Sunday, March 4, 2012

THE STREAMPUNK CHRONICLES: EP.1

PROLOGUE:Patterns... That's how it always begins. You open your eyes turn towards the screen and liquid pixilations of virtual reality flood your optic center located somewhere less real on the back of your head where you can't see it... Patterns swirl out of the ether of broadband signal transmissions and envelope-wrap around you and whisper in that still small voice to that hunk of calcified grizzle that glandular enigma that sleeper within its tomb-like chamber drifting in a womb sea of quanta, the Golden Key with in the bone white box... And these patterns whisper truths thoughts of eternity like fevered rants dulled quiet by years of attempts, all firm all convicted and steadfast but nonetheless muffled by weary old time-Old Man Saturn with hour glass and locks of curls in hand captivating the mind locking it into tic-toc awareness of delusion and madness. But the patterns persist with every transmission, every image, every message they persist and keep telling you things in jumbled scrambled to be interpreted mode: every glance at a watch, every gesture, every utterance of a phrase, verse from a song telling you something if you can hear and see the patterns... And the womb sea of quanta churning in that bone box mixes electrolytic charge with piezoelectric waves washing over your mind. And when woven together into one expansive tapestry the pattern hums like a balanced dynamo of possibility of potentiality and all converges into one pulsing everlasting moment and the patterns stretch in all directions like Golden Paths to the emptied oblivion of oneness of wholeness and perfect sublime ego-less knowing. And then, the next message arrives and the patterns begin again... Disappear here: FX...... EPISODE ONE: INITIAL TRANSMISSION- Disappear into the underground cities of the Illuminati reptilian bankers and their stolen gold bullion and mind-controlled sexy porn starlet assassins roaming the streets of L.A. and N.Y. like ravished ferrets on the prowl for big fat roaches, munch munch…disappear into the fifth density and say so long to time and timbucktu, too, you: oblong and dangerous in hidden reasons, your paid-for Harvard degree like Obama’s fakery…disappear into the choice of freedom, the free masons, and the free content online at sights that cater to German scatology and Great Danes from Holland making love to petite tattoo’ed French girls in need of quick Euros…disappear into youtube streams of interviews with contactees with the Andromeda Council; with grays from Zeta Reticuli; with tall slender/sensuous blonde female aliens emerging from beam ships, wearing skin-tight spacesuits that would make Captain Kirk cream in his beam…or simply disappear into one week’s worth of the spam folder, the lure of orgasmic scams, bogus money orders printed on smooth paper, e-mail-brides from forgotten countries, X-rated pen pals from the depths of servers deep underground in downtown Omaha, promises of bigger penises and fatter stock portfolios, instructions to activate the pineal gland while riding (and writing) the Kundalini Federal Express. To this I express thus: I was a Gnostic spider growing wider, forged and gorged on alternate timelines of the divine entwined; I was a chemtrail spraying on the masses like a cat in heat shoots on the walls of Eros; I was a trumpet in the sky calling for the end of The End; I was a Jesus hologram projected from the nose of a stealth anti-gravity triangle; I was a lazy potato sitting in the Montauk Chair and opening portals to condos on Mars; I was a three-hundred-mile-long cigar-shaped spaceship mining the rings of Uranus; and I was the ring of an anus located between the legs of a reptilian black cabal inter-ultra-dimensional hee-bee-jee-bee seducing jazz singers in smoky clubs, loving them all night, making hybrid-babies so the mothers can talk about it to Sean David Morton. No? Maybe George Noory then. I am a whistleblower tooting my own horn, running marathons backwards just to see what second place looks like; I went to the Virgin Islands and when I left, they were just the Islands; I live vicariously through myself, see: I am the ringing in your right ear, the implant in your left ankle, the piercing in your right nostril and the hidden cameras in both your nipples. I am your global conspiracy, your killer asteroid, your UFO, yo. Disappear into it, baby. (the preceding episode was submitted by Michael Hemmingson check out his blog: http://mhemmingson.wordpress.com)

3 comments:

  1. well here it is our first submission our first communication from the ether!
    As soon as I get approval from the author I will publish his name but either way its official!
    enjoy Episode One!!!

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  2. Well now that is the hope....once all the "others" arrive that is!

    ReplyDelete