No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.
With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise.
Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.
Orson Welles, War of the Worlds
Dave sings „every dog has it’s day… mom, it’s my birthday–what would you say“ and idioms and movies and whatever reminds me (at least, me) that „all dogs go to heaven“ and I know deep down in my heart the „dog days of summer“ are just beginning (rather than what Grace and Florence would halve you think… about the Machine cum Man that knows he’s not really a „dog.“)
I try to be a good chronicler of something between the truth and the myth that I am sort of experiencing–so much has happened as it’s just to overwhelming and fantastical to actually write down as if it’s … more than a „group delusion“ which is sort of what it is that I think this place, the whole of our shared reality has actually turned into. Lately it’s gotten scary–also–as in really upsetting and frightening and … and that hasn’t done very much for my „boy who cries wolf“ sort of persona that is sure me „not getting a date“ lands us somewhere between printing Hell in reality and me being the end of the world … you know, unless feed the dragon a virgin. I jest. Not about the end of the world, about the inverted-causal-relationship between saving our present from being a gloomy deep dark Hell and … „girls happy to be have become goddesses“ for no reason other than listening to this plan and this message and this boy, crying „woof.“
In Old Norse, ass (or ass, as, plural æsir; feminine ásynja, plural ásynjur) is a member of the principal pantheon in Norse religion. This pantheon includes Odin, Frigg, Thor, Baldr and Týr. The second pantheon is known as the Vanir. In norse mythology, the two pantheons wage war against each other, which results in a unified pantheon.
A second clan of gods, the Vanir, is also mentioned in Norse mythology: the god Njörðr and his children, Freyr and Freyja, are the most prominent Vanir gods who join the Æsir as hostages after a war between Æsir and Vanir. The Vanir appear to have mainly been connected with cultivation and fertility and the Æsir were connected with power and war.
In the Eddas, however, the word Æsir is used for gods in general, while Asynjur is used for the goddesses in general. For example, in the poem Skírnismál, Freyr was called „Prince of the Æsir“. In the Prose Edda, Njörðr was introduced as „the third among the Æsir“, and among the Asynjur, Freyja is always listed second only to Frigg.
In surviving tales, the origins of many of the Æsir are unexplained. Originally, there are just three: Odin and his brothers Vili and Vé. Odin’s sons by giantesses are naturally counted as Æsir. Heimdallr and Ullr’s connection with the Æsir is not clearly mentioned. Loki is a jötunn, and Njörðr is a Vanir hostage, but they are often ranked among the Æsir.
So I’ve tried to tell this story now–this „picture this“ … I’ve got the Titans of „Remember Us“ singing to me and my generation about the dawning of a new age, one that ostensibly has something to do with our kids–the millenials–except they’re calling it Aquarius and it’s got something to do with their Hair and a war in the Heavens that appears … at least to have been documented in Norse myth, and in the world around me–to have resulted in some kind of fusion of what I can only imagine the world believes is the Titans and the Olympiads–pantheonic generations of „l’dor va’dor…“ which means passing down to our children … something.
I’ve made a point of seeing it in the Japanese word for „anachronism“ which is a key to some kind of hidden universal truth, that there’s a clear message everywhere that proves this „from generation to generation“ thing is really etched into everything. That word translates, in individual glyphs to „time, generation, complication, error“ and this is what it looks like: 時代錯誤. The heart of that, „代錯“ appears to translate as revolution, and it seems to me the error, or the mistake; is a fusion „people“ into nearly nothing rather than a revolution around rekindling our love of … children, and self–and, who we are and stand for here in a place where freedom was fought for and won and then given away to the nothing.
Minerva (/mɪˈnɜːr.və/; Latin: [mɪˈnɛr.wa]; Etruscan: Menrva) is the Roman goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare and the sponsor of arts, trade, and strategy. From the second century BC onward, the Romans equated her with the Greek goddessAthena, though the Romans did not stress her relation to battle and warfare as the Greeks did.
I point it out here, the three letters „REN“ that connect the Sirens of police cars and of Greek mythology to the heart of the words „parents and children“ and this place where it appears to me that despite all best efforts to steal, avoid, or skip over me–specifically me–but perhaps my generation from having control of the Heavens it’s gone backwards to Rhea and Gaia and even forwards to my sons generation in some kind of … „searching for why and how and where to go from here“ that I see … well, I think you see it’s circling around where we are right this very moment and an entire world that blindly seems to be pretending not to see the „Yo, N“ that connects „everyone“ to this other set of three letters that … well, it’s in Costner and Shatner and Hefner and they’ve got movies and reasons and what-have-you that might link the Mailman Center to the Postman to the „MMER“ of Cimmerian and the hammers of Thor that link the flag of the USSR to the meaning of the actual tribe of Judah and Revelation 5:5 and … and this message of resounding thunder through the skies connecting the Transformers and their famous „All Sparky“ to the Gjallarhorn and Mjallinar horn and hammer and some connection between the glyphs „h“ and „n“ and all humanity and … „n.“
I’ve come to associate Hades very clearly with the marriage of that place, between Hell itself and „Persephone“ who is clearly by English, blindness, and then silence connected to „Perseus“ who does a good job of explaining how it is that „phones and us“ are connected to this war between generations in Heaven and on Earth „in Hell“ … and a very clear physical depiction of what that looks like as Medusa marries … herself–“apparently“ convincing everyone … of something I have yet to begin to see–that we’ve achieved victory.
I hear the thing behind my eyes suggest that he’s „fused“ with me–and I can even remember asking for it with my lips and no mensrea or understanding; I think I recall it being a joke abuot Confucianism … and I wonder … blindly … if a place where I can exist in this slave like and tortured state and also be „fused“ with something like God and also … not have the Praetorian Guard or the future running back to help me … if a place that like could ever exist.
So I’ve recently traveled all over Florida–Orlando was marked by memories of people saying „UP“ and apparently conversing or interacting in what appears to be a fictitious or „made up“ place of collaboration sort of hidden directly on top of where i am. I’ve connected it to the large thick black stripe on the tipe of the German flag … as if the „Ka“ of Antartika would have drawn that flag, and our „stars in soldier formation“ to sort of correlate to the very clear handle on „the Musick“ and the Hammer of Thor on the USSR flag. Maybe you knew that’s what those things were all about your whole lives, or maybe longer than me–but I just found out–and it’s a fucking Revelation to me … something else I think should „obviously“ be on the news.
There was also „a wall“ in Orlando–like a bona fide force field, an invisible „we cannot pass this point“ sort of directly over my head, like a foot above me… as if the whole world had moved up vertically towards it and that was the end of our ascent. It was in this place that I saw/experienced/acted through …
… that reminds me … the „UP“ place of darkness might (and does, to me) also connect to a sort of staging area for script writing–as if it was the scaffold above a theater or the backstage or … and that too connects to the time I noticed Earth was actually the word „theater“ missing the „te“ of Yesterday and Jupiter. If you know me at all, you know that means „you and I“ and you’ve probably already directed the „#coining“ this great phrase in your head … „all the world’s a stage, just missing it’s actors and audience.“
coins in TPA and … „we did the movie“ and Carl Sagans airplane and a flying carpet and … ma’am.
… acted through what I’ve come to call a „mock printing“ or whatever might be the reason for „Planke Space delay write co-ownership (see slavery!) of bits and peaces of me“ land… here in South Florida you can see that chronicled in reading stop signs backwards and Copans Rd. all the way across the globe to „Copenhagen“ which I mention in my head quite a bit.
Something like „Men in Black’s“ little shiny alien looking balls that contain entire Universes or „arcnet protectors“ were involved in the story, sending them into space or into the past or as an „Omega Seed“ or … an update to the Skynet/Dust in the atmosphere/DishTV network of satellites … I think I’ve grown fond of calling it „space mold“ which is just another way of saying a distributed network of „holodeck container“ except this time kind-of-alive and kind of „phytoplankton“ related and also … in the vein of seeing „rubies and golden ages“ in words like garbage and sewer which connects of course to the „EW“ of Jew and the „ER“ of America as a way to avoid Isaac Asimov’s thousands of years of darkness in the Universe directly corrleated to the „Bubonic Plague“ which of course was solved with „sanitation“ and also by noticing it might have something to do with Star Wars’ Carbonifer Age (I mean Carbonite packaging of Han Solo) and the connection between „bon“ and Job and … Beelzebub.
The .rb file extension is used for software applications that have been written in the Ruby programming language. Ruby is an object-oriented scripting language. It was created by blending a variety of other programming languages including Perl, Smalltalk, Lisp, Eiffel and Ada.
There was some stuff also there, in Orlando about how „God himself“ or his soul or maybe „the soul of the son(s)“ in a „ren“ of Adam sort of … is that the PC Father’s Club or the … whatever might be encoded in something like BTC „smart contracts“ and the idea that a soul might be hidden away in „light“ (which by the way is my … working understanding of the word used for Heavenly currency) or in a blockchain and actually might be related to something like Etherium smart contracts.
ART, I … FACT – ARFAXAD
Blockchain has come up before as part of a … „designed solution“ to the great chain of Revelation and the „mind control slavery“ previously as a way to build a system free of government oversight and censorship as well as a foundation for voting–something people have hearkened–and begun talking about … „a little bit less than I’d like.“ It is a perfect foundation for a technologically enabled true democracy, something I’ll get to talking about in a little bit.
Tying this up a little bit, before continuing–Tartarus, which is the „Hades of the Titans“ was a place they were imprisoned … in my recollection (literally, it’s this place and I’m seeing it) sort of damned or fooled into seeking the actual Universe from a place where Heaven had become a sort of prison … over and over again … thinking about it, right this moment, wouldn’t it be a shame or crazy if … theyus actually were getting there over and over again, and didn’t realize.
Nevermind, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. […]
Ich habe das Zitat dieser Spam hier abgebrochen. Es handelt sich um ca. zwanzig Prozent des Textes, und dieser Text klingt zum Ende hin immer deutlicher wie ein Eintopf aus Gedanken, die im Wahn beieinander köcheln.
Was dem Spammer mit seinem außerordentlich langen, zitatreichen Prosatext nicht gelungen ist: Mir zu sagen, was er mir eigentlich sagen will. Die völlig wirr eingestreuten Links führen alle auf ein Weiterleitungsskript, das genau so wirr verlinkt, wie der Text rumlabert – und jeder dieser Links enthält eine eindeutige ID, so dass der Spammer bei jedem Klick mitgeteilt bekommt, dass die Spam auf dieser Mailadresse angekommen ist und dass der Leser dort Interesse an langen, wirren Erzählungen hat – oder einfach dumm wie ein konditioniertes Suppenhuhn auf alles klickt, was sich anklicken lässt.
Deshalb klickt man ja auch nicht in eine Spam.
Was dem Spammer mit seiner Spam übrigens auch nicht gelungen ist: Sich am Spamfilter vorbeizumogeln. Ich habe dieses heiter gleißende Goldstückchen der dummen, gescheiterten und wahnhaften Kommunikation eben aus meinem Glibbersieb geholt.