The Heart of My Work
This is the heart of my work, a private message for the progeny of Jove. It includes a three line “poem” I wrote after flunking out of Principia College in a drunken rage. In the age of social media when people plaster themselves all over the Internet, this is my dab of paint, a reference to Lilac Lane and what it felt like to be taken from the downtown YMCA in Baltimore, heating cans of food on the radiator before I could afford a hot plate, and being tossed into a private college overrun with rich kids from California. Only to be tossed back onto the streets again in bitch black darkness three years later, penniless, emotionally distraught, and over 850 miles away from anything I could call home. The Christian Scientists cannot understand why their churches are empty any more than than the progeny of Jove can understand that Matthew 25 is a continuation of Matthew 24 and all about them. Anyone who thinks I paint this little canvas with anything less than bleeding hands does not know anything about life. In order to fully understand humanity, you must experience its scorn to the fullest, your own siblings must turn on you at a young age, your good must be evil spoken of (this lesson cannot be replaced and when it comes you should get down on your knees with gratitude that you were considered worthy of it), the ones you helped the most despise you, and the one girl you loved not speak to you. I dedicate this page to the Assistant Professor of Studio Art at Principia College, Danne P. Rhaesa, who I knew as Danne Sue Pike. Other than my physical encounter with ET, and as a Kid watching Peter Pan and the Wizard of Oz and reading A Wrinkle in Time (the first book I ever read and the only one I finished for many, many years thereafter), my walk in the snow with Danne Sue the winter I met her on the Prinicipia College campus is one of the few moments on this dreary planet that enchanted me. Other than those few cherished memories, I have paid with my entire life to bring you these words. And I do not hesitate to say as Mary Baker Eddy did, they are not mine. From the moment that indescribable power entered into to me on July 23, 2012, this message has been drilled into me: Your tunnel systems will fail.
My Credentials (a calling card for the unholy)
1 Corinthians 1:27
God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty;
If ye were of the world, the world would love his own: but because ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you.
The Fabric of the Universe is Mental
No matter how long you stir the primordial soup, dirt cannot think. The fabric of the universe is mental not material. You have arrayed yourself against forces you cannot understand because of your assumption that matter is the stuff of life.
For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known.
There is a conscious entity on the other side of your numbers. What does it matter what we call it? It is not God, however, that is your problem because I sense the presence of a third entity. It has been there from the beginning. I suspect very strongly that they anticipated your existence. Given the nature of the beast and the necessity of perpetuating this knowledge down through the ages, your existence was as inevitable as your behavior in these latter days is highly predictable. Doubtless it is they who steered you towards the Front Range batholith.
And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams:
The prophets of yore said we would be here in the end. We were not made for this world with its pretension and endless parade of lies. This world is for us a prison from birth to death and so I have already paid the “uttermost farthing” to bring you this message.
A madness haunts me and much abounds,
In winds of lavender and lilac smells,
G.W. on the piano and me in perfect hell
On the Failure of Your Granite “G” Tunnels
They are the oldest rattrap on the planet. Your character in the end times (“the abomination of desolation’) was predictable. You were never intended to survive.
Enoch has spoken.
(60th parallel north ﹣ 19.5 = Denver) + pholes = Your Granite tunnels are a deathtrap
Your tunnel systems will fail.
If you squeeze a block of granite hard enough, it becomes a battery. — The Economist
What we have here is, in fact, a battery with electrons flowing out from the stressed rock volume through the pistons into the external circuit and reentering the unstressed rock along the edges. A current through the external circuit implies a current of the same magnitude through the rock. — Earth Science: New Methods and Studies
A Custom Tailored Vocabulary
phole (positive hole)
On the Cave of the Nymphs
Thirteenth Book of the Odyssey
From the Greek of Porphyry
And crowns the pointed cliffs with shady boughs.
A cavern pleasant, though involved in night,
Beneath it lies, the Naiades delight:
Where bowls and urns of workmanship divine
And massy beams in native marble shine;
On which the Nymphs amazing webs display,
Of purple hue and exquisite array,
The busy bees within the urns secure
Honey delicious, and like nectar pure.
Perpetual waters through the grotto glide,
A lofty gate unfolds on either side;
That to the north is pervious to mankind:
The sacred south t’immortals is consign’d.”
Inasmuch as I flunked out of Principia college (“lilac smells”) after three years as an English major (Byron got to me and I joined the U.S. Army), you cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to know what every line of Homer’s “On the Cave of the Nymphs” means. And I do mean every line, down to “perpetual waters through the grotto glide” and the Cheesman Dam. It took me about two seconds to size up that dam. Italian master masons? You guys get really careless sometimes. You might as well have flown a pirate’s flag.
Continuity of Consciousness
There are three planes of existence. Here, where there is no continuity of consciousness. We do not know either from whence we came or with any certainty where we are headed. To be recycled here is tantamount to death. The next plane where there are bodies, continuity of consciousness, and death for those who fail to spiritually progress. The Catholics would refer to this as purgatory. Do wrong in the second plane and you are recycled back to here. And then there is the place with no bodies.
For you, continuity of consciousness is hell. When you enter the second plane of existence you will be met by all the children you harmed, the men and woman who died here because of you, and all the people whose trust you betrayed. It is a torment that will knock you down and send you back to another earthly life, time immemorial. Ten thousand, a hundred thousand deaths later, will be nothing for you, only a beginning. So you keep doing what you are doing and thinking there are no consequences.
When you enter the third plane of existence, the place with no bodies, all of your tens and hundreds of thousands of past lives will come back to your memory. This is when you pay the ultimate price. It is not an unquenchable lake of fire. It is simply the memory of what you have done in the past. I will be first in line to greet you.