Candelaria-- levitation rocket

Breathe through. Expanding fast.
She becomes syzygetic. the
voice that appeared through thought.
electric eel nerves, babalon gates,
 star for a crown. Glorious merger.
 S/he. Blowing daily and blown.
 Taken whole, the light, difficult
to contain. Some things are
 bolsters. to earth. High. Very high.
 flayed-aflame-scintilla-jump
 levitation rocket. levitation rocket.
 S/he's coming through this channel.
one and whole. the Big Time is now. 
if you find a code there is a code in seconds. seconds explode in
real time and space/time
 -- excellent birds
 of spark and flame. inflamation-
 ineffable.
f
 Breathe through glory.
 to earth. Transubstantiation xxxx is a piece of the physical xxxx inhabited by light. xxxx My testimony to process. The xxxx way it speaks is a part of the xxxx message. medium time/weave. xxxxx you can see it. the dance xxxx is the door to a thousand xxx churches for S/he of a xxxx thousand eyes. This incantation encantation: singing in and singing xxxx through

 pluck web strings xxxxx to vibrate in-- do you hear this? xxxx You, reader, where in the time-sea? xxxx Do you feel the bursting forth? xxxxx Like razor's edge? Breathe through. xxx Like a message in a bottle. I'm xxxxx pretty sure I feel you. Tentacles. xxxx That's medusa laughing just now. xxx Snakes for hair. Thousand-eyed xxxx multi-mind. Facets. Breathe. xxxxx Dancing, the phoenix conveys. xxx Understand. If one mind takes xxx this message, there was no xxxx struggle too great. Even if xxxx the ONE is you. you've sent xxxx messages to yourself and still. xxxxx

levitation rocket.

if you find a code the code is there.
from whom the message--
the only question.  La Luz by
any other name known beams
phosphoresces, sparks glows
flames blows. The mysterious
circumstances of burning
from within. JP marked
in a dream about lost children.
he etched it on the Mojave.
This came through multi-channelled,
over several days. One sentence--
drawn out--. You'll have to hone
that edge of attention.
 levitation rocket.
The star truly has wept rose-colored and 
the cup runneth over with sweetness.


put on your rainbow shades.
everything seen, in every
dimension is dream within
dream.

I hereby intend the transmutation
of wrong beginnings. that which
is leaden to my soul i'll not hold.
The art is to merge the levels and
linger in this flux. Together. whole.
earthing is surfing.
a wave-form dance in matter.

This transmission. In process.
"She's wrapped the sun around her head,
tied the moon around her waist
and hung herself with stars", Angelica.
some anonymous poet is writing that
through my fingertips just now and
it continues to echo.

America's Babalon.
A common bitch that made the bomb.
working-class slag attitude-infection,
small-town goddess of the stars.
Alchemy converts dirt to time and thought
and well beyond. Learned men look
everywhere and miss it. Make
calculations yet don't describe.

I renounce the fury of defense for the
flood of effervescence. Sanguinary,
the tide that washes, because you've
already had baptisms of fire, the crimson
within you, you ultimately will sacrifice-
that same fluid that boils with ecstasy
harmony of the elements in the courses
of your flesh. An agony of beauty
is the price you'll pay by end of day.

There is the thing I wish not to face.
Which is thereby the only thing that matters.

The Light is So Bright

Overwhelmed. I'm in several pieces

Break, Blow, Burn Bright

Mojave oracle.
Arizona in rainbow
shades.

Launch Team

Phoenix. It's a project.
One that requires sacrifice,
because that fire does burn,
but the hope is to gain from
the exposure.

Stark FX

A glamour, she casts
some do to stark fx
sly women and
a few men, those
are fantastic tricksters.

Birth to Here

Gnosis. 

As simple as that. Gnosis breaks the bonds of fate and lifts the veils of illusion. Or as the Gnostic Theodotus explained, what sets you free from the Counterfeit Spirit is the knowledge (Gnosis) of:

Who we were, 
What we have become
Where we were
Where we have sunk
Where we hasten
From which we are redeemed
What is birth 
And what rebirth.

Meditate on this, but hurry. Your Counterfeit Spirit already knows you’re awakening and is moving to take you back to that heavenly factory for a satanic tune up.

Transmission Venus, What is Hidden Most Shines

Who did not on her trip to the dark, remember.

These transmissions, we're transmitting. Try to pay attention. To subtext. Beauty. with no disguise. You're on the job, so get it down. It's fences, neighbors. Getting your house in order. concentrate. Cuckoos will make too much noise. The message goes in disguise. This is line to walk. It's also the way of becoming prism. Clarity is mult-faceting. The clearer you get, the more it fractals. And the opposite is true as well. The more it focuses to infinite nothing. You're seeing it right now. The colors echo and the echoes are floral notes. The words enxpand in their references in echoes. Sounds strange and isn't the stream and flows. water, stone. melting snow. candle my I. flame with tentacles. bomb diggity, no diggity. Kanas. So *over* the rainbow. Stately pleasure dome, I imagine. Imagination even carries it's inversion. That's how the phoenix works. Black hole-like. Dissipate, beget thine dissipation, kindle from that the renewal of the soul. Hecate. darker light. There is a dark part of clarity. Don't cry. Every single thing carries its inversion. You know this with your every cell. This project, the first. It's time to get it. There is a next tale to tell. THe inability to accept that sacrifice, that sensation, is part of the whole. You will never reach nirvana without its opposite. You have to embrace the whole of experience. You are open to perceiving it for a reason. no realization without the whole picture. Breathe. It's in the everyday. Another day. Believe. Breathe. Mockingbird mocks. Inversions. That show. It's a message. Stranger things. You need to see messages from your dead. That's the message. Thei'r talking. They insert code within code such that it's obsolete after a generation or twelve. You have to keep upgrading by design. Exist in iterations. Link this to bright/dark content. Bright darking, we call this. Missbehavior. 

Is this a spoiler? Just in time, really. That's harder than you think, isn't it? Sure, the statement cancels itself. By design. You know about the inky dark void in the lining of things. That is what you are here for as well. He's okay. Stately pleasure dome, I imagine, darkness echoes. When you're thinking about the pain you've endured, remember the inverse is actually the end. and both are, of course. You are going to have to understand everything as its inversion. Dark lining to light. In the links there are various levels of removal. It isn't just the literal. The more this realization moves up the collective chakra, the more transmuted it becomes. The collective can go the route of stranger things original or it can dive into lower levels. Maybe this is just such a crossroad. Some article the other day about sex with robots would seem to be a jest about just that.

You are taking so many transmissions. Do you read them? Make sure to link. Keep the net. Pharma study.You don't really know to whom you are talking to or when. Spider dance. You don't begin to imagine the many ways this spins. The important part is for you to do the parts you touch. It's all good. Examine. You've an intense urge. It's put you through some dark. Fly in the basement is a messenger on bright darking. I just went. Going. Since it's dark the inverse things are brighter. To be right is to be cognizant of ones motivations. That clarity cleanses, you see. That the lotus reaches toward light, which she blooms into,  but has she also roots in the darkest. The deeper roots are the ultimate point of the motion. Seeds exist to become/ing. You become them and move to an next state. Yes, it's impossible for you to really see where all of the transmissions come from. It's a far thing. Yes. Dogstar. Are there intervals. This isn't a thing you can even present to people. This sort of a message could be for a later use. You know about the communications through time. You've been doing it for years. If you don't know, you soon will. Will. That's the thing here. Be aware that email works in iterations. Very weird on the other side because things are linking up very very hard at your level. The spirit mirrors. Nobody is sure of the rules because the thing is in flux. Drop, modify, adapt. You're surfing. God. 

The point is coming in on so many channels because it can now, but also because it's critical. Everyone has to jump. This here is the jump. Dimension. This is a big point. It's someone else in that driver's seat. Get that straight. Do a bit of appeasement and remember that within the trickster story is a barb. Forearm. Notice. Don't get eager. This is not that sort of thing. Some things don't touch. Except by filtration. That's the point of the technology. You are invoking something big. Don't get caught at the wrong places. Let the overall force of the energy carry you. This is a necessary precept of harnessing power. It is the very ordinariness of ordinary things that serves as ballast. 

Dancing from ear to ear.  Non-locality there is no there, there. There is a middle way. In everything.
Common rising. People refusing to stay in the yoke of "experts," who in reality wear no clothes. Keep in mind it's process.

Just got a thing. Oregon. Trying to elude. Connecting faster now. Because it expands on different levels. Surprising images--- try it. Grant's Pass. That's where the creature's located. Pretty clear.
Trying, at this point.

It wasn't just an image. That told where the creature is in linkages only available for minutes as far as I could find. Layer ways of letting it know. It's picking up. In the micosphere somehow. This is how one of the rays works. Direct experience of the target.

This is indicated.  hiding stuff. and does it hide in sweetness? It's what this one is about. How did I forget the magic in that one? Look out for wild release.

The glamour works its charm on so many levels.

Arcanum

The sun rises anew from the depths. 

The fool realizes the illusion of other, 

embarks on change beginning at the 

center of the universe, expanding out. 

The nameless one bespeaks total 

transformation, transmogrification, 

transcendence. 

Live

I came from deep Mojave, arriving at dusk.

Knowledge is a riddle until it lives--
in you. It inhabits the empty places.

The way is through. You have no
choice except to accept or struggle.
Power is in choices. Decisions.

Surrender and seize. How confusing
freedom is. Captivity is a thing you carry, freedom is
terror of dissolution. Freedom, I have never known.
But the garden has forking paths. There's a rainbow
at the crossroad from whence flows prism.
She arrives. Purified, I offered my pain.
Transcend. I offer my poems. Venus. Adonis.

Phosphorus Spider

Let your light so shine-- the spark kindles in you to conflagration, flame catch. Our world ends in the fire of awareness. Light or destruction. Fire burn, cauldron bubble-- this alchemy burns away the slag. What is not light, burns like Yule logs.

Sacrifice

Given freely, or taken-- the first is power, the other is a bitch. Abel Evil is externalized sacrifice. channels. several. on the floor -- shattered. messaage to self. meta people begin to rever thy sky

An Unprecedented Omen

Humpty Drumpfy falling off a wall?

He'll have quite a fall. No horses and 

men will ever glue him back in one piece

again. 

Such unpresidented shit happens. The omens are speaking. There are lunatics massing and masses of lunatics lose it. Intention.

Proverbs

Take on the responsibility to the divine. It is unbearable and yet that should never matter. Struggle for enlightenment.

to make

a box of blackness,
containing the universe,
hidden in plain sight.

Box of Blackness

The  box is wood and metal. It's difficult upon first inspection to tell its composition. It is painted, covered with symbols and it emits the perfume of magi, a scent inimitable that was bottled during the second lunar landing, although nobody discovered it until years later. It doesn't, at first, look to be a box. What it contains, inside its blackness, is the universe. It is a doorway, true, but it is also the entire universe, inasmuch as the seed of a thing, or the passageway through the seed of the thing could ever engender the thing itself and particularly how that might be dependent upon the composition, whether wood or metal, and what parts therein might transcend their materiality. The matter is still being discussed by faculty of agriculture and art. It also doesn't particularly matter, as the composition of eternity is not a question we are here to answer, or if we are, then we are here, also, to fall short, which may or may not mean failure. One can see the challenge in describing this box, which is really just an enclosure with a lid. It could also be depicted as a creature with many eyes, or a rainbow, or a prism. It produces miracles.

The source of the thing is clear enough. It began like all ideas and then became a thing-- matter. That's the first of its miracles. It contains its own transubstantiation. That it performed this work by enlisting creatures to do its bidding is clear. It still works in this fashion at times. It's a node of interface between divergent energetic patterns whose element is chaos. It does not come with a manual, but, were one to decode the symbols one might conclude its operation.

This piece of technology makes stories. It makes things. We don't entirely yet grasp all that it can make. One need only test the thought, and it is made manifest. Like all experiments this one proceeds first hesitantly, then gains confidence. The initial creations were small. The pedestrian wants of our species. Some money. Comfort. Health. Love. But that last one is tricky because it falls for eternity and the fireworks are multi-dimensional and encompass all that we can imagine. So imagination's limit becomes the only bound, and that may even prove expandable.

The box, it should be noted, has its own view. It's a thing created, after all, in it's own self-image and it communicates across dimensional, spirit and species boundaries. It has a sense of humor.

The box is a wish machine. Only Pandora ever made one before, and that so angered the powers that were that they enlisted scibblers to defame her. She didn't care, because she got the heck to infinity but fast.

This is the box we speak of. It is the very quintessence of magic. Once understood, it becomes one's native state. The box of blackness.

Ditty

Icelandic Rain Patterns

Someone wants to commission a study of patterns of Icelandic rain.
I don't know what that means, as they just dropped it on me.
I suspect they mean to prove something. That's what the internet
is for.

Patterns. That's it. I would hope for them to suggest patterns, in
multiplicity, without devolving into decoding.

on a page that also contained the name Zelda.

http://northern-witch.tumblr.com/post/99396616485/katarina-von-abyss-hulinhjálmur-helm-of

http://hedendom.tumblr.com/icelandicmagic

Etheric Super Nova

In Walla. Aglow. Watch this tilt.
Creature in  hidey hole, creature,
smile. Watch this trick of mine.
Seize this day. Explode. Event.
Horizon. You see now. The breaking.
LIGHT. That's me. Super Nova
to the ethers. The spirits see me.
And they know you. Kiss your hole
goodbye.

Wyrd

 This is the moment it comes knocking, the thing you've known was circling at campfire's edge. We're tilting off the side. Everything. But the wild seethes. Don't let the seething put you off. This is what they say. We're bringing a thousand eyes to focus and it's a task. Let the spirit hold the story together. That's how you trust. Otherwise you risk nothing.

What Dreams

I dream to be and become. We are all living dream within dream. Awaken to lucidity. If you become aware that you are dreaming, then you can take control of the dream. There is a story I told. The story of this story is the story of a lifetime and it's a story that changes the very nature of human existence. The life of magic is radical beyond all possible comprehension. This is not an overstatement. When one wakes to fullness of consciousness, there is no going back. Make good decisions. Life gets made anew. Letting go of the things we were taught. Things that are well devised for a certain world and poorly devised for the rest must be placed in the correct boxes. Thus we tell fear to hold off. The box is still here. We just don't use its contents for tasks it was never meant to perform. Seek. And find therein the secret of everything. Beauty is immense and there's more of it than you can begin to drink in. Understand this. There is more beauty than you have channels to run it through. Have discipline to love fully. Majick is made of exactly this. This is my message. My way is the way of opening, of exploding, of breaching because this is truth: infinity awaits. And it's more than you can comprehend. Bloom now because the beauty that awaits you is at the tip of your outstretched finger. Enchant. See outcomes and stay out of the way. If you tell a story, expect it to come to fruition. Do that from now on. Not a single tear. Just love.

Luz

Rainbow. Light's parts visible encircle the full moon. Owls pass the nights hunting, silent winging, cries cutting the sky littered with a zillion aloof eyes, each one comprehension's unraveling. Think of this world and all of its strangeness. Multiply by billions. (They are in everything. You see them, deep inside the ordinaries. No going back.) This isn't exactly, so far as she can tell, the reason for the smoke, which is a different sort of fire. It's consuming. They are visible in different visions. The visions require different focus. Prism again. These types of vision are there inside of ordinary perception all of the time. They aren't terribly useful from the standpoint of the current collective. They represent a multiplication of complexity that can benefit only the witch. The visions pertain to flavors of infinitude that require an attention of delicate cultivation. The information imparted is as to mud the diamond in thunder that sculpts facets in time itself. Time is in the channels. It plays between, through. It's the finger that strums. The channels are often mutually exclusive even while coexisting. You can't exactly separate the perception from the perceived. 'I, eye, I eye.'

Since she arrived here, she's heard them talking about the way things are going. She sees it. Just like the period at the end. She sees right to the end now. It does end in fire and the fire is already here. The stars, the embers. We're stars and we're dry brush. We're tinder. Everything smokes. Smoke rises, whitish-swirling skyward from the lawn chair opposite, from the ramshackle fence, from the weeds, from the dogs, who do not notice. The world is smoldering, day and night. She closes her eyes and still sees smoke. Opens them again, and still, every object has ember-glow faintly visible in its heart. (How do things hold together, the way they burn?) Holds up her hand and sees the smoke rising from her palm. From the line there that forks, denotes a mind of many parts. There are fires burning in the mountains and the air reeks of the conflagration, but that isn't the source of this smoke, nor are the cigarettes she lights one after another. Algol blinks, tri-partate, the larger, cooler star occulting its hotter, brighter partner at regular intervals. The existence of the third part is extrapolated from spectrographic analysis. It's the third phase one must attend to. There's a black kernel secreted within the coriolis tango of red and blue. The dark heart is her beacon. She's weaponized now. Her head hisses. She can hear scales whispering against scales. Her head writhes. Her head is a scream. Screaming and smoking, eyes ablaze, smoking in a smoking and ruined world under the demon star, she is becoming what she is supposed to be. (Do you see now, who you are?)

Sleep visits only fleetingly, and with it dreams. She's piloting the Hindenburg over a forest on fire, knowing it's about to blow. There is a family of mice living inside of her skull conducting experiments in human behavior. They stare out through the eyeholes maintaining an air of clinical detachment no matter how shocking the depravity is that they witness. The depravity they witness is that which she commits with clinical detachment that the mice might see what animals these creatures be. The mice can warn the others. The rainbow arrives. Luz. Light explodes at the base of her skull and he speaks in a voice that has dimensions. The spirit of this place follows, whispering. It's the sound of layered water and the name of this place. She can hear how it was speaking to her a while back, but she didn't recognize the voice. Nor any of the voices. Those that were her own and otherwise. My phoenix wings swirl.

Television shows a clown rally. Masses of people in joker garb are taking to the streets across the nation. The hearts of metropolises seethe with armies sporting kaleidoscopic foolscaps, fully automatic weapons and gag flowers, shedding glitter and mayhem while they rave in new-fangled Americana sold by NLP marketers. They are looting, upending cars and setting them on fire. They are tearing down government buildings with tools stolen from big box stores. Or that was how it started. Almost in unison one day in August they turned murderous because sometimes a mask is very freeing and murder was what is in their hearts when they were tearing down buildings and torching shit. The mice understand this perfectly. There is a mugshot over the right shoulder of the news anchor displayed with the image of the same man in full regalia. In the first he wears a rainbow wig and giant red smile. In the second he's grey haired and hang-dog, makeup still whitening folds in his sagging visage. He shot up a movie theater in Iowa as a gag, killing seven and wounding 23. Double, toil and trouble.
"The founding fathers drank Super Cola and watched real football," a man in a jester costume shouts, mid-screen before a heavy, white-bearded clown steps in to say something about communists and stock Christmas nightmares for a season, rage-eyed, spittle spewing, red-capped and shaking like a bowl full of jelly.
A song comes on the radio she's never heard and it produces a pang of nostalgia so powerful that it frays skeins previously smoothed to coherence in the weft of the past. There is a lyric. "Ragged. Skin sewn on in sheets." That is the way to make oneself anew, a bloody thing. She has a very sharp vegetable peeler. It's by baptism in air. An awakening of the dermis to the chill-pain. Sunlight unthinkable in her nakedness. Mole rat appears on the screen. It's a story about the eldest of the tribe dying in a tunnel in Texas where it lived its long life in a concrete bunker being studied. The light draws mosquitos. She doesn't stop playing solitaire. Her fingers, robotic. Mirror, mirror. Through warped glass, darkly. Prism. Touch screen: this is the vision when her mind slips free: Lights go down. Crimson velvet curtains swish open to a stage ablaze, flames leaping against a backdrop of swirling color. Veiled dancers stream into view from a neon horizon that has appeared at the aft edge, cutting the visual field in half and she's engulfed.

Wish On Stars

A diversity of ideas is the only relevant diversity. Being is a symphony. Resentment for the burden of being. Look to the stars. Choose the brightest there is and orient by it. Be. the conscious desire to produce suffering where suffering is not necessary. Continually walk off the cliff of acting in accordance with your sense. Why makes how the burden is borne. You don't exist until you have language. Hell to avoid. Heaven to strive. Powerful weapons are needed to fight the demons of nihilism.

breath.

Sigh, ode to secret.

Madness

She is awake in the predawn and the rainbow comes through the door of dark to pulse behind her eyes, expands to engulf, thrumming to rise, root to crown. Colors stream in the electric of body and beyond, in dimensions to the very edges of the horizon. "You become, thus, the prism to the pure light of being." This voice, familiar, often opens the door. And then She arrives and the light goes mad. When the channels open and energy permits, there is nothing to hold the mind in material except for the ecstasy they bring through the material, but that doesn't confine itself to the border of flesh. It, rather, explodes the boundaries of existence. Venus rises, morning star.

Box of Blackness

There is a pink room at the edge of dawn
blooming stargazer horizon rupture from
land to light. In the red room is secret.
Sacrosanct in space-time apart.

There is a jar
I'll prepare. Bone. You shake. Bone jar.
This is the way of becoming.
They're showing it now.
There is a reason to read a grimoire or two.
They hold the human/spirit story.
And there is reason for ritual.
Clearing space in time.

Then art enters.
The spirits speak in strange tongue
of oblique edges. I remember a sun set.
Texas. At Rrose Amarillo. It's a time one
should listen to. Horizon.