Angel Empires I. When angels cease to resemble themselves. A Rehabilation and lament. The Effects of Angelic Civilization.

When Angels Cease to Resemble Themselves

 Followers of the good make matters worse. When RP asked how angels can cease to resemble themselves, he was not offering what angels are in themselves. Thinking angels are the better sort of man makes the angelic every equivocation of word that can exist. That's when RP posited that good is evil and evil is good. Take them one at a time.

Angels are experts and that is their downfall. Electro-magnetic beings like angels are perfect. The effects of angel civilization are the good and evil of imperfect man whose consciousness reconstructs and reconnects pain, removing the bandage of inoculated, anesthetic memory. Then the pain of realization begins. Do  angels have realization? No. Rehabilitation and restitution happen over a lifetime of a man but angels don't have a lifetime! Traumas of assault and their consequent memory, treated with propranolol in a man. remove the pain.  There is no angelic propranolol. They have no pain. They have no memories. A man's identity dilemma forces memories upon him. The pain prevents him doing it again. It is his learning. Sleep is his healing, but angels don't sleep. Angels don't feel pain. Learning from mistakes a man has to always face and remember pain. If the comprachicoes could have administered propranolol they could have gone on mutilating and maiming ad infinitum, but memory causes it to stop. Like the mandarin taken to another planet to be tortured forever in exchange for peace on earth, peace at any price is no peace. No memory allows infinite torture. Our sufferings make us whole. We would have to see angels suffering for their sins, in penance, forever!

Evil is good, everything that is good is reversed. The good that disparages poverty, racism, hatred, is the very cause by which poverty, racism, hatred exist. The good invents evil to hide its crimes. This good practices nearly an infinite series of control. By this time we have left the seen for the unseen and dual meaning is taken as reality.

Of the many likenesses to the applied psychological disfigurements in the underworld of comprachicoe mutilations, none greater occurred than the psychological mutilation of the German grandchildren of Rudolph Hoess, commander of Auschwitz. These things must either be faced or denied. Rainer Hoess, grandson of Rudolph Hoess, shows the immense pain but also the courage of the great. This view in the treating of all such PTSD argues that what the lost angels feel in silence is their complicity. The comprachicoes removed the memory of dislocated joints, stunting the spine, burning the face, incisions, manipulations and restraints with a drug, a stultifying powder, an anesthetic escape, so that the mind's ability to recall the depravities imposed on it was deadened, and if remembered, it was remembered with an anesthetic, so the meaning of the pain was masked with forgetfulness.

What there is for the angels to face is the greater subject of this question.

That is he social issue raised by the suicide of Clay Hunt http://news.yahoo.com/s/yblog_thelook..., the vet activist who saw his friends killed in front of his eyes. How much can the drugs, the escapes and consciousness heal? Not only that, but what can heal an angel? Only death? Annihilation?

There is no lack of disinfectant of the making monstrous in the memory of the unfeeling, but to take a view through metaphor, let us say that wind is greater than water. That is, the wind of consciousness is greater than the water of memory and identification of the pain. You can know that on a mountaintop, but down in the pain, at sea level, where mere humidity swallows you up you are a fish.  Or better, swallowed by a fish, you wake up in the belly cradle and earth. Darkness and humidity,are vistas to cross as similarities to a fish belly. Being subject to forces and denial makes a Jonah, who helps us conceive Rimbaud. But these all pertain to a man. Where is the redemption for the angel? Staying away from the beach? You get to be a hundred, two hundred as a man and start to wake a little. Three hundred and even in Bilbo Baggins light begins to dawn in the darkness. But how old are the angels? Which means, what can they have learned?

When we want to hear about  polarities in Angels who Cease to Resemble Themselves, A Study of Rimbaud by Henry Miller, the poet taken as a kind of angel, invites turnabout to see how far angels can be taken as a kind of man. The angels' loss of identity takes up the all reversed norms which none of us receive. Reversed polarity embroideres these mystery moralities into anti-moralitities.

We come upon this character, call him RP, who, when he is not denying them says good is evil and evil is good, meaning that the good, in its ensuing manners, dress, and comport hides evil that is masked, which only unmasks when it has complete control. The victims of this predatory good are always the same, first animals, then children, women, men, then the earth. Whether the good stops there must be part of an ongoing inquiry of Space. Because it is good, its followers are unable to doubt, which leaves them in their frenzies.

“When Do Angels Cease to Resemble themselves?  Henry Miller quotes Rimbaud: “if my spirit were always wide-awake…I would not have given in to degenerate instincts, to a forgotten epoch.” Miller says, “what it was that sealed his vision, and thereby brought about his doom, no one knows-and probably no one ever will know.” But we do know. Our lives are filled with such events, maybe not all, but neutralized by denial, selection, amnesia and drugs. In other words Rimbaud gives himself up to debauch and every vice just to forget the pain of his lost innocence. It would be like the angels who sang could only curse. He made himself monstrous to take revenge upon himself. He made himself into a comprachicoes, those in the circus children whose physical appearance was tortured to improve their act. Except Rimbaud did it on his own. He however mutilates his soul inexpertly, which is his salvation because when he is done making monstrous he turns to faith.

A man is a kind of Jonah and here’s the hope, God will rescue him out of his trouble. The trouble is himself and the forces that bind him. He doesn’t come without a past even if he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t come without a present even if he doesn’t feel it. He gives meaning to blindness. If it weren’t for friends along the way, women usually, who save his life, he wouldn’t survive at all. He doesn’t want to give account of the women though, he wants to face the forces. He wants to take out after his enemies who oppressed him, but he has to face himself. The displaced angels however are the good, the true and the beautiful and their enemies are the truth that they are evil along with their followers. How's that going to play? All unmentionable, all dark shot with rays, lots of rays, but the light doesn’t blind the man. The dark does.

Even in darkness light dawns for the upright. He gets to be compassionate because of the dark, the affliction, the pain that lines the tiled hallways of cement floors along the halls of different states of dementia, drooling, moaning are no dream but an image from the past. He’s not nobody from the Midwest, he’s worse. He comes out of the grave shorn, unshorn with the memory of his sins. His sins, unless you say the innocent are the oppressed and what is done to the kindreds, the strange fruits of their tortures, beatings, is the fault of some enemy. But their still his sins. But that’s the one, the enemy of forces. So he looked at his three hundred years in the dark and it was getting light. By then it was as if he had lived twenty lives, thirty.

By then the illuminant hadn’t filled every corner of the hallway in the belly. They were all still there, but without the same power, like they had lost mass, like a river of oxygen was diverted into their midst. But where is the oxygen for angels? Who are so busy polluting the man?

He could float this river, but not like some aging Huxley or Eiseley, reimaging evolution, floating on his back down the canyons of rock. Even at three hundred years the light that dawns is still earth light that the pains gibber at. He walks down the center of the hall like he did the first time, over and over. What did the boy see but what we know? They could not touch him. They had to wait for that. That hadn’t happened yet.

What was it like in Noah’s childhood? Playing with too much water. Jonah, playing at the wharf with pelicans for pets would come home with shells in a bag. Nobody can say if we’re all that way. Oh do not call them naive who kick in the belly womb. The fish is their life. Life is their fish. Moses floated early. How far is it to where he kicks the rock. He hit the rock with his stick. He hit the rock! Ouch.

The rock has a sense of humor about it even at the time it puts Moses to bed in Egypt. We go down to get his body in a few years the way we go down to get our memory of the dirty hallway with its stretchers and wheelchairs. The results of the finished work of the comprachicoes are all along both sides of the hall, misshapen, drooling. Funny it has no smell. That was from all the disinfectant. There was no lack of disinfectant among the unfeeling. Then of course there were all the drugs pumped into the skin. That was before drugs were so common. All the pains took them. Palsy took him drugs. Rage took Valium. Lust had a range of pharmacopoeia. Hatred must have eaten some. Sicknesses all. Diseases all. Rampant in the hall. Covered when the Lord entered that hall long before and found a species of Noah and Jonah. But no angels. A hall more like a tunnel of misery. My sin was there that I resurrect here. My sins were theirs. So was yours. The enemies inoculate you with pain. Redemption is not cleansing like a nuclear flash, or a flood. It feels more like a plant growing.

 Runoff

If water is the symbol of pain then there are different sizes of vessel in which the volume of wat
er collects. That does not indicate the pain is greater, it just means it is felt more because of the larger vessel. The water from a kitchen spigot is nothing compared to a thunder storm on the mountain when the runs off the mountain and collects in a vessel. The vessel feels more like a slicker laid on the ground. With this kind of runoff you have to be sunk to make an impression.

Necronauts, explorers of death, boast they ride in Charon's boat and cross and recross the Dante. Are they 40, 50, 60, 70, in full flesh after a meal, wine and love make possible their satiate long sleep. Amid talk of Beckett dying in his rocking chair, this boatman, whose mind you think diminished bhe sees what frightens all How his hair is growing thin. Cheeks hang. His life and work are not enough. He sees the cold, no alibi. Everybody knows. Faulkner frowns. None good. Down in ships. Vanity, said the man's son.

So if angels cannot be treated with the expectations of man then what can we expect of them/ The immediate point in the classes, which are remote to experience, divide them as Dr. Faustus, good and bad. But what is good and what is evil?

In III parts: Part II Continued here: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/.

Hybrids, clones, others, insect reptile nephs

If it is obvious that the insectoid spirits divide in order to control; that is how society is ordered today. 

 

 

Mississippi grasshopper shot down

Start at at the top of the mantid insectoid presence, Orson Scott Card says  "bugger," Wm. Burroughs  writes it needs an exterminator, Clif High likes mantid. R4epitle, insect  worlds lack a vagus nerve. The mischwessen would be its second tier, since it is what the insect made of its first creation, hybrid beings of various proportion  that fuel Greek myth Leda, Daphne, swan and tree sound benign but Minotaur and centaur don’t, so you have the benign and malefic. They cover all their bases. When the DMT boys go flying they meet the insect, so count ants and bees as examples like the reptile mind of psychs that foster in the back brain, but these are misnomers. 

Misnomers abound in this business. Just as do pedo groomers  and cannibals of the third tier, we don’t get to sex until the fourth. Blackmail is the tool there, what is used to control the senate and the house and the board room, and we still haven’t got to the commoner who has to wait to be five floors down in this ordor odotatum of

Hybrids, clones, others, insect reptile nephs

First principle is none of this is visible to the naked eye. "Look like the flower but be the serpent under it." Lady MacBeth. There are  a million takes on cosmetics, masks, covers, but they are mental. The reptile controls the visual centers of the braille brain magnetically, or some such. They are always scaly but show skin, bouffants, earrings, finery, fine manners, and pretend compassion. Probably the first  textbook to consider is Enoch where they women the  arts of seduction and the men the art of war; that is a metaphor though. Consider the queen of Anywhere all the better to eat you with. So yes, fairy tales are another means not of information but control for predictive association that tells you what they are doing to you and then they do it. And you  pay them for it to get a tick that explodes at the movie. Scales: all info sources, trusted and not, work to reinforce the whole. So Zero Hedge and NBC, Tucker and Alex,  all wreak the effect. What then can we know? Nothing you fool. Start there and take off the scales. The only conceptual premise you cannot, will not, accept, but if you think you are made in the image of God and you  pursue that… the same manifestos will seek to provide their account, but  if you drink of the water, breath of the Spirit of God, live in the Word and the Name, nice expressions, and the scales fell from the eyes when you finally see them doing it, and laugh out loud, from ages past going out of the cave of shadows, always remembering the closer the light the bigger the shadows are, the perfect mischwessens of the 3d animal graphic t shirt with ants, lizards, scorpions etc.

If you learn to sleep in the breastplate of righteousness and are covered in the armor you will see all the  creatures that Bosch does and myriads besides but they come not near you as the word and the Name  in you which foster you and surround you and protect you  and if you sleep in the armor, when you wake and walk consciously, refer the moment to the Counselor throughout the day, which goes without saying is austere, not polluted with idle talk, booze, drug, amp up or down. But it’s not so boring to see the reptiles unmasked all around in the buildings and govt offices and everywhere at the party, masked, its just not attractive to see it for what it is. So whether awake or asleep walk in the light…

Kings of the Pentagon

Kings of the Pentagon

The Home asylums of Bordeaux, Uniontown and Maricopa understand what Hawthorne meant. Ecclesiastical, governmental leadership filled waste barrels at the gates. Collected by trash giants,  arms raised higher than their heads, would chant, “The donkeys are rich in order to carry the poor.” They thought the missing head could supply the brain epolitics if everyone chanted along. Not all the heads were missing, some were merely unfound, from those experiments injecting Kirk and McCoy. As Kurk Wold said over at renegade science, the program god would do no good: "you have seen many things, but pay no attention; your ears are open, but you hear nothing."  How could they hear? Disturb the populacho? The future Washington raised to Zeus said this:

Viva, father of our hood,

you certainly make a noble god.

Black paintings of flagellants lined the streets of Washington and Rome in 2016 (where Rome used to be anyway) and sank into the walls. Only the width of a small stroke in the left parietal cortex constituted consciousness. Was it a violin or a cello that fell from Van Gogh's head? Hearing they would not, nor seeing see. This violent yoking of dissimiliars made more blood than rain.  The favors of war gave apocalypse to hybrid cannonballs where heads breached the wall, bringing populachos and robots to the fore. The third king of the Pentagon stamped his foot. He sang like an old VCR:

Long live King Pentagon,

Death to Io! No?

The Heads chanted MMO, MMO, MMO (Many Made One). Shaman priests wrung hands. Dr. Franke spoke to the Psychologists at Vacaville of that first encounter with the gods. Neptunes legalized drugs to even the odds even before Anectine Head programmers made two in one.  Don’t think such things go unnoticed, resemblances of the unlike, occult encounters marketed by the Agency in a search for the divine afflatus. Pop presidents and hob celebrities played golf. Macabres swam where no one had before – but all that war is nebulous. You can paint as large a canvas with Napoleon as with Van Gogh. We would not be blamed if only the heads were displayed. He that is washed needs not save to wash his feet.

Kingship epolitics knelt to submit. The guns never fired as long as hands were raised. Robespeare flew out of the Pentagon, black letters written in carbide round his head from  flames in the caves.

Allegra del Fuego! 

Quinta del sordo!

Bodies laid out house to house showed their works done in the flesh. Then they were hung on the walls. Each prisoner martyr was a sambenito, "blessed bag," reverse chasuble painted with  their burning. When the bodies were gone sambenitos hung like multicarbon bats. The great Pentagon himself descended from these conversos. But these ilusas could not medicate the Pentagon's fears. With such chant the state raised a hand, raised the head. Cabezas de paisaje they called. Washington looked all general reaching up to span a  bridge. There were several poses. Another was dancing with a foot raised. Another leaned upon the mantelpiece with a recon cello. Buried in Bordeaux,  reburied in Madrid, recursos rereburied again. Under Santa Maria de la Florida, but missing the skull, sambenitos enshrined Van Gogh's First Head. The second was in the Air Park. Such sites elude geography. Truth is better for torturers than their prey. As for the  dead they were the landscape. To end these tauromachies of Kubler-Ross's five stages they ran down the sides. “Any trauma makes you think of worse: sets the mind worrying and fantasizing about what else might be your lot.” You hear the heart beat purify.

These things the first three kings of Pentagon fought for eighteen years. They produced the Five Disasters called the freedom wars. Clanton, Bushinski and Le Bommb, with still one to come. Popular calamities burned a new Reichstag in the brain. No one Disaster was as detailed as that given Van Gogh's head, reconstituted at gunpoint, brought up to date. His brain's color shift produced the yellow period, haloes around lights.  Xanthopsia propaganda fooled our seizures to create mass mind more beautiful and soft than any moth / With burring furred antennae feeling its huge path." That was in Weimar''s Childhood End.  New gravities from old escaped the master past. Tristes presentimientos. We escaped, took flight.

in Emanations VI , June 2017

The Science of Kurk Wold

Whether or not Wold is a relocated identity becomes a question only because the two, and more, share botanical science and art as covalents, Kurk and Kurt, not to confuse. But also suppose a superpositional character of the deep web that can be in more than one place at a time. Many places, many faces, each labeled a Kurk, to cover the bases, a Kirk Wold, and a Norwegian Kurk Wold, married to Petra Wold in the 1900 census, currently a farmer who develops Seeds for Northern Climes, as well as the artist of Kinetic sculpture, Kurt Wold, known as the bicycle head banger. These and other writings diffused about the understate, as Wold's editor mentions, are not limited to Kurk, Kurt, Kirk. Superpositional identities access precognitions of themselves, unknown before the fact, or rather, are known before the fact only if believed. Because if the viewer does not believe the superposition fact, the precognition, then it cannot be proven, since to prove it means to remember it before the fact. If this seems difficult try comparing it to faith, in which many cannot master. You cannot remember before what you never knew, so if the viewer does not store the identity in the memory it ceases to exist right there.

Another background is his profession as a quantum physicist/chemist which keeps shifting from tale to tale, to be compared with those missing microbiologists of urban legend. To include the dead and the missing makes the list longer by far, but to think it stops around 2005 is naive. Let's say though that it stopped being mentioned. Of course Wold's name is not on the list nor indeed do his personal records seem to exist, which suggests they were expunged, or some other diversion. Five were memorialized here. Not ever knowing where he was headed Wold is influenced and backgrounded by Goya, Caligula, Gehry and more Blake than would be believed.

To anybody who persevered through Kurk Wold's Letters, 1, 2, as a kind of pseudo nonfiction of a hundred visions and revisions, three times as much exists in other states hidden on the internet, in the beginning the Severed Head was called BUILDING TRANSHUMAN IMMORTALS revised. It got revised but eventually two electronic interfaces disagreed and it was lost. Somewhere it existed who can doubt? Of the hundred not one remained. A caption in Status of the Soul of the World says: This from the archive of the renegade biophysicist Kurk Wold who disappeared. His papers keep turning up in amazing places as if timed ...
Alternative News 26 Oct 2012

Blurbs give that Kurk Wold worked on the NanoUber AlterBot in prison and underground, which experiments and escapes are a little unbelievable, with the science. These shorthand translations of numerical codes from the Mouser Airpark with its eight unfathomed levels in the Distortion Dome are often in the form of palimpsest.

Fragments of his writing scanned by image include Account of Three Prefaces the Trans Human Paradign Shift, and Why the Investigations of Kurk Wold Were Leaked. We're never really certain whether we have the original papers however since these are edited from translations and shorthand allusion with interpretations of image. An example of this is A Visit of KurkWold, translated from his notes by this author which could only be published as fiction, so was. Wold appears to have been incarcerated three times in private prisons run by corporations, such as in old mines, aboard ships, abandoned hospitals, but without without formal trial. Captives of gulags and their revelation are one part of the Wold story. He accounts some of it in his published letters.Wold called these mummeries EXPERIMENTS OF THE HEAD, meaning by amputation, anything that did not fit ruling assumptions. Another of his monographs, Opiomes, argued America symbolically given to Iraq (meaning Babylon) at the Obama inauguration in Denver, which he calls the Enthronement of ISIS, capitalized to indicate its fulfillment in the founding of the Syrian Caliphate.Wold was held twice, escaped thrice. This exploration of the underworld and the iconic Altar frieze of Gigantomachy are prima facie evidence to him of the giant arms.



Sources:
This purpose of science would call itself the whole purpose of existence. You would not believe that even if I said it in Opiomes, or in HistoPossum, or in the Severed Head. So I won't.
The Notes and Journals of Kurk Wold : Macro Alters in the ...Joseph P. Farrell spin orbit and torsion tensor unified field theory and torsion tensor-unify ...
The Notes and Journals of Kurk Wold : 8/1/12 · Program yourself is what controllers ...


Hybrid Beastiary, Letters of de Kurk Wold
Dream People, Konfessin Mouser K
Cosmist Checks Terran "Kurk Wold" Artilect encephalopathies AEReiff "Einstein's Head" guillotines Sophias CSLewis Devine "Nick Bostrom" "Hugo de Garis" ..
.Another, a prose version, is at Preview of Coming Attractions @ Insight Statutes insightstatutes.blogspot.com/2011/12/pr…tions.html
How to qualify an A-Head, as called, not as easy as it sounds. Einstein reassembled. Many parts and autopsied divisions false. A roster of the living too, which had such impact on Hugo de Garis he couldn’t sleep. Shouldn’t have talked to the Heads so late.
His editor, who has brought much of this confusing material to light, AE Reiff, has called the fictional persona maintained by the Artist’s Collective of the New Ibsen Canal, with no known means of contact except weekends in the courtyard, as it says that in the brochure. We have determined there is an index of this writing, and more, at Encouragements for Planting...
...this we recommend you avoid. If you must have something, he is the present editor of the Kurk Wold papers on the end of biological civilization, and other such artifacts at HISTO POSSUM TROY HORSE NEPTUNE WAR ROUNDUP, or the History Impossible World ThoughtNot Bot Roundup, a Cartoon UBoo-ty of Experiments of the Head History of the West Faerie Tale Fro Gromets Severed From Collections in A Fictional History of the Future Fan Faux NonFic Hypno, Mysto, Crypto Possum Starchitect.
Categorical Imperative: There is no human illumination only deception