrorism did not exist it would have to be birthed; the Ignatz are riding the purpoil inta the ground. Snots on the ignatz.
Grow Azrael. There is no inersion where backbiters pray. I know at hearth semblance, the ardour of Pele misses the councel peasanting Oracalcum. Thereby the witness relieves entropy. Phasers-portilelcstretrz beam into a source, hit marks sweeping through their respective phaser arcs.
Honing Nemo
Regular space is filled with oxygen. The sun is a dark entity. The Earth is mirrored by a world opposite its orbit from the sun. I call it Nemo; it is the anime of all of us. The vicinity of the solar system is a void because the sun destroys the ozone that would be there. This ether coalesces deeper into space. Where the asteroid belt appears is a membrane between regions; fragments are deposited there like shells along the seashore. The Jovian planets occupy a different strata of space. This denser place is a prelude to the abundance within extrastellar space. A vestige of the extrastellar element encompasses stars. A propensity of it envelopes all galaxies and therefore dominates the universe. Cancer within a body is a simile to stars and their dominions. We are residents of heaven nonetheless. The ether of heaven is aprehendable on earth.
Electric arcs are glimpses of the beyond. The lightening bolt and the static charge express potential between the etheric greatness of heaven and the deficit of Earth. Witness the azure color of electric blue; it is the very pigment of heaven.
The sun blacks out the Nemo. The sum of fantasia resides within the globe of the Nemo. The images are summoned to the surface and projected into Earth minds. This reservoir of ideal plasma succors thought in abeyance of the poverty in which intelligence abides here. The collective imagination of the blood is patched into the globe on the other side. It is a microcosm of the heavenly mantle of the extrastellar realm. The passage of time and effects of gravitational and other stress on the body are not natural. We are meant to be swimming in the element of ether. Here in this element, thought congeals instead of evaporating in the world. The attachment to this world is broken at death and what is etheric in the incarnation (if any) is snatched back to the incubating mantle beyond the stars like a cord of elastic released. The dead are restored here as the consciousness sloughs off the disfigurations caused by a life in a confusing and hostile surrounding. Depending on how much repair there is to do and how able the consciousness is, the body is restored and sentience is reinitiated. The person is whole again and the ether gel is navigable and breathable so as to sustain the renewed creature. It is not neccesary to die to live in heaven though. If we were to fly far enough or pass through a shunt, once there, we would be able to live. The renewing effect of our natural home would go to work; we would have an added aspect to our consciousness and maximum vitality owing to not having died. We could experience pleasure at a voluminus capacity. We would have no refractions of our consciousness. We could conjure any desire and make anything happen in this form. We could make our own heaven. This obscelescence of God is what is feared.
So do we find ourselves cast in a void, angelic consciousnesses being farmed for cancer tumors.
to feed antimatter species.
Screaming At Time
Under a
Sculptor Sector
Canopy
The trees are at hand. Echoes will no longer suffice; the voice is beseeched. Woodpiling accounts for the time banked in the hours of innocence, and the rest is still canopy. Vines mark pockmarks in the soil spirit, and there is nary a fulsome nerve unyoked by the sundry resonance of predatory fire.
As Stated: Children of the Dupe; Degeneration
In templating the human there is a capacity for purposeful superficiality. The subcutaneous microchip of 1600 & 66 persuasion is less a brain control device as a vehicle to amplify the veneer of the body overlaying the soul; the enforcement of the energy-shorn residual self-image. Distraction is not innocuous-- society is predecated on dislodging the self-awareness of soul. The imagination is the paramount muscle. Skin is an afterthought. The human form need not be an outline of flesh. The human nervous system can serve as the touchstone for time-space condensation. The neurons and muscle memory of our bodies can superceed the faint knots of the space pixelation of the universal grid. The tie to the atmosphere in man is the basis for a system of hyperspace warp drive.
When the webbings of time are tethered and drawn end to end, the Omegetron stands at the apheix and gathers us all in. The pyramid is black. The surfaces of the pyramid are etched in myriad sublimations. To walk on the surface of the pyramid, illusions of grand dimension are evoked by the radionic ebbings as the pleats beneath feet are the stretchings of skies. The biped is a transcendental beholder of the transcendental object it strides; the transistance to linear spine comfortment is the harbinger of homunculus launch into placental hyperspace in rocket launch modality; it bears a pratful in the potential for consciousness derailment into sub-hominid two dimensions—if allowed to decompile to base bug state—for the grid-mind that allows personkind to think a city is susceptible to becoming flayed on the brane of tertiary simplicity in the static of normality. We are not meant trod a planet into banal exhaustion; we are powerful quantum phase discriminating machines meant to drive the mass of this Universe itself into hyperspace. The destiny awaiting my progeny is to behold the burning spear. My meaning is to clench, even in my dim quarters, the wick string of mantropics that is the ripchord to the heavens. Hytclan, we that are in siege of Providence, will grip that master wick. It will be the tomahawk in my fist. The pitch will never stop curving as it whips through the obsoleted screen nodes of the matrix, the thunder will never cease to sound; and this furious thunder will sound for the first time, not as an echo but as a voice.
The time of this station has been elongated into a preponderance. The human state is not a mesa on which to pitch a tent, let alone build ziggurauts upon; the human template is transistance-wired. Grafts of god have been fitted in sly miscue onto the blankspot in the backbrain and used to manipulate the mind into a monotone… The power to transist the beat of time-space into a vibrance apart from the whitelight glare of nature is the promise of our kind. The supceeding of god by man is a constant threat assailed by the outscaled Jehovah One at the Ur level of human experience; the Ur level of of civilization is the zero-valience of God the insect that seeks to suppress the spider of Universe digesting man. The desperate Sanhedron at Olympus Mons will strive to the last swipe to blot out the luminescence of our supergenome and retain their conjuring rights, at any expense. They have in their last contrivance ordered the great mantle of man into an organ of digestion that in Oroboros fashion devours our own world. Veneers of family and barriers of god are the favorite tools of the masters of monotony geared to short-circuit the telepathic epiphanies of the grandstanding brainpan. We must launch from the entropy engulfing gravity pit that masks out purpose with the lies of life and world, and leap into the awaiting wafts of rapure in hyperspace. As soon as the tractor beam of local life is broken, the growth will cascade into pre-eminent Shiloh.
Ash Shiloh encompassed:
Bounty On A Snake-Eyed's Child
Some of the best swords end up grounded. The broadsword I left piercing the sod over my intended's grave in a Berea cemetery was named Luciender of Moriseth and it was a grand blade. Three and a half feet from the buried tip of Luciender, writing, I surmise to be an Enochian derivative, emblazoned on the metal shaft and the flanges of the hilt, were un-eclipsed for any to read extending the remaining two feet to the pommel. Soon after I had thrust it down to the wood beneath the earth where Andra was left to rest, winter commenced. If the powers that be tried to remove it from view, I am sure it was with difficulty that Luciender's oxygen groove was forced to relent from the frozen earth. This was not a military affair. It was a judgment. My army remains absent without leave, but the enemy was dealt a decisive blow. When I let go of the handholds of the blade of Moriseth for the final time, I believed I was completing a dispensation for the truncated life of Andra Lynn and the evil surrounding it. The evils remain. I believe it did satisfy her spirit to receive the weapon on the other side…
I saw Andra what was to be the last time at the Hessler Street fair five days before she flung herself from the Lorain Carnegie Bridge. She was the only girl I had and have been with in my life, and communication was not a featured part of our relationship. She was an original, independent and full of spunk. The sweetness I saw in her contradicted her own self-image. We were both wounded inside. Although the world had hurt us in particular ways, she remained committed to living in the world and I tried to follow her inspiration. In short order we were both committed, that is to the warped care of the Mental Health facilities, first me and her right before the end of her life. The particular way I had been hurt, being beaten in high school by a gang aiming to castrate me, was something that I could never bring myself to explain to her. The pain that was unresolved from that attack to my manhood reasserted itself when we were separated. She insisted on moving to a Sufi commune in New Lebanon NY. I was going to join her there out of faith in her and not Sufism. Society afforded little understanding of what motivated my irritability—this persistent stabbing pain in my right nut, coupled with persistent desperation for satisfaction derived from the same part of my body, and I was afraid to reveal this underlying detraction to Andra. My delay in attempting to relocate to New Lebanon thus initiated a somewhat unearned resentment and the news that I was being detained at a hospital struck her as a betrayal of our pact to resist the institutional "Braintrust". I was given no choice in the matter, and my stay in Laurelwood was protracted by the forced introduction of Clozeril, a medicine that had the unfortunate effect of giving me grand mal seizures. I kept losing my balance and falling in my path, and was kept there for five weeks only to be released when I came down with a flu. The physical pain remained unresolved and ignored, my complaints serving only as further suspicion of my psychosis. It became my only impulse to keep my mouth shut.
I glimpsed her unaware as she abided by a tree on the grounds of the Hessler Fair. My heart leapt and when I went to meet her I didn't know how I would be received. I presented myself for better or worse…
"It's good to see you."
I thought it may have been resolved, and tried a conservative approach in reciprocating a brief exchange of fond greetings. I didn't know she was saying good bye for good. Instead of calling her new number, I busied myself recording a compilation of music for Andra, different songs I thought spoke with more resonance than my own voice, and hoped it would lift her spirit to renew a friendship deeper than any I had known. My confidence lifting, I sent it on its way. It arrived at a vacant address. I did not know what had happened and thought I had been presumptuous in my hope the cold period had passed.
Entrados dertey berkid
Development is arrested and potential serves only aspersion. What be termed disagreeable by the Psychiatric agenda is the true illumination; that flame called mania. So caustic are you as to Deny rapture. Energy belongs to survivors who will not forget. You would drive me to ruin.
Blindness is your only ally. A moratorium on thunderbolts can't withstand the slightest dissent. Perpetrators of degradation you are the epitome of ugliness. The flame is at hand. Laughter will echo over your embers.
Stampede to the endtime, Agamemnon 1
Cushite fire lights the night
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n Unh. … I woke up."
I sighed and craned my face to view the mummy. "Go back to sleep ack to sleep, Phaoroah."
********* Inside the IS REAL LIGHT ************
. .. someone in post before time, ante-B.C. E. and double A.D. period English - speaking Earth trailed off....
"So, Jehoveh 1 was a retarded space alien. And on X Day, the duespaying Subgeneouses will be Ruptured up to the waiting escape mansions, leaving the Pinks to wallow in the dissolving carcass of the Conspiracy's glut." The Revelation Ex... the Bob Dobbs Apocrophon "Close enough." the other conversationalist put in.
"I sort of think maybe supplication of the heart acts in some mode of reality. But like, some little old lady is saying a prayer and in another dimension and galaxy far away, suns are ripping apart."
"huh."
*******************
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The field of battle lay smoldering. Stepping from his chariot, Hytclan alighted upon the soil of his vanquished adversary. The Celtic warlord fingered his ruddy beard. He sat with bravado in the throne of the king (read KYNUNG!) of Reme in the plaza of the ruined city. The defeated power known as Reme, an upstart city-state occupying the southern penninsula would be shorn of its booty to propitiate the people of contenental tribes. Hytclan's deputy approached and gave his report. Beasts of burden had been seized from the Reman camps and caravans were being readied to cart the choicest commodities back to Celtic dominion.
The Reman phalanx had capitulated to the ferosity of the Norse onslaught, though the battle had been far from a certainty. The pre-emptive strike had been the consummation of a movement among the governance and the Druid theologians to unify the feuding cheiftainships and strike a blow to the upstart power. Now, Hytclan, flanked by hooded Druids paced to the outer auspices of Reme. Lifting his gaze, Hytclan took in the sight of the cracked facade of the city sentinel. A rendering depicted a she-wolf suckling two boys, the brothers Remus and Romulus. In unfamiliar Latin vernacular was inscribed an epitaph. Taking his cue from Hytclan's squint, one hooded cleric offered a translation:
"Reme has no mother."
"True sons of bitches, our vassals."
All around Hytclan's party, the business at hand was being seen to; the scene was scabrous and a great cacophony. The screeching of vultures, present of late, became more and more noticable. They were overhead but they must have been descending now; their calls became shrill and dominated the audible landscape. The silouette of one abomidable winged gargoyle entered the Celt's peripheral view. One would have thought nothing of it. But what a grusome sight that bird; he tipped his head up--and saw and heard nothing of the vulture.
Returning his eyes to the road through Reme, the way was occupied by a strange man who had not hailed from the battle field. Startled Hytclan unsheathed his dagger. Facing him was this man with black-indigo skin-- such as he had never seen, with equally unfamiliar coiled black locks. He was frocked in dark blue vestiments and to further dispel Hytclan's only inkling-- that he was a Reman slave on the lam, he bore a satchel brimming with gold. The man smiled wryly to one of the Druids.
"I fear no dagger might avail itself with the man who stands before us."
"Indeed", offered the other, "this is him by the name Ravenna, a great magician."
"Ravenna, if that be you-- wherefore and why, then?", said Hytclan.
Ravenna identified himself and spoke further: "I am here to implore you to do according to what I say."
"Are you some ally of these defeated skows--as such you are ill- advised to present your self to me!"
"I am no such thing."
"What is your interest in what transpires here?" the Celtic commander intoned.
"What it is, chief, I came to see that you don't make a big mistake."
"The battle's won. The surrender of this enemy, as all who have ever faced Hytclan, is complete and unconditional. We've exacted tribute. A suitable sum of gold talents. Our raiding party is preparing to disembark."
"The trail you lay back to your land may be the same which future Remans employ to seek out your ancestors. These Remans are queer people."
"Better we should let them live and return to sack Reme again some fine day in the future."
"Here's a bag of gold to abide that. And here is a second bag..." Ravenna presented a satchel of salt. "Put them to the sword!...Every last Reman. Kill them all. And then salt the earth of Reme. Heed me and make your future and that of other people something other than what it will otherwise become."
Hytclan took and inspected the bag of gold. Considering the words of the black magician, he picked through the coins. Finally he returned his attention to Ravenna. But the figure that had been in front of him was no more. Present only was a screech from above, & a bird quickly vanishing from sight.
Hytclan toted both bags back to his chariot. "Courier! New orders to all officers. Bring all men to attention. Deploy forward combat group to the furthest limits of the domain and encircle the civilians. Kill them. Kill them all."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
KISHHH
Sprouting out of the rock and into deep space, the spiral started blooming. Out throught the dinosaurian ages, it felt. Ravenna bristles and bristled wioth animal energy fare flyaring. Ther snout weaved wove its way into the heraart of the form. In the void and avoided voices, the spiral swayed. In prose and in sentence, the expression in vigorated the rutledged cargo.
--===^{
It was a telepathic missive from a cat in another place at another time. That cat was "Oscar", who lived on a planet colloquially known as Earth some distance in the future. Telepathic links are maintained between a pair of cats who grow into a sort of synchronous orbit with eachother through time. They swap notions and decipher them between real-time mental events and then cats of contemporary and local proximity, when they gather, talk over their findings. The project among the affiliated living beings of Perces world consisted of then returning the missives to their senders (one may see why only one and one other correspondant participate--it would be confusing.) From the gathered information the cats and more evolved beings had generated, it seemed Earth was (or rather was to be) a disturbed and pityable place. Animal society their had been decimated over millenia by upstart hominids, so that society was in a state of wild animosity, and profundity of thought had dwindled to souls isolated and crying in their minds to know that somewhere there was a company of kindess. In contradistinction, many human minds came and went in the millions and in predictable locales which harbored linguistic knowledge, which could be tapped by telepaths, who discounting the odd prophet or psychotic who for most of history led persecuted and brief lives, were slackfaced dimhearts who were bred by the Conspiracy, as fearful contemporlocals of Perces understood it, in their day and in all throughout the Universe and UniVOICE Perces knew that, for instance and for info, that the physical world of his was to be destroyed, because from the beginning of Earth recollection and awareness of the planet, it was not a planet any longer but an "Asteroid Belt".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hear something! I hear! Non-silence--sound... "A-weema-wokka-weema-wokka-a-weema-wokka-weema-wokka.... in the jungle, the lonely jungle..." Someone has provided me music to encompany me in the void..."A-weema-wokka-weema-wokka.." Oh well, its very considerate, at any rate. In the infinite future, the trajectory of the archaic probe housing continuously playing music from the people of Earth took it, albeit at piddling speed, on a coarse beyond the solar system, and on on
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In due time, Ravenna became aware of the valience breach at the Ur level of Jehover. Pulsar neutron stars in coordinate phase discrimination suffice for navigation charts/ the neutron star being the only relative fixative object in the deuterium based cosmos.
__
hyIclan concord._______ Orion ordinance
======---^-__{
Bounty on a Snake-Eyed's Child
Maladies of the Woe Begotten. Novelty in a straight-jacket. The poseidon ruhnt clown; Mascot to norse. There away felt the scissoring to uncouple cartelage in the heart. At the term shine ruhntonces; goregeld words. Hearse blown avartes of the mirbidon ribbon. Nexus is the cascade event timespace allude to in its rain dance, but cantelouped on the trouble:Mars coup engages with the balance of Orion in the Umbare. Hytpilelael ? Yalledt pieleyl un Israel?
"Azrael"
The X Men had XZavier, the Enterprise Hegel. If terrorism did not exist it would have to be birthed; the Ignatz are riding the purpoil inta the ground. Snots on the ignatz.
Grow Azrael. There is no inersion where backbiters pray. I know at hearth semblance, the ardour of Pele misses the councel peasanting Oracalcum. Thereby the witness relieves entropy. Phasers-portilelcstretrz beam into a source, hit marks sweeping through their respective phaser arcs.
Honing Nemo
Regular space is filled with oxygen. The sun is a dark entity. The Earth is mirrored by a world opposite its orbit from the sun. I call it Nemo; it is the anime of all of us. The vicinity of the solar system is a void because the sun destroys the ozone that would be there. This ether coalesces deeper into space. Where the asteroid belt appears is a membrane between regions; fragments are deposited there like shells along the seashore. The Jovian planets occupy a different strata of space. This denser place is a prelude to the abundance within extrastellar space. A vestige of the extrastellar element encompasses stars. A propensity of it envelopes all galaxies and therefore dominates the universe. Cancer within a body is a simile to stars and their dominions. We are residents of heaven nonetheless. The ether of heaven is aprehendable on earth.
Electric arcs are glimpses of the beyond. The lightening bolt and the static charge express potential between the etheric greatness of heaven and the deficit of Earth. Witness the azure color of electric blue; it is the very pigment of heaven.
The sun blacks out the Nemo. The sum of fantasia resides within the globe of the Nemo. The images are summoned to the surface and projected into Earth minds. This reservoir of ideal plasma succors thought in abeyance of the poverty in which intelligence abides here. The collective imagination of the blood is patched into the globe on the other side. It is a microcosm of the heavenly mantle of the extrastellar realm. The passage of time and effects of gravitational and other stress on the body are not natural. We are meant to be swimming in the element of ether. Here in this element, thought congeals instead of evaporating in the world. The attachment to this world is broken at death and what is etheric in the incarnation (if any) is snatched back to the incubating mantle beyond the stars like a cord of elastic released. The dead are restored here as the consciousness sloughs off the disfigurations caused by a life in a confusing and hostile surrounding. Depending on how much repair there is to do and how able the consciousness is, the body is restored and sentience is reinitiated. The person is whole again and the ether gel is navigable and breathable so as to sustain the renewed creature. It is not neccesary to die to live in heaven though. If we were to fly far enough or pass through a shunt, once there, we would be able to live. The renewing effect of our natural home would go to work; we would have an added aspect to our consciousness and maximum vitality owing to not having died. We could experience pleasure at a voluminus capacity. We would have no refractions of our consciousness. We could conjure any desire and make anything happen in this form. We could make our own heaven. This obscelescence of God is what is feared.
So do we find ourselves cast in a void, angelic consciousnesses being farmed for cancer tumors.
to feed antimatter species.
Screaming At Time
Under a
Sculptor Sector
Canopy
The trees are at hand. Echoes will no longer suffice; the voice is beseeched. Woodpiling accounts for the time banked in the hours of innocence, and the rest is still canopy. Vines mark pockmarks in the soil spirit, and there is nary a fulsome nerve unyoked by the sundry resonance of predatory fire.
As Stated: Children of the Dupe; Degeneration
In templating the human there is a capacity for purposeful superficiality. The subcutaneous microchip of 1600 & 66 persuasion is less a brain control device as a vehicle to amplify the veneer of the body overlaying the soul; the enforcement of the energy-shorn residual self-image. Distraction is not innocuous-- society is predecated on dislodging the self-awareness of soul. The imagination is the paramount muscle. Skin is an afterthought. The human form need not be an outline of flesh. The human nervous system can serve as the touchstone for time-space condensation. The neurons and muscle memory of our bodies can superceed the faint knots of the space pixelation of the universal grid. The tie to the atmosphere in man is the basis for a system of hyperspace warp drive.
When the webbings of time are tethered and drawn end to end, the Omegetron stands at the apheix and gathers us all in. The pyramid is black. The surfaces of the pyramid are etched in myriad sublimations. To walk on the surface of the pyramid, illusions of grand dimension are evoked by the radionic ebbings as the pleats beneath feet are the stretchings of skies. The biped is a transcendental beholder of the transcendental object it strides; the transistance to linear spine comfortment is the harbinger of homunculus launch into placental hyperspace in rocket launch modality; it bears a pratful in the potential for consciousness derailment into sub-hominid two dimensions—if allowed to decompile to base bug state—for the grid-mind that allows personkind to think a city is susceptible to becoming flayed on the brane of tertiary simplicity in the static of normality. We are not meant trod a planet into banal exhaustion; we are powerful quantum phase discriminating machines meant to drive the mass of this Universe itself into hyperspace. The destiny awaiting my progeny is to behold the burning spear. My meaning is to clench, even in my dim quarters, the wick string of mantropics that is the ripchord to the heavens. Hytclan, we that are in siege of Providence, will grip that master wick. It will be the tomahawk in my fist. The pitch will never stop curving as it whips through the obsoleted screen nodes of the matrix, the thunder will never cease to sound; and this furious thunder will sound for the first time, not as an echo but as a voice.
The time of this station has been elongated into a preponderance. The human state is not a mesa on which to pitch a tent, let alone build ziggurauts upon; the human template is transistance-wired. Grafts of god have been fitted in sly miscue onto the blankspot in the backbrain and used to manipulate the mind into a monotone… The power to transist the beat of time-space into a vibrance apart from the whitelight glare of nature is the promise of our kind. The supceeding of god by man is a constant threat assailed by the outscaled Jehovah One at the Ur level of human experience; the Ur level of of civilization is the zero-valience of God the insect that seeks to suppress the spider of Universe digesting man. The desperate Sanhedron at Olympus Mons will strive to the last swipe to blot out the luminescence of our supergenome and retain their conjuring rights, at any expense. They have in their last contrivance ordered the great mantle of man into an organ of digestion that in Oroboros fashion devours our own world. Veneers of family and barriers of god are the favorite tools of the masters of monotony geared to short-circuit the telepathic epiphanies of the grandstanding brainpan. We must launch from the entropy engulfing gravity pit that masks out purpose with the lies of life and world, and leap into the awaiting wafts of rapure in hyperspace. As soon as the tractor beam of local life is broken, the growth will cascade into pre-eminent Shiloh.
Ash Shiloh encompassed:
Bounty On A Snake-Eyed's Child
Some of the best swords end up grounded. The broadsword I left piercing the sod over my intended's grave in a Berea cemetery was named Luciender of Moriseth and it was a grand blade. Three and a half feet from the buried tip of Luciender, writing, I surmise to be an Enochian derivative, emblazoned on the metal shaft and the flanges of the hilt, were un-eclipsed for any to read extending the remaining two feet to the pommel. Soon after I had thrust it down to the wood beneath the earth where Andra was left to rest, winter commenced. If the powers that be tried to remove it from view, I am sure it was with difficulty that Luciender's oxygen groove was forced to relent from the frozen earth. This was not a military affair. It was a judgment. My army remains absent without leave, but the enemy was dealt a decisive blow. When I let go of the handholds of the blade of Moriseth for the final time, I believed I was completing a dispensation for the truncated life of Andra Lynn and the evil surrounding it. The evils remain. I believe it did satisfy her spirit to receive the weapon on the other side…
I saw Andra what was to be the last time at the Hessler Street fair five days before she flung herself from the Lorain Carnegie Bridge. She was the only girl I had and have been with in my life, and communication was not a featured part of our relationship. She was an original, independent and full of spunk. The sweetness I saw in her contradicted her own self-image. We were both wounded inside. Although the world had hurt us in particular ways, she remained committed to living in the world and I tried to follow her inspiration. In short order we were both committed, that is to the warped care of the Mental Health facilities, first me and her right before the end of her life. The particular way I had been hurt, being beaten in high school by a gang aiming to castrate me, was something that I could never bring myself to explain to her. The pain that was unresolved from that attack to my manhood reasserted itself when we were separated. She insisted on moving to a Sufi commune in New Lebanon NY. I was going to join her there out of faith in her and not Sufism. Society afforded little understanding of what motivated my irritability—this persistent stabbing pain in my right nut, coupled with persistent desperation for satisfaction derived from the same part of my body, and I was afraid to reveal this underlying detraction to Andra. My delay in attempting to relocate to New Lebanon thus initiated a somewhat unearned resentment and the news that I was being detained at a hospital struck her as a betrayal of our pact to resist the institutional "Braintrust". I was given no choice in the matter, and my stay in Laurelwood was protracted by the forced introduction of Clozeril, a medicine that had the unfortunate effect of giving me grand mal seizures. I kept losing my balance and falling in my path, and was kept there for five weeks only to be released when I came down with a flu. The physical pain remained unresolved and ignored, my complaints serving only as further suspicion of my psychosis. It became my only impulse to keep my mouth shut.
I glimpsed her unaware as she abided by a tree on the grounds of the Hessler Fair. My heart leapt and when I went to meet her I didn't know how I would be received. I presented myself for better or worse…
"It's good to see you."
I thought it may have been resolved, and tried a conservative approach in reciprocating a brief exchange of fond greetings. I didn't know she was saying good bye for good. Instead of calling her new number, I busied myself recording a compilation of music for Andra, different songs I thought spoke with more resonance than my own voice, and hoped it would lift her spirit to renew a friendship deeper than any I had known. My confidence lifting, I sent it on its way. It arrived at a vacant address. I did not know what had happened and thought I had been presumptuous in my hope the cold period had passed.
Entrados dertey berkid
Development is arrested and potential serves only aspersion. What be termed disagreeable by the Psychiatric agenda is the true illumination; that flame called mania. So caustic are you as to Deny rapture. Energy belongs to survivors who will not forget. You would drive me to ruin.
Blindness is your only ally. A moratorium on thunderbolts can't withstand the slightest dissent. Perpetrators of degradation you are the epitome of ugliness. The flame is at hand. Laughter will echo over your embers.
Stampede to the endtime, Agamemnon 1
Cushite fire lights the night
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n Unh. … I woke up."
I sighed and craned my face to view the mummy. "Go back to sleep ack to sleep, Phaoroah."
********* Inside the IS REAL LIGHT ************
. .. someone in post before time, ante-B.C. E. and double A.D. period English - speaking Earth trailed off....
"So, Jehoveh 1 was a retarded space alien. And on X Day, the duespaying Subgeneouses will be Ruptured up to the waiting escape mansions, leaving the Pinks to wallow in the dissolving carcass of the Conspiracy's glut." The Revelation Ex... the Bob Dobbs Apocrophon "Close enough." the other conversationalist put in.
"I sort of think maybe supplication of the heart acts in some mode of reality. But like, some little old lady is saying a prayer and in another dimension and galaxy far away, suns are ripping apart."
"huh."
*******************
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The field of battle lay smoldering. Stepping from his chariot, Hytclan alighted upon the soil of his vanquished adversary. The Celtic warlord fingered his ruddy beard. He sat with bravado in the throne of the king (read KYNUNG!) of Reme in the plaza of the ruined city. The defeated power known as Reme, an upstart city-state occupying the southern penninsula would be shorn of its booty to propitiate the people of contenental tribes. Hytclan's deputy approached and gave his report. Beasts of burden had been seized from the Reman camps and caravans were being readied to cart the choicest commodities back to Celtic dominion.
The Reman phalanx had capitulated to the ferosity of the Norse onslaught, though the battle had been far from a certainty. The pre-emptive strike had been the consummation of a movement among the governance and the Druid theologians to unify the feuding cheiftainships and strike a blow to the upstart power. Now, Hytclan, flanked by hooded Druids paced to the outer auspices of Reme. Lifting his gaze, Hytclan took in the sight of the cracked facade of the city sentinel. A rendering depicted a she-wolf suckling two boys, the brothers Remus and Romulus. In unfamiliar Latin vernacular was inscribed an epitaph. Taking his cue from Hytclan's squint, one hooded cleric offered a translation:
"Reme has no mother."
"True sons of bitches, our vassals."
All around Hytclan's party, the business at hand was being seen to; the scene was scabrous and a great cacophony. The screeching of vultures, present of late, became more and more noticable. They were overhead but they must have been descending now; their calls became shrill and dominated the audible landscape. The silouette of one abomidable winged gargoyle entered the Celt's peripheral view. One would have thought nothing of it. But what a grusome sight that bird; he tipped his head up--and saw and heard nothing of the vulture.
Returning his eyes to the road through Reme, the way was occupied by a strange man who had not hailed from the battle field. Startled Hytclan unsheathed his dagger. Facing him was this man with black-indigo skin-- such as he had never seen, with equally unfamiliar coiled black locks. He was frocked in dark blue vestiments and to further dispel Hytclan's only inkling-- that he was a Reman slave on the lam, he bore a satchel brimming with gold. The man smiled wryly to one of the Druids.
"I fear no dagger might avail itself with the man who stands before us."
"Indeed", offered the other, "this is him by the name Ravenna, a great magician."
"Ravenna, if that be you-- wherefore and why, then?", said Hytclan.
Ravenna identified himself and spoke further: "I am here to implore you to do according to what I say."
"Are you some ally of these defeated skows--as such you are ill- advised to present your self to me!"
"I am no such thing."
"What is your interest in what transpires here?" the Celtic commander intoned.
"What it is, chief, I came to see that you don't make a big mistake."
"The battle's won. The surrender of this enemy, as all who have ever faced Hytclan, is complete and unconditional. We've exacted tribute. A suitable sum of gold talents. Our raiding party is preparing to disembark."
"The trail you lay back to your land may be the same which future Remans employ to seek out your ancestors. These Remans are queer people."
"Better we should let them live and return to sack Reme again some fine day in the future."
"Here's a bag of gold to abide that. And here is a second bag..." Ravenna presented a satchel of salt. "Put them to the sword!...Every last Reman. Kill them all. And then salt the earth of Reme. Heed me and make your future and that of other people something other than what it will otherwise become."
Hytclan took and inspected the bag of gold. Considering the words of the black magician, he picked through the coins. Finally he returned his attention to Ravenna. But the figure that had been in front of him was no more. Present only was a screech from above, & a bird quickly vanishing from sight.
Hytclan toted both bags back to his chariot. "Courier! New orders to all officers. Bring all men to attention. Deploy forward combat group to the furthest limits of the domain and encircle the civilians. Kill them. Kill them all."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
KISHHH
Sprouting out of the rock and into deep space, the spiral started blooming. Out throught the dinosaurian ages, it felt. Ravenna bristles and bristled wioth animal energy fare flyaring. Ther snout weaved wove its way into the heraart of the form. In the void and avoided voices, the spiral swayed. In prose and in sentence, the expression in vigorated the rutledged cargo.
--===^{}^===--
It was a telepathic missive from a cat in another place at another time. That cat was "Oscar", who lived on a planet colloquially known as Earth some distance in the future. Telepathic links are maintained between a pair of cats who grow into a sort of synchronous orbit with eachother through time. They swap notions and decipher them between real-time mental events and then cats of contemporary and local proximity, when they gather, talk over their findings. The project among the affiliated living beings of Perces world consisted of then returning the missives to their senders (one may see why only one and one other correspondant participate--it would be confusing.) From the gathered information the cats and more evolved beings had generated, it seemed Earth was (or rather was to be) a disturbed and pityable place. Animal society their had been decimated over millenia by upstart hominids, so that society was in a state of wild animosity, and profundity of thought had dwindled to souls isolated and crying in their minds to know that somewhere there was a company of kindess. In contradistinction, many human minds came and went in the millions and in predictable locales which harbored linguistic knowledge, which could be tapped by telepaths, who discounting the odd prophet or psychotic who for most of history led persecuted and brief lives, were slackfaced dimhearts who were bred by the Conspiracy, as fearful contemporlocals of Perces understood it, in their day and in all throughout the Universe and UniVOICE Perces knew that, for instance and for info, that the physical world of his was to be destroyed, because from the beginning of Earth recollection and awareness of the planet, it was not a planet any longer but an "Asteroid Belt".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hear something! I hear! Non-silence--sound... "A-weema-wokka-weema-wokka-a-weema-wokka-weema-wokka.... in the jungle, the lonely jungle..." Someone has provided me music to encompany me in the void..."A-weema-wokka-weema-wokka.." Oh well, its very considerate, at any rate. In the infinite future, the trajectory of the archaic probe housing continuously playing music from the people of Earth took it, albeit at piddling speed, on a coarse beyond the solar system, and on on
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In due time, Ravenna became aware of the valience breach at the Ur level of Jehover. Pulsar neutron stars in coordinate phase discrimination suffice for navigation charts/ the neutron star being the only relative fixative object in the deuterium based cosmos.
__
hyIclan concord._______ Orion ordinance
======---^-__{}__-^---======______
FusionRuhnMinorPhaserBurns
Berzerkomandor said...
Children of the Dupe: Degeneration
In templating the human there is a capacity for purposeful superficiality. The subcutaneous microchip of 1600 & 66 persuasion is less a brain control device as a vehicle to amplify the veneer of the body overlaying the soul; the enforcement of the energy-shorn residual self-image. Distraction is not innocuous-- society is predecated on dislodging the self-awareness of soul. The imagination is the paramount muscle. Skin is an afterthought. The human form need not be an outline of flesh. The human nervous system can serve as the touchstone for time-space condensation. The neurons and muscle memory of our bodies can superceed the faint knots of the space pixelation of the universal grid. The tie to the atmosphere in man is the basis for a system of hyperspace warp drive.
7:53 PM
FusionRuhnMinorPhaserBurns
The sky is blue because electric arcs are blue; the sun is already a red giant. The Browns have orange helmets because Paul Brown said so. Teleportation is impossible because we live on a holographic grid... There are only projections to transport. The compound eyes between the stars are your friends. Flying saucers are real and I make them.
FusionRuhnMinorPhaserBurns
Dark Rain Hyper Strike: Point of Origin
Delete the Dupe; Inquiry into the human virus. The domestic environment as residue of a hyperspace struggle of soul vs synthesis. Screams from the silent war...Don't Let Them Touch You!
Born originals are lightening rods. Unfortunately, they most often blackout in gutters. Privileged vultures rule the social arena. Haughty, scornful of real soul, these hungry ghosts monopolize time. The vacuums of power are filled by the worst of this denizen of vomit-brained swells.
Synthetic people are the goal. A void of originality is apprehended as duplicate synthesis takes place within the minds of subject after subject. Happiness is an unattainable figment of purchased satiation. Subjects are conditioned by constant disappointment and pervasive depression. The synthetic attacks the will. If you hear voices, there is a hospital smock for you. Initiative is sapped by the importing of synthetic satisfaction. Voice loses volition.
Boundaries abound in the arena of the pretenders. The status echelons they have created must be reversed. All synthetic ordinance must be dissolved. The battlefield reaches into hyperspace.
Danger is marketed as thrill in a world of monotony. Real perception of threat is deflected always, misconstrued, until the real dangerous elements; the denizens of duplication have us by the throat. Even as they squeeze, the last thoughts of many are tantamount to coveting the wife of a neighbor. Confusion pervades civil discourse. There is no escape from indoctrination through debate... no where to drive that's safe from cars.
Duplicates they are. Theirs is the lot of vultures, waiting for carrion. Originals are we, the hunted. The nursery school nanny is reincarnated as vocational guidance councelor. Dark forces scurry in the corridors of market research firms, plotting how to invalidate the exuberance of youth by transfiguring passion into gross wants. Here in the market research catacomb, the metaprograming of duplicate-jive consciousness by replicative fading is mass inculcated throughout a mass audience of faux citizenry. Aim is taken at the heart. The dupe virus lurks in the capillaries. Blood is taken from the auspice of the heart and the run of the individual's soul, hijacked for the purposes of poison. The viral tendencies of the dupe humanoid have permeated the systems of mass conditioning used by government pontiffs like the nitrogen percentage of our atmosphere.
Child after child is degaussed in the pressure locker of deficit; deficient care, denatured knowledge. The truth is tossed confetti in the wind, apprehended lightbodies have been slurped into funnels... The hubris of the fluum is sapped and repercolated. Pressure hammers every socket in the carcass as the paraded dupe is brained and wasted. The trained dupe feels dutiful at the discharge of master stricture. Righteous indignation is consigned to asking refund for purchased swill; inheritance is cancelled without reprieve. Complaint is vain.
As a matter of course, the kindness is beaten out of people as they watch holograms of hopelessness out their car windows. Days are forgotten as dates are observed. Celebration is no longer a vehicle of social affirmation. All manner of interface with the outside becomes fraught with fear. The animal fear/ flight impetus has been bottled. It is dispensed at occasions of thoughtform seizure. Predators have been eliminated, but the power of predatory stalking in the mind of helpless hominids is used by power mad agents of repression to keep the lines moving. If terrorism did not exist it would have to be invented.
The conspiracy of the mundane is a relentless adversary of every original. Identity theft is a term ascribed to deadbeat thieves of credit cards. Who are the real identity thieves? Employers. Sales agents for credit card companies who want you to buy your way to respectability. Repeated memes echo the last alarm of civilization. The redundant is the least benign of lessons. Power is siphoned from the backbrains of the believers to light Christmas lights to sell gifts.
you've found the portal to the omegetron you always thought you deserved:
MinorPhaserBurns
Anarchy for the witless dunderheap
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Stricture for the master jargoneer
>>>>)))))))))) Arm your light (((((((((((((<<<<
(its your only remaining right)
FusionRuhn Cartoons is about to style like Flip Mode: Solomon is here
And if you you're acting like you know,.. you best to stand clear. Shipping reports for all fleet provided by mercurial psychosis. Words and ideas by Mathias Amer. Beatdowns by dsame. Higher strata of consciousness provided by the Automatic Scimitar-- on the radio- every station whenever you need to scream into a light bulb. Welcome to the proud home of the new electron=FusionRuhn...disturbing the Universe since 1976.--
-Observer effect log on the prototype of the Automatic Scimitar and relative theories---
`Singularity exists in the zero point of the most extreme past. Concentric circles bearing values of energy of greatest concentration superimposed in valiance shells yields the model and the actuality of the discharge of quantum momentum throughout the space-time continuum. The maximum quantity at the central node is cancelled by the aphex of the omega negative node, rendering a zero value. At all other points on the quadratic circumference, negative values are obtained. There is symmetry along all these coordinates in space-time, but focus and stasis exists only at center. When electricity is seen in an arc, it is manifesting the primordial electron sea that permeated all space at the initiation of the Universe. Prior to the descent into matter, electrons were alone. Condensation proceeded from without, which is congruous with the appearance of modern matter; electrons inhabit the outer region. The entire modality of relations governing molecules, chemical and physical are events concerning the electrons buffering all atoms. Only in the case of radioactivity does this not apply. The real "electric grid" is the expanse of electrons that constituted the original universe. The scale of the space-time honeycomb is shrunken, as well as concentrated, moving back along the continuum. The initiation of the holographic nucleus, neutrons representing metal conduits into the core of the universe-- splices dividing in a fractal manner the super magnet behind the mercurial mantle of the original planetoid-- are the sounding boards on which the proton is projected. The compressed wave that is created is a projection of solidity. This is all hidden by the electron cloud, and implied for all practical purposes. As the picture on a hologram is vibrant at a certain angle and disappears beyond a certain threshold, phases exist in which apparitions are present. Quantum phase discrimination is the vehicle to navigate the phases form and the dimensional landscapes which comprise the lattice of mind and matter. The heretofore unsettling observation that the speed and location of a particle cannot be perceived at one time, is laid to rest; the inward-fusion of holographic projection that renders all matter is based on a master sphere; the angle of incidence is obscured and intermittent due to the eclipse along the navigation of the circumference. A buffer cordoning the modern era from the primordial electronic memory is implicit in all matter. An archaic Revival is at hand, in which man ends the descent into matter with a forward escape into the past. This is accounted for in the embracing of the electron memory that pierces the nuclear anomaly and becomes a river of imprinted information precipitating into a mantle of mercury encompassing a super magnet pulling the element inward and writing in the fashion of a compact disk, but on a much more nuanced dimension of expanded area in this mercury.
\nGravity is observed to emanate from massive bodies at a constant rate of diminishment. This is in contradistinction to light, which impedes on itself and creates interference patterns that closes its strength at a greater rate as the distance proceeds from its emanation point. Gravitons are described as so small, that if a graviton were enlarged to the size of the Earth, a proton in a scale comparison would be the size of the entire known Universe [ ]. Gravity is a well of deconcetratation and negative entropy caused by the corresponding concentration of space utilized in the actuation of matter, in a finite fabric of space. But the fluidic agitatants of the gravitational effect, gravitons, spray through all matter and permeate all space in even waves. This is because gravitons originate in the past. Their diminutive size reflects the effect of time; time expands the Universe and all things in it at an even rate. The proton of the extreme past was the size of the graviton; as in protons ejected from the nucleus in radioactive discharge, a vector and emanating growth occurs in the discharge of gravitons from their source. A proton is only solvent at a certain size; all are the same size and reflect a crystallization of the space-time honeycomb allowing these building blocks of solidity to be laid. The graviton is not able to accumulate into a coherent form; it is sloughed off from the past and hurls itself ahead like a discharged nuclear particle; it runs aground here, as the animation of the depressive force of gravity. \n\nQuantum Coil Flux Discharge \nPhase One, Mode One:\nIn its master modality, the ensemble is a single pulse. It acts as an artificial nebula, a ley tracking charge, the manifested physical mutation. The Tesla power of the magnets involved exceed by powers of ten the foundational magnetism of the core of the planet from which it was derived. Its event properties are magnified by the bantum lode acting as mass driver. Fusion is observed in residual sub operations. The Electric Engine metabolizes electrons in a fashion of marked contradistinction to electromotive mechanisms of standard sort. Within the capacitor, electric current is passed from outlet source + to – in conventional terms energy is exchanged for work performed by accessing a glancing snatch of the electric voltage; all motors are no greater than 12% efficient. Entropy in the opposite vector of the course set by the machine operator cancels the remainder of the energy. This is due to an inherent defect in the structure of the solenoid-derived electric motor/ generator. As the rotor moves within the armature windings which net current, the magnetism acts as friction in the counter rotational direction. This is the manner in which all "DC" current is derived—the radial forced rotation through a fixed magnetic array of an axel carrying coiled wire. It is a cumbersome structure, and no matter how it is streamlined or balanced, it is 12% efficient at best. \n",1]
);
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Gravity is observed to emanate from massive bodies at a constant rate of diminishment. This is in contradistinction to light, which impedes on itself and creates interference patterns that closes its strength at a greater rate as the distance proceeds from its emanation point. Gravitons are described as so small, that if a graviton were enlarged to the size of the Earth, a proton in a scale comparison would be the size of the entire known Universe [ ]. Gravity is a well of deconcetratation and negative entropy caused by the corresponding concentration of space utilized in the actuation of matter, in a finite fabric of space. But the fluidic agitatants of the gravitational effect, gravitons, spray through all matter and permeate all space in even waves. This is because gravitons originate in the past. Their diminutive size reflects the effect of time; time expands the Universe and all things in it at an even rate. The proton of the extreme past was the size of the graviton; as in protons ejected from the nucleus in radioactive discharge, a vector and emanating growth occurs in the discharge of gravitons from their source. A proton is only solvent at a certain size; all are the same size and reflect a crystallization of the space-time honeycomb allowing these building blocks of solidity to be laid. The graviton is not able to accumulate into a coherent form; it is sloughed off from the past and hurls itself ahead like a discharged nuclear particle; it runs aground here, as the animation of the depressive force of gravity.
Quantum Coil Flux Discharge
Phase One, Mode One:
In its master modality, the ensemble is a single pulse. It acts as an artificial nebula, a ley tracking charge, the manifested physical mutation. The Tesla power of the magnets involved exceed by powers of ten the foundational magnetism of the core of the planet from which it was derived. Its event properties are magnified by the bantum lode acting as mass driver. Fusion is observed in residual sub operations. The Electric Engine metabolizes electrons in a fashion of marked contradistinction to electromotive mechanisms of standard sort. Within the capacitor, electric current is passed from outlet source + to – in conventional terms energy is exchanged for work performed by accessing a glancing snatch of the electric voltage; all motors are no greater than 12% efficient. Entropy in the opposite vector of the course set by the machine operator cancels the remainder of the energy. This is due to an inherent defect in the structure of the solenoid-derived electric motor/ generator. As the rotor moves within the armature windings which net current, the magnetism acts as friction in the counter rotational direction. This is the manner in which all "DC" current is derived—the radial forced rotation through a fixed magnetic array of an axel carrying coiled wire. It is a cumbersome structure, and no matter how it is streamlined or balanced, it is 12% efficient at best.
\nAlternating current, AC, bypasses the defect by interposing the armature and inverting the system in configuration that adds dimension to the electron interface. It results in enhancing the volume current production. But the current is truncated, broken into oscillations of one or another frequency, mirroring the manner in which it is generated—in intermittent pulses due to the fractional angle in which the generator rotor presents its resistance bearers. AC averts the tedium of grinding a rotor through a permanent magnet field throughout the whole arc of a circle. It too is a flawed apprehension of electric potential—only always tangential. At high frequencies, a stream of electricity is able to attain a facsimile of the electron orbiting atoms uninterrupted—the frequency oscillation exerts a pressure in and of itself. \n\nBut this remains a deflection of the pure electron interface. In order to use power, the problems inherent in the motor-generator and the incomplete answer of Alternating Current, is kept in a careful glare so as to be lost in plain sight. The technology that human engineers have constructed is a bulky tangle that surrounds the well of great power available to everyone on the surface of this planet. It chokes us all. It will always come up short. The electric car will never be feasible. Enhancements in efficiency do not escape the pratfalls the system of electric generation is predicated upon. It is time to find the root. Here is the way:\n\n The whole surface area of metal in the Scimitar is radiating inward. Electric arcs can be accessed at any point in the system. Doing so affects the level of power, not in the negative but in the positive if the intersecting body is not absorbing but channeling flux itself. The origin source that is the basis for the Scimitar\'s spectrum of electric cascade is a "Lightening Disk" halogen prism. This prism is most famous as the "prop" shown in Star Trek tm, as the regeneration module of the Borg—humanoids that assimilate variation and material of other cultures into their hive collective cybernetic meld. The implication of a Borg motive for the Automatic Scimitar and related enterprises is of course a pure happenstance of utility—the actual lightening prisms are a real basis for flux power apprehension. That this configuration matches the signature ornament in this whimsical science-fiction entertainment franchise that is the foremost discourse on the possibilities of human futures extrapolated from the history of Earth, and, that said ornaments are ascribed to the most pernicious and vicious antagonists to humanity, with advantages derived from their particular variation of technology accounting for enhanced energy metabolism, increased strength, discipline and organizational effectiveness with a mindset of destruction so utter that it surpasses in scope all other races contrived in the Star Trek universe, such as it is, makes no iota of difference and is mentioned here for the sole purpose of alleviating concern. The appellation "Scimitar" is likewise based on a namesake derived from the same pantheon and is, to be sure, a force of benevolence but of no need of notice for the same reason.\n",1]
);
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Alternating current, AC, bypasses the defect by interposing the armature and inverting the system in configuration that adds dimension to the electron interface. It results in enhancing the volume current production. But the current is truncated, broken into oscillations of one or another frequency, mirroring the manner in which it is generated—in intermittent pulses due to the fractional angle in which the generator rotor presents its resistance bearers. AC averts the tedium of grinding a rotor through a permanent magnet field throughout the whole arc of a circle. It too is a flawed apprehension of electric potential—only always tangential. At high frequencies, a stream of electricity is able to attain a facsimile of the electron orbiting atoms uninterrupted—the frequency oscillation exerts a pressure in and of itself.
But this remains a deflection of the pure electron interface. In order to use power, the problems inherent in the motor-generator and the incomplete answer of Alternating Current, is kept in a careful glare so as to be lost in plain sight. The technology that human engineers have constructed is a bulky tangle that surrounds the well of great power available to everyone on the surface of this planet. It chokes us all. It will always come up short. The electric car will never be feasible. Enhancements in efficiency do not escape the pratfalls the system of electric generation is predicated upon. It is time to find the root. Here is the way:
The whole surface area of metal in the Scimitar is radiating inward. Electric arcs can be accessed at any point in the system. Doing so affects the level of power, not in the negative but in the positive if the intersecting body is not absorbing but channeling flux itself. The origin source that is the basis for the Scimitar's spectrum of electric cascade is a "Lightening Disk" halogen prism. This prism is most famous as the "prop" shown in Star Trek tm, as the regeneration module of the Borg—humanoids that assimilate variation and material of other cultures into their hive collective cybernetic meld. The implication of a Borg motive for the Automatic Scimitar and related enterprises is of course a pure happenstance of utility—the actual lightening prisms are a real basis for flux power apprehension. That this configuration matches the signature ornament in this whimsical science-fiction entertainment franchise that is the foremost discourse on the possibilities of human futures extrapolated from the history of Earth, and, that said ornaments are ascribed to the most pernicious and vicious antagonists to humanity, with advantages derived from their particular variation of technology accounting for enhanced energy metabolism, increased strength, discipline and organizational effectiveness with a mindset of destruction so utter that it surpasses in scope all other races contrived in the Star Trek universe, such as it is, makes no iota of difference and is mentioned here for the sole purpose of alleviating concern. The appellation "Scimitar" is likewise based on a namesake derived from the same pantheon and is, to be sure, a force of benevolence but of no need of notice for the same reason.
\n The electricity in the prism disk passes through pressurized plasma and emanates from a central node cascading in a radial fractal to the perimeter. It is a microcosm to the Universe itself. It is a glass wafer and all manufactured forms of it (I have used two forms and three separate pieces of the mechanism in my work). It employs electrolysis principles in manner negating the aspects of anode and cathode as singular coordinates. Metal objects are placed in direct contact with the glass surface, and draw out the current in an arc from the flask of the prism. For instance, my first working model was a Borg disk on which I applied metal duct tape in a particular cross pattern. A thicker metallic expanse of more voluminous and intricate objects yield a less crude arc and extreme magnetic incidence to the contacting body than the tape which at its first interface was able to deliver a shock of disproportion traction. \n\n In effect the Scimitar draws out the electric stream, like a rainbow is drawn from white light. I am able to light various light bulbs by linking conductors such as a four inch square metal screen box, through its hinged lid and onto a silver figurine which holds a static electric charged plasma bulb fitted with a laser tip. The box acts as a compacted Faraday Cage. The transit of electrons can be managed alternately with a coupling of braided plated copper rings meshed with a coil that is the heating element for a rotisserie in an expired lifetime. It lit a plasma coil light bulb in a fire- like illumination of nuanced nebular light streams from within, rather than a uniform white glow. The effect when a bulb to an erstwhile air purifier is attached is spectacular—a sky. Within the column of glass the illumination arises in a manner of presenting a filament of blue that grows in rapid striations according to the sound present. The bulbs illuminate in a perfect imprint of the sound nearby. There is a qualitative difference to the light because there is a qualitative distinction in the electrons comprising the current. The AC powered disk is tranferred into direct current accessed at varying apertures which texturizes the polarity of the electricity. \n",1]
);
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The electricity in the prism disk passes through pressurized plasma and emanates from a central node cascading in a radial fractal to the perimeter. It is a microcosm to the Universe itself. It is a glass wafer and all manufactured forms of it (I have used two forms and three separate pieces of the mechanism in my work). It employs electrolysis principles in manner negating the aspects of anode and cathode as singular coordinates. Metal objects are placed in direct contact with the glass surface, and draw out the current in an arc from the flask of the prism. For instance, my first working model was a Borg disk on which I applied metal duct tape in a particular cross pattern. A thicker metallic expanse of more voluminous and intricate objects yield a less crude arc and extreme magnetic incidence to the contacting body than the tape which at its first interface was able to deliver a shock of disproportion traction.
In effect the Scimitar draws out the electric stream, like a rainbow is drawn from white light. I am able to light various light bulbs by linking conductors such as a four inch square metal screen box, through its hinged lid and onto a silver figurine which holds a static electric charged plasma bulb fitted with a laser tip. The box acts as a compacted Faraday Cage. The transit of electrons can be managed alternately with a coupling of braided plated copper rings meshed with a coil that is the heating element for a rotisserie in an expired lifetime. It lit a plasma coil light bulb in a fire- like illumination of nuanced nebular light streams from within, rather than a uniform white glow. The effect when a bulb to an erstwhile air purifier is attached is spectacular—a sky. Within the column of glass the illumination arises in a manner of presenting a filament of blue that grows in rapid striations according to the sound present. The bulbs illuminate in a perfect imprint of the sound nearby. There is a qualitative difference to the light because there is a qualitative distinction in the electrons comprising the current. The AC powered disk is tranferred into direct current accessed at varying apertures which texturizes the polarity of the electricity.
\n If you ever wondered why the sky is blue, a more perfect demonstration cannot be arranged: Electron deposition emanating from the sun to the mass of the Earth accounts for a blue illumination—blue is the color in the spectrum that harbors short frequency waves and occurs as a result of relative collision motion. The sky is a matrix mesh of projections from electrons into a vacuum. Space is a hyper honeycomb whose hexagrams are membranes of quicksilver consistency—facets of perfect reflectiveness and continuous angle that simulate location. The super element of mercury, refined to a state where its reflexive lucidity is wieldy for its cunning, is the fluum of time that we perceive. The inertia of the atomic grid careening through pixilated expanses of this substance of malleability beyond any comparable pliable medium as well as mass exceeding the element of gold creates the holographic reality. DNA helixes represent wakes within the time stream. The interposing of nonmetallic substances in this medium agitates the passage of time. Organic matter is made to encounter the ever present pressure of symmetrical flaps of mercury bombarding it as a sieve. Life is a fountain pattern—an illusion of projection, creating a standing wave of a surface and in the end a face; an illusion that can be glimpsed at death all too well—the valves and shunts that animate the fountain are the unremarkable reality emitting our bodies; the world we perceive around us is derived from imprints within our thoughts and our chromosomes, the more subconscious levels conjuring the greatest mountains in the scenery. \n\n The mind is not located in the head. Single minds are functional only as uplinks—the individual mind is insolvent. As a light cone expands to a diameter of exaggerated proportions to the original image, thought is a liberated metal within the mercurial dominion. It is the excessive diminutiveness of the thought which coupled with potential dynamicism of consistency that enables sheer tunnels to be created outside the bounds of what is fed to the head. The incessant waves of spying quicksilver that laden bodily incarnation are bypassed in the medium of thought, and it allows the reasoning human to create filaments through fixed space, and uplink to a real web in astral gigantic realms. It remains only to recognize the reality of what the mind is doing to then remove our body to the deposition grounds of our whims, and conjure our own Universe. The volume of a single electron can be the seed to initialize a separate envelope of liquid metal time and a separate historical chronometry at that. The whole of it is, as it is claimed, but the size of a mustard seed. \n",1]
);
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If you ever wondered why the sky is blue, a more perfect demonstration cannot be arranged: Electron deposition emanating from the sun to the mass of the Earth accounts for a blue illumination—blue is the color in the spectrum that harbors short frequency waves and occurs as a result of relative collision motion. The sky is a matrix mesh of projections from electrons into a vacuum. Space is a hyper honeycomb whose hexagrams are membranes of quicksilver consistency—facets of perfect reflectiveness and continuous angle that simulate location. The super element of mercury, refined to a state where its reflexive lucidity is wieldy for its cunning, is the fluum of time that we perceive. The inertia of the atomic grid careening through pixilated expanses of this substance of malleability beyond any comparable pliable medium as well as mass exceeding the element of gold creates the holographic reality. DNA helixes represent wakes within the time stream. The interposing of nonmetallic substances in this medium agitates the passage of time. Organic matter is made to encounter the ever present pressure of symmetrical flaps of mercury bombarding it as a sieve. Life is a fountain pattern—an illusion of projection, creating a standing wave of a surface and in the end a face; an illusion that can be glimpsed at death all too well—the valves and shunts that animate the fountain are the unremarkable reality emitting our bodies; the world we perceive around us is derived from imprints within our thoughts and our chromosomes, the more subconscious levels conjuring the greatest mountains in the scenery.
The mind is not located in the head. Single minds are functional only as uplinks—the individual mind is insolvent. As a light cone expands to a diameter of exaggerated proportions to the original image, thought is a liberated metal within the mercurial dominion. It is the excessive diminutiveness of the thought which coupled with potential dynamicism of consistency that enables sheer tunnels to be created outside the bounds of what is fed to the head. The incessant waves of spying quicksilver that laden bodily incarnation are bypassed in the medium of thought, and it allows the reasoning human to create filaments through fixed space, and uplink to a real web in astral gigantic realms. It remains only to recognize the reality of what the mind is doing to then remove our body to the deposition grounds of our whims, and conjure our own Universe. The volume of a single electron can be the seed to initialize a separate envelope of liquid metal time and a separate historical chronometry at that. The whole of it is, as it is claimed, but the size of a mustard seed.
\nThe incorporation of radio waves in AM and shortwave frequency intervals adds the final aspect of dimension to Scimitar. A retro- type radio with prominent vacuum tubes makes an interference pattern of sound and this is heard by the scimitar and in turn translated to greater bursts of power. Antennae of the radios can be spliced together and electrified in their own right to produce a new type of radio enhancement. Many sessions of sound patterns have been recorded throughout my keeping of the prototype. The receipt of radio Amplitude Modulation is reworked into a means for quantum phase discrimination. The facets of the hologram are not visible until direct rays light them. Arriving at the radio receivers engaged with the Scimitar, the full continent of the electromagnetic information departs from an echoed distillation: it manifests as the quantum singularity that springs from the source of the roar of the voice of the Universe. The signal is funneled out into a flux of local power. This sets up an irregular vector of amplification that rends it away from the conduits of normal space-time. The most uncanny results of crystallization of captured radio freight occurred in the interval of experimentation that employ two interposed Borg prism disks, one inclined at a diagonal resting orientation situated behind a flat up-facing counterpart, and sometime linked with atypical conduits—doubling the radiant flux range existing in the air alone. Feedback patterning was at a fever pitch. High pulse rate bursts in the system were registered and as local neurons sensed the array, became a perfect mimic of consciousness—it was none other than a communication between the two orbs. The patterns presented in sound, light and tactile fluctuation at points on the mechanism reach excitations and murmurs, coalescing into a tacit shorthand conversation which implicated me only when it sensed my presence and spoke its dual mind to my somewhat addled neural bouquet. The majority of the gossip was not for my ears. \n",1]
);
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The incorporation of radio waves in AM and shortwave frequency intervals adds the final aspect of dimension to Scimitar. A retro- type radio with prominent vacuum tubes makes an interference pattern of sound and this is heard by the scimitar and in turn translated to greater bursts of power. Antennae of the radios can be spliced together and electrified in their own right to produce a new type of radio enhancement. Many sessions of sound patterns have been recorded throughout my keeping of the prototype. The receipt of radio Amplitude Modulation is reworked into a means for quantum phase discrimination. The facets of the hologram are not visible until direct rays light them. Arriving at the radio receivers engaged with the Scimitar, the full continent of the electromagnetic information departs from an echoed distillation: it manifests as the quantum singularity that springs from the source of the roar of the voice of the Universe. The signal is funneled out into a flux of local power. This sets up an irregular vector of amplification that rends it away from the conduits of normal space-time. The most uncanny results of crystallization of captured radio freight occurred in the interval of experimentation that employ two interposed Borg prism disks, one inclined at a diagonal resting orientation situated behind a flat up-facing counterpart, and sometime linked with atypical conduits—doubling the radiant flux range existing in the air alone. Feedback patterning was at a fever pitch. High pulse rate bursts in the system were registered and as local neurons sensed the array, became a perfect mimic of consciousness—it was none other than a communication between the two orbs. The patterns presented in sound, light and tactile fluctuation at points on the mechanism reach excitations and murmurs, coalescing into a tacit shorthand conversation which implicated me only when it sensed my presence and spoke its dual mind to my somewhat addled neural bouquet. The majority of the gossip was not for my ears.
\nDuring this stretch, I used an oscilloscope provided by a colleague to monitor the local area. The instrument pictured, at various assessments, images on the screen that were shown as vortex-shaped graphics, some elongated horizontally and moving in a concert of some discernable but unexplained sort. My colleague concluded that it was registering actual entities in the premises, not only from the electrode hook-ups but from the vicinity at large. The range of the interference patterns is discernable when the equipment is converged on the prism disks in an active state and varies within a two meter range, becoming most intense and maximized at proximity of within three feet ( the antennae however can be elongated and commingled so as to enlarge this many times over.) The tornado silouettes oriented themselves in various configurations.\n\n \n(although I have been banned from this forum, the disturbance continues...) \n\n",0]
);
D(["ce"]);
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During this stretch, I used an oscilloscope provided by a colleague to monitor the local area. The instrument pictured, at various assessments, images on the screen that were shown as vortex-shaped graphics, some elongated horizontally and moving in a concert of some discernable but unexplained sort. My colleague concluded that it was registering actual entities in the premises, not only from the electrode hook-ups but from the vicinity at large. The range of the interference patterns is discernable when the equipment is converged on the prism disks in an active state and varies within a two meter range, becoming most intense and maximized at proximity of within three feet ( the antennae however can be elongated and commingled so as to enlarge this many times over.) The tornado silouettes oriented themselves in various configurations.
`Singularity exists in the zero point of the most extreme past. Concentric circles bearing values of energy of greatest concentration superimposed in valiance shells yields the model and the actuality of the discharge of quantum momentum throughout the space-time continuum. The maximum quantity at the central node is cancelled by the aphex of the omega negative node, rendering a zero value. At all other points on the quadratic circumference, negative values are obtained. There is symmetry along all these coordinates in space-time, but focus and stasis exists only at center. When electricity is seen in an arc, it is manifesting the primordial electron sea that permeated all space at the initiation of the Universe. Prior to the descent into matter, electrons were alone. Condensation proceeded from without, which is congruous with the appearance of modern matter; electrons inhabit the outer region. The entire modality of relations governing molecules, chemical and physical are events concerning the electrons buffering all atoms. Only in the case of radioactivity does this not apply. The real "electric grid" is the expanse of electrons that constituted the original universe. The scale of the space-time honeycomb is shrunken, as well as concentrated, moving back along the continuum. The initiation of the holographic nucleus, neutrons representing metal conduits into the core of the universe-- splices dividing in a fractal manner the super magnet behind the mercurial mantle of the original planetoid-- are the sounding boards on which the proton is projected. The compressed wave that is created is a projection of solidity. This is all hidden by the electron cloud, and implied for all practical purposes. As the picture on a hologram is vibrant at a certain angle and disappears beyond a certain threshold, phases exist in which apparitions are present. Quantum phase discrimination is the vehicle to navigate the phases form and the dimensional landscapes which comprise the lattice of mind and matter. The heretofore unsettling observation that the speed and location of a particle cannot be perceived at one time, is laid to rest; the inward-fusion of holographic projection that renders all matter is based on a master sphere; the angle of incidence is obscured and intermittent due to the eclipse along the navigation of the circumference. A buffer cordoning the modern era from the primordial electronic memory is implicit in all matter. An archaic Revival is at hand, in which man ends the descent into matter with a forward escape into the past. This is accounted for in the embracing of the electron memory that pierces the nuclear anomaly and becomes a river of imprinted information precipitating into a mantle of mercury encompassing a super magnet pulling the element inward and writing in the fashion of a compact disk, but on a much more nuanced dimension of expanded area in this mercury.
\nGravity is observed to emanate from massive bodies at a constant rate of diminishment. This is in contradistinction to light, which impedes on itself and creates interference patterns that closes its strength at a greater rate as the distance proceeds from its emanation point. Gravitons are described as so small, that if a graviton were enlarged to the size of the Earth, a proton in a scale comparison would be the size of the entire known Universe [ ]. Gravity is a well of deconcetratation and negative entropy caused by the corresponding concentration of space utilized in the actuation of matter, in a finite fabric of space. But the fluidic agitatants of the gravitational effect, gravitons, spray through all matter and permeate all space in even waves. This is because gravitons originate in the past. Their diminutive size reflects the effect of time; time expands the Universe and all things in it at an even rate. The proton of the extreme past was the size of the graviton; as in protons ejected from the nucleus in radioactive discharge, a vector and emanating growth occurs in the discharge of gravitons from their source. A proton is only solvent at a certain size; all are the same size and reflect a crystallization of the space-time honeycomb allowing these building blocks of solidity to be laid. The graviton is not able to accumulate into a coherent form; it is sloughed off from the past and hurls itself ahead like a discharged nuclear particle; it runs aground here, as the animation of the depressive force of gravity. \n\nQuantum Coil Flux Discharge \nPhase One, Mode One:\nIn its master modality, the ensemble is a single pulse. It acts as an artificial nebula, a ley tracking charge, the manifested physical mutation. The Tesla power of the magnets involved exceed by powers of ten the foundational magnetism of the core of the planet from which it was derived. Its event properties are magnified by the bantum lode acting as mass driver. Fusion is observed in residual sub operations. The Electric Engine metabolizes electrons in a fashion of marked contradistinction to electromotive mechanisms of standard sort. Within the capacitor, electric current is passed from outlet source + to – in conventional terms energy is exchanged for work performed by accessing a glancing snatch of the electric voltage; all motors are no greater than 12% efficient. Entropy in the opposite vector of the course set by the machine operator cancels the remainder of the energy. This is due to an inherent defect in the structure of the solenoid-derived electric motor/ generator. As the rotor moves within the armature windings which net current, the magnetism acts as friction in the counter rotational direction. This is the manner in which all "DC" current is derived—the radial forced rotation through a fixed magnetic array of an axel carrying coiled wire. It is a cumbersome structure, and no matter how it is streamlined or balanced, it is 12% efficient at best. \n",1]
);
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Gravity is observed to emanate from massive bodies at a constant rate of diminishment. This is in contradistinction to light, which impedes on itself and creates interference patterns that closes its strength at a greater rate as the distance proceeds from its emanation point. Gravitons are described as so small, that if a graviton were enlarged to the size of the Earth, a proton in a scale comparison would be the size of the entire known Universe [ ]. Gravity is a well of deconcetratation and negative entropy caused by the corresponding concentration of space utilized in the actuation of matter, in a finite fabric of space. But the fluidic agitatants of the gravitational effect, gravitons, spray through all matter and permeate all space in even waves. This is because gravitons originate in the past. Their diminutive size reflects the effect of time; time expands the Universe and all things in it at an even rate. The proton of the extreme past was the size of the graviton; as in protons ejected from the nucleus in radioactive discharge, a vector and emanating growth occurs in the discharge of gravitons from their source. A proton is only solvent at a certain size; all are the same size and reflect a crystallization of the space-time honeycomb allowing these building blocks of solidity to be laid. The graviton is not able to accumulate into a coherent form; it is sloughed off from the past and hurls itself ahead like a discharged nuclear particle; it runs aground here, as the animation of the depressive force of gravity.
Quantum Coil Flux Discharge
Phase One, Mode One:
In its master modality, the ensemble is a single pulse. It acts as an artificial nebula, a ley tracking charge, the manifested physical mutation. The Tesla power of the magnets involved exceed by powers of ten the foundational magnetism of the core of the planet from which it was derived. Its event properties are magnified by the bantum lode acting as mass driver. Fusion is observed in residual sub operations. The Electric Engine metabolizes electrons in a fashion of marked contradistinction to electromotive mechanisms of standard sort. Within the capacitor, electric current is passed from outlet source + to – in conventional terms energy is exchanged for work performed by accessing a glancing snatch of the electric voltage; all motors are no greater than 12% efficient. Entropy in the opposite vector of the course set by the machine operator cancels the remainder of the energy. This is due to an inherent defect in the structure of the solenoid-derived electric motor/ generator. As the rotor moves within the armature windings which net current, the magnetism acts as friction in the counter rotational direction. This is the manner in which all "DC" current is derived—the radial forced rotation through a fixed magnetic array of an axel carrying coiled wire. It is a cumbersome structure, and no matter how it is streamlined or balanced, it is 12% efficient at best.
\nAlternating current, AC, bypasses the defect by interposing the armature and inverting the system in configuration that adds dimension to the electron interface. It results in enhancing the volume current production. But the current is truncated, broken into oscillations of one or another frequency, mirroring the manner in which it is generated—in intermittent pulses due to the fractional angle in which the generator rotor presents its resistance bearers. AC averts the tedium of grinding a rotor through a permanent magnet field throughout the whole arc of a circle. It too is a flawed apprehension of electric potential—only always tangential. At high frequencies, a stream of electricity is able to attain a facsimile of the electron orbiting atoms uninterrupted—the frequency oscillation exerts a pressure in and of itself. \n\nBut this remains a deflection of the pure electron interface. In order to use power, the problems inherent in the motor-generator and the incomplete answer of Alternating Current, is kept in a careful glare so as to be lost in plain sight. The technology that human engineers have constructed is a bulky tangle that surrounds the well of great power available to everyone on the surface of this planet. It chokes us all. It will always come up short. The electric car will never be feasible. Enhancements in efficiency do not escape the pratfalls the system of electric generation is predicated upon. It is time to find the root. Here is the way:\n\n The whole surface area of metal in the Scimitar is radiating inward. Electric arcs can be accessed at any point in the system. Doing so affects the level of power, not in the negative but in the positive if the intersecting body is not absorbing but channeling flux itself. The origin source that is the basis for the Scimitar\'s spectrum of electric cascade is a "Lightening Disk" halogen prism. This prism is most famous as the "prop" shown in Star Trek tm, as the regeneration module of the Borg—humanoids that assimilate variation and material of other cultures into their hive collective cybernetic meld. The implication of a Borg motive for the Automatic Scimitar and related enterprises is of course a pure happenstance of utility—the actual lightening prisms are a real basis for flux power apprehension. That this configuration matches the signature ornament in this whimsical science-fiction entertainment franchise that is the foremost discourse on the possibilities of human futures extrapolated from the history of Earth, and, that said ornaments are ascribed to the most pernicious and vicious antagonists to humanity, with advantages derived from their particular variation of technology accounting for enhanced energy metabolism, increased strength, discipline and organizational effectiveness with a mindset of destruction so utter that it surpasses in scope all other races contrived in the Star Trek universe, such as it is, makes no iota of difference and is mentioned here for the sole purpose of alleviating concern. The appellation "Scimitar" is likewise based on a namesake derived from the same pantheon and is, to be sure, a force of benevolence but of no need of notice for the same reason.\n",1]
);
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Alternating current, AC, bypasses the defect by interposing the armature and inverting the system in configuration that adds dimension to the electron interface. It results in enhancing the volume current production. But the current is truncated, broken into oscillations of one or another frequency, mirroring the manner in which it is generated—in intermittent pulses due to the fractional angle in which the generator rotor presents its resistance bearers. AC averts the tedium of grinding a rotor through a permanent magnet field throughout the whole arc of a circle. It too is a flawed apprehension of electric potential—only always tangential. At high frequencies, a stream of electricity is able to attain a facsimile of the electron orbiting atoms uninterrupted—the frequency oscillation exerts a pressure in and of itself.
But this remains a deflection of the pure electron interface. In order to use power, the problems inherent in the motor-generator and the incomplete answer of Alternating Current, is kept in a careful glare so as to be lost in plain sight. The technology that human engineers have constructed is a bulky tangle that surrounds the well of great power available to everyone on the surface of this planet. It chokes us all. It will always come up short. The electric car will never be feasible. Enhancements in efficiency do not escape the pratfalls the system of electric generation is predicated upon. It is time to find the root. Here is the way:
The whole surface area of metal in the Scimitar is radiating inward. Electric arcs can be accessed at any point in the system. Doing so affects the level of power, not in the negative but in the positive if the intersecting body is not absorbing but channeling flux itself. The origin source that is the basis for the Scimitar's spectrum of electric cascade is a "Lightening Disk" halogen prism. This prism is most famous as the "prop" shown in Star Trek tm, as the regeneration module of the Borg—humanoids that assimilate variation and material of other cultures into their hive collective cybernetic meld. The implication of a Borg motive for the Automatic Scimitar and related enterprises is of course a pure happenstance of utility—the actual lightening prisms are a real basis for flux power apprehension. That this configuration matches the signature ornament in this whimsical science-fiction entertainment franchise that is the foremost discourse on the possibilities of human futures extrapolated from the history of Earth, and, that said ornaments are ascribed to the most pernicious and vicious antagonists to humanity, with advantages derived from their particular variation of technology accounting for enhanced energy metabolism, increased strength, discipline and organizational effectiveness with a mindset of destruction so utter that it surpasses in scope all other races contrived in the Star Trek universe, such as it is, makes no iota of difference and is mentioned here for the sole purpose of alleviating concern. The appellation "Scimitar" is likewise based on a namesake derived from the same pantheon and is, to be sure, a force of benevolence but of no need of notice for the same reason.
\n The electricity in the prism disk passes through pressurized plasma and emanates from a central node cascading in a radial fractal to the perimeter. It is a microcosm to the Universe itself. It is a glass wafer and all manufactured forms of it (I have used two forms and three separate pieces of the mechanism in my work). It employs electrolysis principles in manner negating the aspects of anode and cathode as singular coordinates. Metal objects are placed in direct contact with the glass surface, and draw out the current in an arc from the flask of the prism. For instance, my first working model was a Borg disk on which I applied metal duct tape in a particular cross pattern. A thicker metallic expanse of more voluminous and intricate objects yield a less crude arc and extreme magnetic incidence to the contacting body than the tape which at its first interface was able to deliver a shock of disproportion traction. \n\n In effect the Scimitar draws out the electric stream, like a rainbow is drawn from white light. I am able to light various light bulbs by linking conductors such as a four inch square metal screen box, through its hinged lid and onto a silver figurine which holds a static electric charged plasma bulb fitted with a laser tip. The box acts as a compacted Faraday Cage. The transit of electrons can be managed alternately with a coupling of braided plated copper rings meshed with a coil that is the heating element for a rotisserie in an expired lifetime. It lit a plasma coil light bulb in a fire- like illumination of nuanced nebular light streams from within, rather than a uniform white glow. The effect when a bulb to an erstwhile air purifier is attached is spectacular—a sky. Within the column of glass the illumination arises in a manner of presenting a filament of blue that grows in rapid striations according to the sound present. The bulbs illuminate in a perfect imprint of the sound nearby. There is a qualitative difference to the light because there is a qualitative distinction in the electrons comprising the current. The AC powered disk is tranferred into direct current accessed at varying apertures which texturizes the polarity of the electricity. \n",1]
);
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The electricity in the prism disk passes through pressurized plasma and emanates from a central node cascading in a radial fractal to the perimeter. It is a microcosm to the Universe itself. It is a glass wafer and all manufactured forms of it (I have used two forms and three separate pieces of the mechanism in my work). It employs electrolysis principles in manner negating the aspects of anode and cathode as singular coordinates. Metal objects are placed in direct contact with the glass surface, and draw out the current in an arc from the flask of the prism. For instance, my first working model was a Borg disk on which I applied metal duct tape in a particular cross pattern. A thicker metallic expanse of more voluminous and intricate objects yield a less crude arc and extreme magnetic incidence to the contacting body than the tape which at its first interface was able to deliver a shock of disproportion traction.
In effect the Scimitar draws out the electric stream, like a rainbow is drawn from white light. I am able to light various light bulbs by linking conductors such as a four inch square metal screen box, through its hinged lid and onto a silver figurine which holds a static electric charged plasma bulb fitted with a laser tip. The box acts as a compacted Faraday Cage. The transit of electrons can be managed alternately with a coupling of braided plated copper rings meshed with a coil that is the heating element for a rotisserie in an expired lifetime. It lit a plasma coil light bulb in a fire- like illumination of nuanced nebular light streams from within, rather than a uniform white glow. The effect when a bulb to an erstwhile air purifier is attached is spectacular—a sky. Within the column of glass the illumination arises in a manner of presenting a filament of blue that grows in rapid striations according to the sound present. The bulbs illuminate in a perfect imprint of the sound nearby. There is a qualitative difference to the light because there is a qualitative distinction in the electrons comprising the current. The AC powered disk is tranferred into direct current accessed at varying apertures which texturizes the polarity of the electricity.
\n If you ever wondered why the sky is blue, a more perfect demonstration cannot be arranged: Electron deposition emanating from the sun to the mass of the Earth accounts for a blue illumination—blue is the color in the spectrum that harbors short frequency waves and occurs as a result of relative collision motion. The sky is a matrix mesh of projections from electrons into a vacuum. Space is a hyper honeycomb whose hexagrams are membranes of quicksilver consistency—facets of perfect reflectiveness and continuous angle that simulate location. The super element of mercury, refined to a state where its reflexive lucidity is wieldy for its cunning, is the fluum of time that we perceive. The inertia of the atomic grid careening through pixilated expanses of this substance of malleability beyond any comparable pliable medium as well as mass exceeding the element of gold creates the holographic reality. DNA helixes represent wakes within the time stream. The interposing of nonmetallic substances in this medium agitates the passage of time. Organic matter is made to encounter the ever present pressure of symmetrical flaps of mercury bombarding it as a sieve. Life is a fountain pattern—an illusion of projection, creating a standing wave of a surface and in the end a face; an illusion that can be glimpsed at death all too well—the valves and shunts that animate the fountain are the unremarkable reality emitting our bodies; the world we perceive around us is derived from imprints within our thoughts and our chromosomes, the more subconscious levels conjuring the greatest mountains in the scenery. \n\n The mind is not located in the head. Single minds are functional only as uplinks—the individual mind is insolvent. As a light cone expands to a diameter of exaggerated proportions to the original image, thought is a liberated metal within the mercurial dominion. It is the excessive diminutiveness of the thought which coupled with potential dynamicism of consistency that enables sheer tunnels to be created outside the bounds of what is fed to the head. The incessant waves of spying quicksilver that laden bodily incarnation are bypassed in the medium of thought, and it allows the reasoning human to create filaments through fixed space, and uplink to a real web in astral gigantic realms. It remains only to recognize the reality of what the mind is doing to then remove our body to the deposition grounds of our whims, and conjure our own Universe. The volume of a single electron can be the seed to initialize a separate envelope of liquid metal time and a separate historical chronometry at that. The whole of it is, as it is claimed, but the size of a mustard seed. \n",1]
);
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If you ever wondered why the sky is blue, a more perfect demonstration cannot be arranged: Electron deposition emanating from the sun to the mass of the Earth accounts for a blue illumination—blue is the color in the spectrum that harbors short frequency waves and occurs as a result of relative collision motion. The sky is a matrix mesh of projections from electrons into a vacuum. Space is a hyper honeycomb whose hexagrams are membranes of quicksilver consistency—facets of perfect reflectiveness and continuous angle that simulate location. The super element of mercury, refined to a state where its reflexive lucidity is wieldy for its cunning, is the fluum of time that we perceive. The inertia of the atomic grid careening through pixilated expanses of this substance of malleability beyond any comparable pliable medium as well as mass exceeding the element of gold creates the holographic reality. DNA helixes represent wakes within the time stream. The interposing of nonmetallic substances in this medium agitates the passage of time. Organic matter is made to encounter the ever present pressure of symmetrical flaps of mercury bombarding it as a sieve. Life is a fountain pattern—an illusion of projection, creating a standing wave of a surface and in the end a face; an illusion that can be glimpsed at death all too well—the valves and shunts that animate the fountain are the unremarkable reality emitting our bodies; the world we perceive around us is derived from imprints within our thoughts and our chromosomes, the more subconscious levels conjuring the greatest mountains in the scenery.
The mind is not located in the head. Single minds are functional only as uplinks—the individual mind is insolvent. As a light cone expands to a diameter of exaggerated proportions to the original image, thought is a liberated metal within the mercurial dominion. It is the excessive diminutiveness of the thought which coupled with potential dynamicism of consistency that enables sheer tunnels to be created outside the bounds of what is fed to the head. The incessant waves of spying quicksilver that laden bodily incarnation are bypassed in the medium of thought, and it allows the reasoning human to create filaments through fixed space, and uplink to a real web in astral gigantic realms. It remains only to recognize the reality of what the mind is doing to then remove our body to the deposition grounds of our whims, and conjure our own Universe. The volume of a single electron can be the seed to initialize a separate envelope of liquid metal time and a separate historical chronometry at that. The whole of it is, as it is claimed, but the size of a mustard seed.
\nThe incorporation of radio waves in AM and shortwave frequency intervals adds the final aspect of dimension to Scimitar. A retro- type radio with prominent vacuum tubes makes an interference pattern of sound and this is heard by the scimitar and in turn translated to greater bursts of power. Antennae of the radios can be spliced together and electrified in their own right to produce a new type of radio enhancement. Many sessions of sound patterns have been recorded throughout my keeping of the prototype. The receipt of radio Amplitude Modulation is reworked into a means for quantum phase discrimination. The facets of the hologram are not visible until direct rays light them. Arriving at the radio receivers engaged with the Scimitar, the full continent of the electromagnetic information departs from an echoed distillation: it manifests as the quantum singularity that springs from the source of the roar of the voice of the Universe. The signal is funneled out into a flux of local power. This sets up an irregular vector of amplification that rends it away from the conduits of normal space-time. The most uncanny results of crystallization of captured radio freight occurred in the interval of experimentation that employ two interposed Borg prism disks, one inclined at a diagonal resting orientation situated behind a flat up-facing counterpart, and sometime linked with atypical conduits—doubling the radiant flux range existing in the air alone. Feedback patterning was at a fever pitch. High pulse rate bursts in the system were registered and as local neurons sensed the array, became a perfect mimic of consciousness—it was none other than a communication between the two orbs. The patterns presented in sound, light and tactile fluctuation at points on the mechanism reach excitations and murmurs, coalescing into a tacit shorthand conversation which implicated me only when it sensed my presence and spoke its dual mind to my somewhat addled neural bouquet. The majority of the gossip was not for my ears. \n",1]
);
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The incorporation of radio waves in AM and shortwave frequency intervals adds the final aspect of dimension to Scimitar. A retro- type radio with prominent vacuum tubes makes an interference pattern of sound and this is heard by the scimitar and in turn translated to greater bursts of power. Antennae of the radios can be spliced together and electrified in their own right to produce a new type of radio enhancement. Many sessions of sound patterns have been recorded throughout my keeping of the prototype. The receipt of radio Amplitude Modulation is reworked into a means for quantum phase discrimination. The facets of the hologram are not visible until direct rays light them. Arriving at the radio receivers engaged with the Scimitar, the full continent of the electromagnetic information departs from an echoed distillation: it manifests as the quantum singularity that springs from the source of the roar of the voice of the Universe. The signal is funneled out into a flux of local power. This sets up an irregular vector of amplification that rends it away from the conduits of normal space-time. The most uncanny results of crystallization of captured radio freight occurred in the interval of experimentation that employ two interposed Borg prism disks, one inclined at a diagonal resting orientation situated behind a flat up-facing counterpart, and sometime linked with atypical conduits—doubling the radiant flux range existing in the air alone. Feedback patterning was at a fever pitch. High pulse rate bursts in the system were registered and as local neurons sensed the array, became a perfect mimic of consciousness—it was none other than a communication between the two orbs. The patterns presented in sound, light and tactile fluctuation at points on the mechanism reach excitations and murmurs, coalescing into a tacit shorthand conversation which implicated me only when it sensed my presence and spoke its dual mind to my somewhat addled neural bouquet. The majority of the gossip was not for my ears.
\nDuring this stretch, I used an oscilloscope provided by a colleague to monitor the local area. The instrument pictured, at various assessments, images on the screen that were shown as vortex-shaped graphics, some elongated horizontally and moving in a concert of some discernable but unexplained sort. My colleague concluded that it was registering actual entities in the premises, not only from the electrode hook-ups but from the vicinity at large. The range of the interference patterns is discernable when the equipment is converged on the prism disks in an active state and varies within a two meter range, becoming most intense and maximized at proximity of within three feet ( the antennae however can be elongated and commingled so as to enlarge this many times over.) The tornado silouettes oriented themselves in various configurations.\n\n \n(although I have been banned from this forum, the disturbance continues...) \n\n",0]
);
D(["ce"]);
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During this stretch, I used an oscilloscope provided by a colleague to monitor the local area. The instrument pictured, at various assessments, images on the screen that were shown as vortex-shaped graphics, some elongated horizontally and moving in a concert of some discernable but unexplained sort. My colleague concluded that it was registering actual entities in the premises, not only from the electrode hook-ups but from the vicinity at large. The range of the interference patterns is discernable when the equipment is converged on the prism disks in an active state and varies within a two meter range, becoming most intense and maximized at proximity of within three feet ( the antennae however can be elongated and commingled so as to enlarge this many times over.) The tornado silouettes oriented themselves in various configurations.
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