Today psychopaths and schizophrenics are running around looking for the golden eggs of the lost dinosaurs. They peer behind the trees, turn over the benches, rip the leafs from the trees and burn the earth. Prying eyes look with the need of greed the want of lust and the urge of fulfillment. Every blade of grass is cut low leaving it exposed to the intense rays of the sun to be scorched for the shiny reflection that waits in anticipation. Around the corner and under the bridge the blue unicorns and purple jackalopes skip across the ashes of paradise drenched with the blood of their past meal.
These are the days of the Statist, believing in illusions and delusions willing to sacrifice children to glutton the stomach of death. They call themselves teachers, preachers, judges, congressmen, presidents, policemen, and so on and so on. In reality they are delusional fools, rapists, thief's, and murdering psychopaths who wear fancy coats, dark robes, shiny badges, funny hats, and blood stained shoes. The paper is holy, the pen is magical, the words written cast the spell. Citizens bow down to the written decry or the boot will be placed to your neck and the knife in your back. Titles and costumes surround the stage as the game is played, but who designed the board and what are the rules? Ah you dare to ask questions, shame shame now you will be labeled and soon disabled as no one dares question the tool.
But don't fret as your voice will be heard, just don't dare speak, your concerns will be taken, just don't dare complain, your life will be saved but only for the last breath. It is not theft if done by the many, nor rape if voted by many a dick, nor murder merely war.
On paper magic lines are drawn from theoretical here to the theoretical there. The names are placed and the boundaries are defined. One name against another the game will begin as the lines clash on the whim of the mystical pen. It is day one, with the smell of death in the wind. The days of the past are no more for it is now the clock shall begin. This is the world of fiction, where the players are but a few psychopaths, and the pieces a many bleeding fools saturating the fields of earth. The game is nearly over and it is time to tally the score.
The words have been written, the readers selected, the interoperation decreed rules. If you are wearing one of the many costumes with fancy hats or dark ropes strip down and make your decrees, for you are defiantly sane. A sane man knows of no mystical pens nor magic robes, for the artificial is powerless. So stand bare defending your holy words and precious maps for they are not your delusions, you are sane. You are not a mere pawn in the game but a master player with insights of strategy and knowledge of the rules. Leave your skin bare with no shame nor hesitation for truly the state is real, and your magical power is divine.
The many are but fools indoctrinated from birth to be blind to life only seeing what is dead. How did it come to be this way? I say it is the image that was put in your head. I invite you back to reality, it is were we shall go if you choose to be part of existence. Reality a most splendid place where the motions and emotions of objects in space, passing by and through each other, reflect the light of existence creating true presence. Life is the option, to be or not to be, that is the question now, now is forever.
There exists only one authority and that is the authority of the one. The one is the only, all else is only a collection of the one come together to appear to be the many. No other has, or will have, what Man has if you chose to take possession of it. You are the one and only authority of you, take possession of yourself. Possession of me is mine, and thee is thine. The law is natural, defined by reality, not by he or thee, nor the two or three.
Mankind please join me in reality it is where you were intended to be.
