I am no longer mentally ill.

I could be suspended hundreds of metres in the air, cruciform, back to the ground, looking into the pleroma, spears of light piercing wounds all about my body.

After enough time in absolute darkness, you begin to perceive ghostly images of the cave walls, as if by echolocation or extraphysical perception of touch.

I know I keep saying it but next week is actually the week I start getting high at work.

By "vow of silence" I mean my music """taste"""" only has value insofar as it fuels my own music production, and since I cannot talk about WIPs for obvious reasons, I cannot talk about any music except that which has inspired finished projects, and since I have never finished a project...

...found dead of accumulated organic solvent toxicity in a Subway on the first floor of a five-over-one, close to a neighborhood they used to call Rondo.

...everything of which is poisoned by the same worthless that I am without fundamental sight, having missed the critical language acquisition window I can only speak in a collage of copy and pasted fragments I animalistically latch onto from people who *can* see.

Gnostic cosmographs show Leviathan as a sort of spinal wire, running the length of the hierarchy between the lowest & highest levels of reality.

The archons construct the world in the image of specific orders of knowledge, shaping material reality so that what exists can be guided towards as best they can, the directives of the demiurge.