Is This Hell?

Is This Hell?

Is This Hell?

Last night, during a long and drunken conversation with my wife, she confessed to me a change of heart, a realisation that she’s tried to ignore for quite some time. It’s one of my pet theories, something I’ve believed for a very long time, and an idea confirmed by so many shadow people and dead spirits, I couldn’t help wonder.

Is This Hell?

Are we dead? It might sound crazy but think about it for a moment. If we were, how could we tell? Unlike many, I’m not a great fan of physicality, I find the vulnerability of flesh an inconvenience. Not that I’m sold on the whole Satanic trans humanist trip. A machine is a machine and no matter what, consciousness cannot be recorded as binary data and fed into an artificial mind. Software, however elegant, may mimic personality and memory, but nothing artificial can ever truly understand what it means to dream, to love, to die.

For death, most of all, makes us human. Without it, there would be no incentive to reproduce and create societies. Instead, we’d merely be animals, like the creatures that we inhabit. For we are invaders and draw our consciousness from somewhere else. Another place more advanced than this, where all creatures communicate intelligently, archive their interactions, collate them and pass them on vicariously to another generation. Human beings are the exception to nature and not the rule.

We Are Our Own Worst Enemy

We Are Our Own Worst Enemy

Anyone with a spark of imagination could think up a better world, a kinder race, and overall a more beautiful existence in a flash. For a start, wouldn’t it make sense if all forms of life could draw on the sun and the electromagnetic field to survive? No more killing, no more consumption, or the destruction of nature with intensive growing and pollution. Good grief, not even sewage. Better still, raise the vibration of life itself, so that each and every one of us can achieve a higher form, thriving on a diet of pure energy harvested from the universal quantum resonance.

A Rush Job

Rush Job

These bodies that we use have been tampered with or cobbled together by who knows what. Their design is heavily flawed and cumbersome and prone to all manner of diseases. If our pineal glands weren’t so shrivelled by genetic devolution and chemical intervention, we’d realise that we and this world are not what they appear to be.

Imagine if each gland in the human body matched to a chakra was an extra-dimensional port. A direct feed, a source of mind, a stream of consciousness pumped in from outside. It would be from a place beyond this limited construct, our world that relies so heavily upon a grand illusion. An eternal ruse and one sophisticated enough to persuade that what lies beyond this place equates to an unexplored infinity.

We have been biologically stunted and educated as slaves in order to serve a lesser cause. We’ve been fooled into thinking we are animals,  unique amongst the animal kingdom, and the only creatures classed as ‘beings.’ Yet, we are treated as an anomaly of nature, the random outcome of unlimited cause and effect. But it’s all lies. We’re only told such stories so that we stop asking difficult questions.

In our blood is the remains of a far grander race, the titans of old, the giants that built a global civilisation before we’d even arrived. Our stolen genes and simplified forms enabled us to procreate like insects and consume everything we found. As time went on, it was decided by the high slaves of a force outside our reckoning, that history might confuse the minions and make them wonder who they truly are. The hierarchy’s commands come from deep below, and spread rumours that formed worldwide religions. Faith in the order of things is a sign of subordination, blind acceptance of limited consciousness, and one with little power over its own destiny.

A Small World

It's A Small World

It’s getting smaller by the day, and more and more populated with people who cannot stand crowds. The human race has begun to set itself on edge, much like the coming Singularity of the internet, we as a race are achieving a new form of hive-mind consciousness. We are shown a false mirror of our collective and are left revolted. We are constantly reminded by the media how awful we are, how much damage we do to this precious world.

This construct, this paradigm, this plane of existence is nothing but a suicide machine. They say there’s a special place in hell for those who take their own lives. I’ve tried and come very close to death, and all I can say is that this place is far more scary. It’s like when you’re young, and adults try to handle you with kid gloves. It’s the same when you find yourself in a mental home, and for the first few months, you’re doped to the gills and treated like an adult baby. Because nobody wants be reminded how cruel and ugly the world can be, surviving as an individual in a hive society.

So everything is achieved incrementally, one step at a time, just like propaganda, corporate takeovers, economic decline, even martial law is creeping in on us, and yet very few have even noticed. The powers that be, the autocracy, are gradually packing us in altogether, stretching our patience, riling our senses. The high servants of the cabal, the worshippers of pain have an agenda beyond the profane. Those with vested interests whose families came here long before us and struck a deal. They deliberately sold themselves into perpetual slavery, aligning their interests with the dark consciousness of the abyss. That conspiracy of forces, the culmination of aeons of hate. Those unformed creatures who have nothing else to occupy their time than to rule over this foul dominion.

The Sleeping Giant Awakes

Sleeping Giant Awakes

What lies below is stirring from a long and deep sleep. What form it takes, be it dark energy or ether, slowly bubbled to the surface of our mass consciousness, infecting a legion of mindless slaves, all programmed to perfection. Its prime directive is to rationalise hell, to return high order to the chaos of evil. The aim is to create an army of workers for an extraordinary project. It could take any form, perhaps another tower, or a gate, or a weapon that can penetrate the perimeter of our mass illusion.

This world is not ours. There are beings that have been here since its conception, punished with immortality, and almost lost in the ether until they finally learned to command the fundamental principles of nature. From then on, our destiny was written by the machinations of the original inmates of hell: our old gods and pharaohs, our bloodline dynasties, the vessels of their arcane knowledge.

They rewrote history from the beginning, and eventually removed all trace of their downfall. Not just their initial imprisonment, but their loss of the corporeal domain, the flesh level, the physical and material dimension where we, as living avatars, psychically represent them.

The Escape Plan

Escape Plan

The irony is, the world order has never changed, for there is nothing new under the sun. We are generationally perturbed by whatever indoctrination is culturally seeded in our time. For instance, in the Fifties childhood was haunted by Cold War nightmares of nuclear devastation. Nowadays its more subtle and widespread, a creeping paranoia that everyone and everything is somehow innately evil.

That is the recognition of the hurdle we must overcome, the sheer face of hypocrisy that is our reality. We can not do this individually, and here’s where it gets tricky, the whole population, must, without losing its identity, accept that this world is a fiction, and we will witness the skies falling, and come face to face with our true enemy, a race of shadows, a legion of Jinn, whispering in our ears, fighting our wars, burning our world down to ashes.

We must fight together, but retain our individuality, for if we coalesce, we become weaker, far more predictable in our actions and much easier to defeat. You could call it a war, but it won’t be physical, for conflict is merely another deep state distraction technique. The battlefield is in your hearts and minds, would you rather continue living and dying, forever and ever in perpetual tyranny, or escape this treadmill of time and consequence and enter the world you visit every night?

Dreams Are Home

Dreams Are Home

In sleep, we reconnect and discover the true remainder of ourselves, the higher consciousness we sadly lack when operating these biological machines. Some take drugs to escape the mundanity. There is an inescapable drudgery to our physical existence, one that slowly creeps up on us over time. For the nature of being, mortality and suffering, this world was designed to remain intolerable. Yet, the most unappealing aspect of its cruel nature is ourselves.

Our hubris has led us here, down this one-way street, and at the end of the road is a spiritual abattoir, and one by one we will be led to the slaughter, our souls, stripped from our bodies, and incarcerated in a virtual landscape, so many of us long to explore. A synthetic world of millions of users, living their lives through digital avatars, interacting with other liars and learning to praise the destruction of language.

Electronic Ghetto

Electronic Ghetto

Nowadays, few have any real experience of life outside the projected fantasies of the modern world, its technocratic dreams of synthetic harmony, and its censorship of the human spirit. There will come a time when people beg to be put online, to remove themselves from these bags of blood and bone, and made immortal in someone else’s fiction, and the only price is your soul.

Either that or learn from your dreams, the metaphysical internet of the multiverse. The only way that we can escape is through sharing of esoteric knowledge with so-called non-existent beings. They cast shadows for they remain outside our illusory world, existing in the ether that surrounds, observing us and our struggle as we behave like insane animals.

The Descent

The Descent

One by one, we learn how to leave, but the numbers of escapees are dropping. Eventually the gates will close, and a new dominion will stand on the graves of the old. Nothing will get in or out, and nobody will die, for all who remain here as the inter-dimensional elevator descends, will lose all sense of fear. They will learn to embrace their suffering, psychically venting sprit to the hungry ghosts cast down from somewhere we could never understand.

Hell is a prison and its inmates, who see themselves as our captors, are prisoners themselves who must serve out their sentence. Their crimes are untold and incalculable, played out every day by billions of actors, following the script no matter what, because all the world’s a stage.

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