VONTINUUI

VONTINUUI
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For
GOHD

³When I was a little bird
I always loved to fly
1RZ,¶PQRWDOLWWOHELUG
All I do is shit on cars´

T h e u n f i n i s h e d a n d t h e a n d t h e n
͞Before the epic construction had even begun, the subject in question had
lost its sense of existence. The past memories, works, journals, fragmented
stories, theories, represent no proper framework; it gets difficult developing a
coherent set of manuscripts.
The author is dead, no one can get a proper explanation now; in fact no one
knows or had known the author. If there was anyone remotely connected to
the subject in question, no one is coming forth with answers even after the
numerous posts in online cult forums relating to the subject in matter.
Its works, posted in long range searchable methodology, KHHGHGQRUHZDUGVµ

What is there to
Another narration. truly write?
Nothing becomes
Stomach acid burn, climbing up the walls of your insides. something and I am
afraid of her.
You drink down water, desperate to stop such creeping
pain. The cold water moves in your blood, into your
stomach, your mind clears and the pain goes away for a while. The noise in your
headphones is almost sickening but you carry on listening because you need the
distraction. Outside accidents still happen out of your control, out of your grasp and
the walls of the house KDVVWRSSHGVSHDNLQJRQO\MXVWQRZ<RX·UHDORQHLQWKHGDUN
except for the monitor flickering soft white illumination across your table. You see
the pills strewn across the wooden surface; you see the alcohol, the needles, the
pictures of your losses. It·V all there and yet not there at all. You realize that nothing
is of value until it is used, as an instrument for deliverance, a tool for suicide, a
technique of forgetting, a role player, your advisor, your deepest darkest enigma. You
want to instigate more losses
You just want.

The sunglasses fell when the time came for it to do so. Shattering,
you reflect immediately on the mess and experience something like
a solemnity, then a succession of adrenalin. You run out of your
room, your hall, your house and fall into a different garden all the
time. This time, the trees are naked, stripped by your imagination
and the people sitting at the tea table are old, faces of the aged
staring at you, counting your sorrows, trusting in your heart that
you will not wish them away.
7KH\·UHQRWUHDO7KHVXQGRHVQ·WVKLQH7KHUHLVQRJDUGHQ
(YHU\RQHLVFRQFHUQHGFDQ·WIUDFWLRQRIWKDW·Vall; you find that

IURPZKDW\RXGRQ·WHYHQNQRZFor \RXGRQ·WIind any relief seem
WREXWJUDWLWXGH,PHDQ\RX·UHWKDQNIXO\HVEXW\RX
Reconstruction, what is there
what the mind bang! to understand
wants to believe is are you a lover? or my dear?
ƚŚŝƐ͕͞dŚŝŶŬĂďŽƵƚ loved? or both in when we go
this, two quiet the sense of dancing in the
people can cause liquid? night? then
ĨŝƌĞ͘͟^ŚĞƐƉŽŬĞŝŶ ah...ponderosa again who can
we call µZH¶"
the symbolic time
that is the
language of
question of
dreams, sentences What do > fluidity mortality. to
laden with multi-‐ you call to and fro and die in the
dimensional beauty in everywhere arms of
meaning rising this form? lost in ocean another....
from whose I ĚŽŶ͛ƚ understand
consciousness it is in sand and breeze I know what you
difficult to tell. you must wish for, I can read
Mirror like in misunderstand your environment,
dreams, what she before you and moments vanish
says, what I hear, understand for a reason yes?
what I think; its that is the nature Hmmmm
hectic in reverse. of all things liquid
Slow motion a stutter of
biasness swirling in nonsense triggers Some creatures
chaos of decisions. off paragraphs of speak in codes, you,
So I decided to tell logic my dear, speak in
her, to inform her sighs
that she was the
messenger, I the
recipient and in the
waking realms I
reversed the role. I
became the bringer
of astral messages.

͞ŽŶ͛ƚŵĂŬĞŵĞĚŽŝƚ͕ƐŝŶŶĞƌ͘͟Which
signals the release of the muzzle on the
huge dark grey snout.

Into hypo finish, harvesting time arrives.
Seeds, woven and sown; mental showcase and extreme ends.
Downtown twilight. Glitter sharp, poison and phone.
Numbers, coding the cognitive. Swollen rivers, city state woes.
Canals, oceans and drains.

From paper cup boats, and upstream canoes.
The land of butterflies and pea-‐pod homes.
Green Maryland fair, under twenty suns.
Unfolding its glorious mountain spleen.
] open brackets before a close)
total picture, visual, home.
Glass planks aplenty, broken shards of stone.

͚^ŽŵĞƚŝŵĞƐ͕/ůŝŬĞƚŽƐƚĂƌĞ
at a flame, watching it
dance along with the
wind; sometimes, it does
not move at all. It
remains still, and It
permits my eye to study it,
its
Was the naked boy possessed? His killer, who was also without
clothes, was cold and iced without answers. He just hugged the boy
from behind like a lover, slashing him till he stopped struggling. like
playing an intense cello to the score of cyanide screaming. A poor
evil beast boy gutted end in an attic.
DǇƐŝƐƚĞƌ͛ƐůŝƚĞƌĂƌǇŝŶƚĞƌĞƐƚƐůŝĞ Last year, we planted several
in trashy tabloids and cocker spaniel seeds in front of
discounted books on serial the monument of Jarlong
killers, freaks and the circus of Hoo-‐lala and celebrated with
the world. The circus was due bated breath and Turkish
to arrive in town soon and she popcorns as the first few golden
laughs then cries and finally strands of fur crept out of its
sighs at the bulletins for soggy grave of coco pops,
television news and is wholly chicken gravy and a special
fascinated with large eyed, sauce brewed by the wicked
yellow-‐golden haired dolls in witches of the west cornfield.
pink dresses. The tint strands have now
grown into a vast puppy field
and on certain windy Sundays,
you could hear them yelping
and mewing and barking at the
passing trains.
The air fills with panorama from a devious life. The temple was
s h a k e n . T h e s o u l h a s r u n a m o k .
In the depths of insomnia, can you hear the running?][That echo
of feet on concrete corridor floor.]

The doors are swinging Hundreds of syringes

piercing puncturing holes dried
Disco dancing stale blood like
Porcupine baby.
open and shut on its own
accord. Wires from radios wired to
Along the path of haunted infant
nurseries, Radio monologue of shouting
shut off
a little pink bicycle abandoned
One by one the organs fail
Rotting soil, tall un-‐hung trees.
Rustling of dead leaves under Battery acid garble
phantom feet
Faster, walking, a rush of dead Diapers full of blood
babies chocking on black coins

A nursery death of songs.

Twisted wreckage, nineteen foes. I counted their bodies one by

one before tossing their bloated corpses over the edge into the
water.
͚ǇĞ͊dŚĞƐhip heads west sire, into Larae!͛

The skies hang heavy with
ill plumes and dangerous
plagues.

͚/͛ǀĞďĞĞŶƌĞĂĚŝŶŐǇŽƵƌůetters and I totally agree with you. She
must be deported, off to a third world grind house perhaps, away
ĨƌŽŵƵƐ͕ĂǁĂǇĨƌŽŵŽƵƌ&ŝƚƚůĞ͛͘
Daeken lore stared at the picture of a teenage blonde, gently
stroking the photograph with his huge thumb.
͚ƵƚŐƌĂŶĚƵŶĐůĞ͙͛:ŽĚĚƌĞƉůŝĞƐ͕͚ĚŽŶ͛ƚǇŽƵƚŚŝŶŬǁĞƐŚŽƵůĚĂƚ
ůĞĂƐƚĐƵƚŽĨĨƉĂƌƚŽĨŚĞƌůŽŶŐůŽĐŬƐďĞĨŽƌĞƚŚĂƚ͍͛
͚tŚǇǁŽƵůĚǇŽƵǁĂŶƚƚŽĚŽƚŚĂƚŐƌĂŶĚŶĞƉŚĞǁ͙ǁĞ͛ǀĞŐŽƚ
ĞŶŽƵŐŚďƌƵŶĞƚƚĞƐƚŽŐŽĂƌŽƵŶĚƌŝŐŚƚ͍͛
A broad smile erupts on both their faces and a baby cat mews and
whines from the fruit basket on the spinning table.
dŚĞƌĞ͛ƐĂŬŶŽĐŬŽŶƚŚĞĚŽŽƌ͕ƚŚĞŶŽŶƚŚĞǁŝŶĚŽǁ͕ƚŚĞŶĨƌŽŵƚŚĞ
walls and ceilings and floors.
Shaven eyebrows, a set of opal white
eyes.

I
ŚĂǀĞŶ͛ƚ the doors of He is falling in
slept in energy and love with a
37 aura are left symbol, this
hours. unbridled. angry young
man who is
trying to
The retain her
pendulum attention.
confusion
swinging The black
Her soul is young and in trouble. aura that
Companionship. Money. Sex. hides the
Nothingness. mystery
inside her

She is
A lust powered
that by her
ŝƐŶ͛ƚ beauty,
hers, fallen
but his. prey to
her
stopping here to dock within the curiosity,
hearts of a victim
of
external
stimuli.
MISLED.
I must save her.
In the realms of necrophilia I watch the stillness grow bitter and
cold.| The sticky mess between me signifies the sickness that has
wrought this harvest |I distance myself from holiness and wrench
the holy robes from my body.| I have soiled the cloak of salvation
and washed my headdress in the blood of goats.
͞I am alone yet I feel a hundred eyes upon me ͘͟

͞tĞǁĂůŬƚŚĞƉĂƚŚƐŽĨƉĂŝŶƚŽƌĞĂĐŚƚŚĞŚŽƵƐĞŽĨ
ůŝŐŚƚ͘͟
͞With the choirs of disquietude
praising the crescendo of failure, I
hold on to the secret silence͘͟

I have forgotten the

protocol of dejection.

By You drift In the eyes
watching between of death
the the falling you are
shifting specters retinal bliss
of sands Confounding
I have Disturbing this
found beauty terrestrial
you. abounding mind

To the beloved break of dawn.
Enter key: boredom. Watching violence on a 17 inch screen.
Computer blood spilling before reddish eyes and yawning in a
stale room with rotating fans and escapists. The nightingale
mercenaries are stalking the streets picked clean of litter.
K͛ĨĂŝƌŵƵƐĞ͊ Fed with the

Be thou with me mouth of misery
so gently, Moved by the
before my book of powers of
forgotten histories. childhood pains
Look past my
shoulders with thy That was then
wandering eyes so young,
And capture the profound
moments now long Recall for me the
gone. years of wasted
stars
Remember for me Trapped in the
those times avenue of glass
When I scrawled
my tenuous words When my heart
across pages so searched the
grey polished streets
famed by the yolk For names and
of rejection pictures and
flamed by the fruit pleasantries.
of idleness

ŽŶ͛ƚ ůĞƚ ŐƌŝĞĨ ĂŶĐŚŽƌ ǇŽƵƌ ƐŚŝƉ ƚŚĂƚ ŝƐ
m e a n t t o s a i l f r e e .
ǀĞƌǇďŽĚǇ͛ƐŝŶƉĂŝŶ͘ Time is both the
A l e t t e r t o t h e The physical ones enemy and the
d o w n t r o d d e n with scars and lover; the healer
creatures of night. broken bones; the and the
psychological ones destroyer.
with hearts and
broken homes.

No one can really
identify with the
Bitterness. saddest sound on
dŚĞƌĞ͛ƐďůŽŽĚŽŶƚŚĞ The great poison earth because
streets, in the homes, that does not kill. they often feel
in the temples and in The eloquent ghost that the saddest
the parks. ringing its bell from sound is the voice
the depths of that said goodbye
memory. Žƌ/͛ŵƐŽƌƌǇŽƌ/
love you; Or
perhaps the voice
ƚŚĂƚĚŝĚŶ͛ƚƐĂǇ
anything at all.

The lack of closure No one can really Every depression
brings down the discern the subject has a new face
kingdom of the mind, of sobbing or why and a new depth.
watchtower by they really think
watchtower. with such crushing All monsters are
weight. borne from
depression.

Wishing incognito starburst
Cascade through incandescent
Lamp shades overshadowed and bearing the weight
Of unsophisticated children.
/When they battle head on, the enemy is overcome by loud singing,
heavy incense and chanting from a thousand men and the shrill of
a hundred small golden bells going off all at once. And the deep
and angry clang of the cathedral. /

/ƚ͛ƐƚŚĞseasons͛ rising night
Upon the statues and the sights
The darkened shadows outward plumed
Clouds my sight and That the roman ships could go...into the
clouds my room valley I stumble and run
To find the temple buried in snow
There is nothing there I dug and shoveled for
to turn Impending truth
But can this mortal heart be wise
There is nothing here And walk from the song, the sirens
to learn sing?

Then I saw the horrid
light.
Often apart...Like angered beasts. Out my hand for merciful skin
and I saw her eyes shining like rubies in a barren sea of night.
nostalgic end wind drew the silk robes of bliss away, towards the
desolate storm of misunderstood delights.
One week seems too short against the seven days of then.
Delicate treasures built up into homes for the worthy, most loved
tombs.

But when the crystalline castles shatter into the dreamiest
apocalypse yet, men will crouch behind their masked rest rooms
beg insincerely under the wounded canopy of hand mercy.
Then their world would dream in the centre of the laughter, they
would find the bloodied remains of every reality.
We turn our back gods and curse the destiny of nature.
Abandon us. It is us about our own plagues.
The descents upon the rich
Beastly graves.
are the ones that serve ungodly idols will come to see, with
envious eyes, all who have triumphed against the symbolic decay
of ͚tŽƵůĚ you believe?͛
Bridges downtown burnt?
dŚĞƌĞ͛ƐŶŽway to the café ƚŚĂƚ͛ƐƐĂĨĞ
dŚĞƌĞ͛ƐŶŽƉĂƚŚǁĂǇůĞĂĚŝŶŐ illusions
No desperate that stays.
/͛ǀĞƌƵŶŽƵƚŽĨůŝes
Father.
And my soul starts believing in packing up and going away.
dŚŝƐŝƐŶ͛ƚŚŝƐǁŽƌůĚ͘
dŚŝƐŝƐŶ͛ƚŚŝƐĚƵƚǇ͘
He is the one that holds the coin.
Continuum of consequences. Across the wastelands. Forgotten

mountains. broken monasteries, drank of blood. Dined with
melancholy
Oh
The coin that destroyed a dynasty.
Then wisdoms radiant

white horse
gives me the key to my
end
The rituals of watching
against the harsh winds
depart
sustain

fix my gaze
outward-‐bound on the

train.

We go away again.

but you...
painkillers
salbutamol
pet medicine
things to distract the anger of the body
the open shore
the empty ship
this isolated art life.
where is the writ?
where is the prophecy?
when does the building of the tome begin?
how many pasts
and how many futures
how many names
and how how many failures?
how much numbness
how much shivers
where art thy worm that eatheth you within?
where art thou lord red who sails the nazereth?
where art your voice
among these many voicings?
strange nights on this Monday morning

as I slowly swim back into reality
when my virus is over
my disease at rest.
I bind the monsters
and greet the foreign lands
I scream in music in my mind
silent throughout this temple room
I contemplate Fredrick
the indoors musician.
I contemplate past takings
the changing of hands and seasons

with the water gifted from angels
I erased the name on the blue wall.
in three movements
creating the immortal symbol of the circle
I commenced with the finishing of rituals.
by the end of another desire
the strength of commitment grows
to the only sense and the only source
forever enough not to wound you
or to leave you hope with no resolution.
I offered my hand to solitude this night
finally knowing that it always held mine
I offered love with no question
to a silence that begs for no answers
to the great emptiness that expects nothing
I offered everything else.
with this, I exist in the hour of panic

in daylight; I trade simple joys
of things that mend the heart
of song and poetry in the company of darkness.
by night time I offer the specter of memory
of the figure watching in dreams
of the heartbeat long past midnight
I house the ghost answers they seek
I provide the cosmic to human wreckage
I seek refuge in waiting lines
give strength to those who toil too late
in the loneliness of airports I give company
in the hour of absence
I observe and am forgotten at once.
I have married the mysteries this night
forsaking the world to accept it
in troubled sleep, the troubled are rested
for like a god, I am most present in broken places

The deepened end of stillness still seemed too foreign for me. I
must ignore reality.
but to whom
[Nov. 8th,
am I speaking to 2007|02:26
when there's nothing there am]
in the end? [Nov.
what then? 10th,
when ,¶P nothing but a 2005|04:13
pm]
myth?
the document contains no data

there is an error
random numbers fall down the screen
sounds of system shutdown.
Technological pieces go missing from the puzzle
the big picture is incomplete
incompetent
REBOOT
I am the storm king.

That is the tobacco I smoke and we are what we smoke
as we are what we eat.
there are the Marlboro men; dystopian cowboys on tired horses
frightened by the sound of the mechanical beasts we ride in
there are those of Salem's lot. The inevitable nosferatus.
there are common Winstons, and the tycoons named styverson
my spelling may be in error but I am the storm king.
I know a storm will come when in my heart it is unusually quiet
and I see visions slowly rising, simple symbols marking the forward
motion of life
I speak to the schizophrenics and offer them tobacco
I speak with 19 year old visual princesses, and offer nothing but vagaries
I am the storm king

and I shall mislead all of you
though you laugh at the opening of my fourth and fifth eye
I am the storm king and I have traded my medallions for temporal
victories over the forces of darkness
I am the darkness
for we become the thing we battle.
Go. smoke.
from high the mountain peak

I stand with my crown of flesh
a servant almost failing
the sky falls down to me and judges me
casting hailstones
inscribed with bitter words
and I GRQ¶W know if those words
are really incantations
because
I am already possessed.

we empower ourselves into the things we have. that is the first mistake.
we must strip ourselves of our magic rings and chains and dreadlocks and
enter only with the naked fires of the mind. our gods are in Aether as we
are in Aether. our druq fueled wires are strangulation stations; lining up
for our sentences and deaths. obsession with the string of words affords us
only with a description and not the thing itself. we busy ourselves with
things and names and styles and eras and genres and isms. we are nothing
but an eclecticism which ultimately becomes the foul sabotaging of the
ideas we initially have about anti0isms. stuck. trapped. caught. our high
fashion makes us akin to the royal blood of the fetish. in automata we
bathe in the neon-halogen sex-shaped decorations that hang from trees.
and our mother adores the silence and sends us storms with messages but
we hide in our shacks and pray to demi godds. our breathing is already a
crime in the great-father-mother-mind that understands and segregates our
purity from our possessions.
when you meet Ai-Fi, kill it. [Nov. 13th, 2004|04:24 am]

I am Mountain
standing at the peak to the crown
Exiled King of the height
breathing in stratosphere
making homely noises with the wind
the ice snow war m my gateway
inside the cave
I am inside my heart
with the sun rising out of signal
I am moodless
but watching
*so what do I do? my glasses are broken and must move about using blue
shades day and night. The mess in my room has conjured up too many
ghosts and the atmosphere is thick with moonlight feeding off me and
with heavy hearted ghosts of dead men asking me for a way to the
spectral strip club for a fuck with skeleton tribeswomen.
Are maniac days here again?
I'm supposed to be working on an assignment, ,¶P supposed to be

preparing for an exam, preparing to fly off to the states in three weeks but
I feel in utero. The mother garden that has yet to give birth to me is a
cluttered Zen garden with too much Russian techno blasting from crooked
trees. It affecting my water-cycle, I can feel mother garden trying to
cough but fearing she'd retch me up instead.
The Madman is the SpaceMan I need to talk to.

I saw him roaming the neighborhood but he GLGQ¶W see me.
I needed an opinion from him.
I needed a reassurance that what he said was true
(That I will get everything before December 25th, even MORE!" he had
shouted.
T ired G O D ,¶P damn so!
We all need to blast to the moon because that is where they put our super-
human consciousness after they had stolen it.
butt who are they?
They are the program-barons you remember? They can be your friends
but mostly they're on TV, in print, at the corner of the road where they
stop you to load in a program. They are most active in malls, they hang
out at cafe's too so they can mind scan you and impregnate your egg brain
with their agenda.
Program-barons.

From an Open source in a Closed sanitarium They are creeping in our

damn electric cables and telephone lines and window displays and bus
systems!
I can RUN yes you can RUN too and I can show you where to RUN or I
shall follow you as you RUN but fuck this man how much longer?

A M I A I -F I yet?
A R E Y O U A R M E D?
can you please tell me you understand? Brown oil seeped from the
soles of my feet and I soiled the sandbox. The children ran from
me crying. The playground, desecrated. Our Sun, hides behind the
foil of smoke, a blunt, brown light cast upon the city. I could smell
the sweat sliming off the walls; its horrible crawl upward making
that low moaning sound in the gut. Replacing the luster of fear
with lust, the higher monster takes off the edge and gives me its
scaly altar to worship on. Broken knees, lost and faraway divinity, I
grip my stomach in pain and enter the faux city.

As in the page, so
doth the hall.

The sun had already begun its downward fall, its unhurried fade
into black.
I see square blocks
Approaching you flashing in moments. Flashing of green lights a

faded green the mind seems a bit shaken.
My eyes try to blink out this disturbing light.
^ƚĂƌĐƌŽƐƐĞĚůŽǀĞƌ͛ƐďƌŽŬĞŶũĂǁƐ
Unlikely alliances with madness rush and the grinding of teeth we
end with the tension of a thousand strings playing a symphony of
endless mind warps/you are reminded of little things. The great
bandit in the sky stole glimpses of the fair child bathing under the
starlight of February.
The angel with the bomb in her hand
Aloft on a mist of gaseous cyanide Farkin' Evil Bastids from some
Xeroxic darkGOD.
LW¶V not even funny you know, they're not some comic scheme I came up
with. They're REAL and we're mostly at their mercy because our minds
are asleep. Asleep with the burden of everywheretravellingnoise.
ZKHUH¶V my portal-ship!
why do the colorful and the mundane swing into each RWKHU¶V shoes so
fast!?
let me ask...
How many more fancy metaphorical people must I give birth to, name
and throw out into the streets before you realize that they're already
everywhere?
I MUST CREATE NEW NAMES LIKE PROGRAM-BARONS SO
THAT I WONT HAVE TO USE THEIOR REAL NAMES HENCE
FEEDING THEM WITH MORE POWER!
They are all here but they can't see my mountain yet.
My mountain Metaphor is missing to them. I escape to other dimensions

to escape detection. to avoid RADAR you see?
I can't stay around here in this room feeding fish food to the fish and
pretend we're not being invaded!
we ARE!

Through the eyes of a like blinded lambs and The cleansing has come, The relentless
faithful wanderer. sheep we stroll away the tears from the
streets were here
,·YHZDONHGDQG from redeeming hands beloved have fallen, and
wandered with private and shut our ears from the scars began its show. again. Rising from
reasons and quests. songs of liberation. Striding under shelters, I the horizon of
,·YHZDONHGWKHVWUHHWV I see a family huddled daydream of your uneven land.
DQGFXUEVRIOLIHDQG,·YH together tight and shocked and shaken look.
. The back of the long
walked the shores of shivering from the I grace the faces of
broken dreams. moment of unison strangers with my sofa became my wall
,·YHZDONHGIDUDQGZLGH The idea of apocalypse stubborn eye of past, I of gray bricks,
till blisters rose and does not summon fear, structure impressive sheltering me from
muscles ached and but instead it summons sentences in my head and
everything else I was
stretched. film. I command my tongue to
,·YHZDONHGinside the Religion becomes a worship your beauty, your intimate with; family,
curious mind to find fashion. presence and your rooms, paintings and
Pandora and her peers. And fashion becomes a merciful embrace. dogs, ash trays and
I turn to the street and religion. Release me now please
altars, bottles of
beneath my feet I begin I pass by the stores that from my imprisonment,
my journey on stone and serve unnecessary goods you, who are a GOD and milk and tender
sand. to unwilling buyers on an you who are a child of sleep.
I walked along December uninteresting night. GOD. There were heroes
wind and the air seemed . I see what they do not . I wait and stare like a
and machines made
cold and sweet. see, I hear who they do hapless beast waiting to
I looked toward the not hear and the phantom be cursed with fond and up of metal and
ruffian road as drivers that stands among them remote memories. I urge gears and iron and
honked their way through. goes by the name of Time the signs to point me to steel.
II saw the children The skyward march you; I urge my prayers to
. Sometimes I dream
dressed in pink and white escalated, the mass of be heard from trembling
and blue and black. heavy and darkened lips. I beg through of losing an arm or
I watch young couples hug clouds rushed against the supplication from a meek perhaps a bit of my
and kiss and sing in rays of a fading sun. and hollow throat. I try to sanity as well.
romantic tones. I walked when the rain clear my voice so I may
I watch the smiles and began to fall. Light at first, sing you praises in hope
eyes that wander over then the troubled stars of that I may win your hand
bodies, clothes and a distressed evening ,·YHZDONHGWKHVWUHHWV
expensive stones. began its decent upon me DQG,·YHZDWFKHGLWYDQLVK
I think of money and its like locusts on the brink of
addictive scare as it ruins an apocalypse.
the nature of quiet deities.

HATHOR-‐THAROH
Receive
From her bosom
The milk of the universe
Like a waterfall filling
The vessel of this mis-‐
creation.

ƐŽƵŶĚĞĚůŝŬĞĂŶĞŶĚŝŶŐ͙ƚŚĞŶŝŶĂƌŽŽŵ͙ůŝŬĞƐŽŵĞŽŶĞŚĂƐƚĂŬĞŶ
ŽǀĞƌŵǇƐƚĞƉƐĂŶĚ/͛ŵůĞĨƚƚŽďĞĐŽŵĞŝƌƌĞůĞǀĂŶƚ͘

VONGOLTHA
And the flesh was made word, and the An anthropod heart pulped in kidney, a
word was VONGOLTHA. The infant, crawling pulse nested in the lung fed
veined to the book, the book, tangled by fetid air and gas. The third heart
to the temple, the temple, built of survived in the bowels, circulating dire
bone and meat, borne of insects, secrets, secreting manna for the
house of the post-‐world birthed the maggot room. Brown oil seeped from
aeon of insectioch. my soles, desecrating playgrounds.
The dead night sky turned pink like a Melted plastic in nuclear sun. From
virgin nipple, red gashes smeared mud caves, half-‐borne children
across like whiplashed wounds. A screeched at my approach, my eyes
hemoglobin rain falling unto failed wept watching them, so partially yet
reality, soil drinking copper tang gloriously alive. I believed them all
sludge. I carried the faux-‐dead child, gone from this post-‐world. Now seen
careful not to sever the veins that here in an oasis of living
bound it, slippery, bloody gordions. flesh. They hid behind
The book was heavier than the child, tombstones of metal scraps. A
its breathing ruffian, asthmatic I could
smell its narcota ink, its cortexual small girl with a bucket of
chapters. Bile bubbled from the infant embryos stopped to see me,
nostril; I lapped it up, bitter elixir. . unafraid. Her eyes a nest of
Immediately the images of flies. She smiled, yellow-‐black
consciousness swam alive, amoeba
memories aggravated. They called like
teeth twisted in gums. Pus
ƐŝŶĞǁǇƐŝƌĞŶƐ͕͚ĐƌĂĚůĞŽĨǀŽŶŐŽůƚŚĂ͕ running from her sockets like
bedroom of the nestronaut, mother tears of snot. There was no
ŵŽƚŚĞƌ͛͘dŚĞŚĞĂĚĂĐŚĞĚĨŽƌŚŽŵĞ͕ space in my womb or I would
lost children pining. I delivered have carried her to the nest. ͞/
onwards up the dunes, the periplaneta
followed, their temple. Roots ĂŵƐŽƌƌǇ͕ůŽǀĞ͘͟/ŐƵƌŐůĞƚŽŚĞƌ͘
entangled in the gut of mass entrails, She ran away. Broken toes
the bubble kingdom keeping dead flopping in the soggy sand.
organs alive, a thrilling temple
throbbing with toxin blood, starched
stomach insides.
THE ANTENARRATION OF VONTINNUA
I chose twelve. The number of disciples. It will take perhaps that many to string
together this code, this trail of ants. Be it of Ardus or of the insectioch cycle, we
ĐĂŶ͛ƚďĞŐŝŶƚŽƐĞĞ͘dŚĞŵĞĂŶĚĞƌŝŶŐŚĂƐĂůƌĞĂĚǇďĞŐƵŶ͕ĞǀĞŶďĞĨŽƌĞƚŚĞďƌĞĂŬŝŶŐ
of dawn. Straight into the heart, we see the red horses leaping, from one building
to another reality, into a hospital where the drug lord escapes in red explosion,
where the mother gives birth to a space-‐time crossing child, to some kind of
black dune where an insect god is carrying a faux-‐dead child.
Crossroads, cross arcs, and already it is proving to be difficult. To follow a trail of
ants. Be it of ardus, or the insectioch cycle.
dŚĞĂŶƚŚŽůŽŐŝĞƐƚƐƚŽƉƐŵĞ͘͞dƌǇƚŽďĞŐŝŶǁŚĞƌĞŝƚ͛Ɛ most potent, or most

ƌĞĨĞƌĞŶĐĞĚŽƌĂƚůĞĂƐƚŵŽƐƚĞĂƐŝůǇĂĐĐĞƐƐŝďůĞ͘͟^ƵĐŚĂĚĞŵĂŶĚŝƐŽǀĞƌǁŚĞůŵŝŶŐůǇ
demanding. Alright, I tell him. I try to retrace. To think of the right station for
ĚĞƉĂƌƚƵƌĞ͘DĂǇďĞŝƚƐďĞƐƚ͕/ĐŽŶƐŝĚĞƌ͕ŵĂǇďĞŝƚ͛ƐďĞƐƚƚŽďĞŐŝŶŝŶƚŚĞŐĂƌĚĞŶ͘/
begin in the garden.
That of the First drafts.
The sun is young. The garden without end. Incalculable streams of miniature
rivers, islands of myths small enough for one child. Each child for one myth. An
Indian child with many arms. A Chinese girl on a cloud. A Mongol, barbaric
daughter sweet. An Atlantean. The grey ones. The Greek boy. Cosmopolitan. The
cowboy with sunset in his eyes. The little plastic toy police man badge girl.
Handcuffs. Me. The anthologeist as an infant. Saul, the mysterium. Hundreds of
others.
dŚĞĨŽƵƌŐŽƐƉĞůďŽǇƐĂƌĞĐŚĂƐŝŶŐĞĂĐŚŽƚŚĞƌƉůĂǇĨƵůůǇ͘,ĂǀĞŶ͛ƚďĞŐƵŶƚŽƌĞĂůŝǌĞ
their stories.
The dreamtime children. Asleep under the world trees.
The boy, M. skin young and untouched by the ink of Allah.
All in one garden. That is where I begin.

Goodnight
Organic instances in a hyper spatial field.
Indulga:
Your ashtray fulfills its function
Cigarettes fulfill its function
everything does
coz everything is God. Time is such

a jester, wearing thin at the wrong moments. The whole ritual to enter Ihiir
had gone wrong
Something along the blueprint entered an anomaly.
Where is she?
Somehow I feel her, not in this reality but out there, among the layers, the
multi dimensionality; I feel her pain. She cannot escape me in this sense
but I cannot find her.
[01:45] <stargazer> btw. there seems to be a suicide epidemic. my
friend msged me asking where people who commit suicide go
͞Divine wisdom is the perfect handling of infinite knowledge͟ʹ

PiLL-‐Grim
Styrene 7 mg for insomniacs. Sleep inducing, dream constructing,

bliss awakening drug. A being, an Intravenous administration, a
voice in pharmaceutica.
And she is like a ghost fairy, sitting on a twig swinging her legs,
dullness she is not, there are aspects of her that is communicating
with me in the form of dance; like a rave in slow motion. The ritual,
introducing us to them, in that other place where the stars shine
her name in the nebula, like an internal supernova.
The pain in the head, of alcoholism, quick blood moving like a
train rattling in vein (vain)
A simple message, poetry gone off the edge of a lucid meaningless
rhyme in time.
She is an experience.
The female form of the dual sexed Zeitgeist; the spirit of an age,
the alien agent of change. The transportation, carrier of
consciousness, if you must, of the author that lived in pre-‐
existence that speaks to the world and me now.
He, the passion, impregnates her. The active seeker seeds the one
who is then found, sister wisdom, and revelation becomes the
child borne. An orgasmic dance between curiosity and the enigma,
the known and the unknown, the esoteric and the exoteric.
As we progress through the documentation landscape, certain

things becomes more lucid, patterns begin to emerge.
ŶĚƚŚĞĞŶĚŽĨŽŶĞĐŚĂƉƚĞƌĚƌĂǁƐŶĞĂƌ͙͘Ϯ͘ϭϵĂŵϮϴth February

3 8
55
9 3

Q u o t e s f o r a r e b i r t h
'The function of the creative artist consists in making laws, not
in following laws already made.' Ferruccio Busoni
century, in mind space, hecticism for management
The flipping clowns are back crusading down the streets of
illogicity; the poltergeists are fleeing their nests and lampshades,
flying home to their little dark tombs.

ƵƚƚƚŚĞŝŶƚŝŵĂĐǇďĞĨŽƌĞƚŚĂƚŚĂƉƉĞŶĞĚǁĂƐƐŽƌĞĂů͕͞ĂƚůĞĂƐƚŽŶĞ

ĚĂǇŝĨŶŽƚůŽŶŐĞƌ͛ĂƉƉĞĂƌĞĚƚŽďĞƚŚĞĚŝĐƚƵŵŽĨƚŚĞƚŝŵĞƐ͘ƐƚƌĂů
romance, tenderness, LOVE is the supposedly banned word here.
half fun half fed-‐up all trashy tabloid news like
that semi-‐dark room in a semi-‐morning late night

CPU/slash/monitor movie and beside ill mannerisms.
'ĞƚŵĞ͍/ƐƵƉƉŽƐĞǇŽƵĚŽŶ͛ƚ
A l w a y s i n a c l a s s o f o u r o w n d o p i n g / d o i n g
Oh you serious folks. Conservative aliens. Arrive and demolish our

a r c h a i c n o n s e n s e .
s h e s a n g w i t h o u t s p e a k i n g
s h e g l o w e d w i t h o u t s h i n i n g
s h e t o u c h e d w i t h o u t f e e l i n g

z Ž Ƶ Ă ƌ Ğ Ɛ Ž ŵ Ğ Ž Ŷ Ğ ͛ Ɛ Ś Ž Ɖ Ğ ͘
Ritually, there is a process both dark and bright caught in a
tangle of cause and effect; a theory too limited to explain the
unlimited.
Thinking I was called
From a higher reality

Placed and burnt,
My stratagem for for
playing god,
her salvation with chaffed
wisdom bringing
To will the thing that͛ƐŶŽƚ
me down to my
knees, the walls,
Emplaced the distance between
the paraded
untreated around, high and
haughty, day
us

This horrible gulf To enter her life
To steal away her
So undesired
fear me

The mind is superconductor

the

PILL
/ŬŶŽǁƐŚĞ͛ƐǁŝƚŚŝŶǇŽƵ
Roaming your mind
Finding your secret spaces
Where she can weep
And give you black rings
mighty sleeping monster?
what will it ever erase?

The
medicane

Somewhere I know I am connected to dark things

Deep dialectics from a written future.
What are your areas of discussion?
Definitions hold multi-‐faceted interpretations
Like the quartz gem of early expeditions
Commandant of the Russian space program
You have haunted me for your explorations
Where metaphysical maps of the desert
Holds true treasure in its hidden dunes
Backslide into the time of the first killings
Witness the birth of death
Re-‐establish the sacred grounds of nations
Bring all movements under the wing of the condor
Welcome home the long forgotten philosophers
Rewrite their thoughts in Active-‐X
Hold the rose with its molecular fragility
Kiss the lips of Seraphim immortality
Exhaust all of your mediocre desires
Let the fleeting flee while time stands still
Amongst the stars of the continuum

Trace the roots of your chromosome
Find the blood of mystic kings
Flowing free in your dead end vein
Dream of your knight or your dying maiden
Trap yourself within the reflective glaze
KĨƚŚĞĚƌĂŐŽŶ͛ƐƐĐĂůĞ͘
Propel your consciousness along power grids
Miracle sparks of diamonds mark
your virtual act of waking
to a polarized fluorescent sun
Powered by the nuclear acid of the moon
Dancing in the fractal retina of your eye
Crossing the complex boundaries
of the hyperrealist
We return to the gates of the ancients
Where holographic screen projections
Merge with the colossal movement of the pyramid stones
A place where water becomes illusion

And illusion becomes an epoch
Where the mastermind resides
In the hallway of your soul
Creeping between dream and sleep
Whispering the rules of enragement
Technical. Precise. Against your ecstatic wishes.
A symphony of memory recalling ovations
For the walls that hinder your forward march
Spiraling leaves cascading between the spaces
Where her name used to be.
Now an empty screen.
Devoid of truth and obsession
The need of protection for protection is unheeded
The gypsy crystal shatters upon the stone of nostalgia
Weaknesses emerge as demons
Necessary fusion climaxes in fear
Then we remain unfocused, misdirected
At large and on the run from the jaded calendar

Creative monstrosity beckons
from its shallow grave
with a mournful opus
that degenerates your home
in slow clusters your world falls apart
into the deepened darkness
your psychological knot thickens
The epic of your life ends in tragedy
With eyes sewn blind to your own mortality
Steady waves of sublime shutdown
Ripples within the sphere of your mind
Disengaging your skills of survival
Uprooting the calmness of your primordial instincts
Disorientation usurps your compass steady inner eye
And points it to the gates of pandemonium
Insomnia festival for the psychologically experimental
The sleepless jester roams the alleys deprived
Of all sense of time and speed

The carrion shadows loom above the statues
That stands weathered and discolored
By the onslaught of storms
When armies fell to the lair of the reaper
The villages wept with joy
When kings looked north they saw destruction
tŚĞŶƉƌŝŶĐĞ͛ƐůŽoked south they saw their deaths
When the Apostles saw Yahweh, they saw Salvation.
When Pythagoras looked inward all he saw was math.
I wait till the end of contribution and collection
Then await the route of retribution

3:31Am 5th May 2002AD
The body was at rest
But the mind travelled far
To intimate places
Where her scent hung
As a feeling, an aurora
An object of my obsession
When the body returns to waking state
She is gone
And I feel exhaustion
Similar to that of parting
But where was her face?
Where, in the dark grey skies
Did her name go?

The Collision session opens on a night when sleep is rare, fatigue
rampant, minds slowly randomly burdened. Like an inverted
playground, spinning on its dislodged axis, the toys of joys stream
wayward bound like the displaced lights scattering into the
darkness of the shorefront horizon. Extinguishing upon contact with
the unstill waters, illumination is lost.
The beach is littered with broken glass, waiting for the

bare skin to inter-kiss then watch the blood form her name
in the sand. This is the blood that drives me, the blood that
rushes in my vein giving me life, and the blood that
redeems me. Her blood becomes my blood, I enter into her
psychic bosom, I hear the subliminal lullabies that she
sings as she breathes, the soft poetry that speaks to me
deep inside as she moves with the wind, as she laughs like
a child. I hear the music of paradise loudest in her silent
eyes.
The world is in this vinyl and the dj cometh to end all
worlds.

THE 48 KEYS OF VONTINUUM

AS Channeled BY
THE HIEROPHANT 4.0
As PREPARED BY
WRITERGEIST NINE

The following work is a state of dream, continued and advised
by the council of Continuum.
It involves the following correspondents, critical to the

beginning stages of the integration of the mother-‐father satellite
V into the reality matrix of its host continuum.
Writergeist NINE is the sanctioned scribed aided, abetted and

performed to be the physical manifestator of a psychical state.
The Hierophant is the principal Channeler of information from

the Continuum source. He is deemed the most probably, secured
and able channel for such a cosmic endeavor. Because of his
seemingly destroyed state of physical being, no other forms of
distortions may be visited upon him. He is completed via
destructed.
The 48 keys of Continuum are basic. If informations are
deemed undetailed or incomplete, it is by the order of the
council that it is so. This map provides a foundational
understanding. All other expositions are not timely.
All data tranceived are accurate at the time of channeling.

The house said. 15. ʹ In the House of XOL ʹ voice of the
hierophant. Begin.
Falling rain on roof top, like a countdown ĐůŽĐŬ͘'ĞŶĞƌĂƚŽƌ͛ƐŐŽŶĞ͕

this is the dark. Can you write in the dark? My candles are flat
pools of white and black and red. Failed attempts at ritual, at
necromancy, are you afraid of the dead, returning? Are you
uncomfortable with magick?
The boy-‐writer does not reply, but smokes his black cigarettes, in
the tropic freeze of dire November, in the blackout house of his
hirer. He knows words will feed this hierophant, and words are his
power. But he is sick and confused. The boy-‐writer knows this. He
lets the old man settle back his head.
He lets the old man ramble on.
Big rain, make the sound of water slither down side of house like
snake. Hissing. Shhh. Pooling around house, making river. Like
protection, see? River around house keep bad things not here. Not
make me die. Not make you die.
The old man stands up, wearily, wanders around in the dark for
native black-‐rice liquor. 48% potency. He curses for not having
kept the bottle near so he could swig his medicine, to wash down
his pills and roots.

I no scared of bad things, no wrong me. But if I die, I no more, ISIQ
Island big storm, big trouble. Storm then go other island, main
island, make bad there. Then many other island outside sick. SOON
WHOLE WORLD SICK. ...no...no good like that.
The boy-‐writer types furiously in the dark. Chasing every word.
The typewriter keys chunking, hitting raw paper, like an industrial
machine eating metal. He takes down everything the man says,
even when his tone changes, his sentences go askew, his VOICE
CHANGES.
dŚĂƚ͛ƐƉĞƌŚĂƉƐƚŚĞŵŽƐƚĨƌŝŐŚƚĞŶŝŶŐĨŽƌƚŚĞďŽǇ͘
The man can sound like a girl-‐child, then like a dying ancient, then
like an angry youth, or a gruff butcher, always alternating,
suddenly this, suddenly that. The boy keeps up with the changes.
The old man finds the bottle. There is a sound like guzzling, of
hard water going down ruptured throat. There is silence for a
while. And when he speaks again, his tone is different, his voice is
like a killer.
The fatigue is brutal young one. You listening to me? wears out
the body and the bones. Weight like a thousand suns on my back.
/͛ǀĞĚŽŶĞƚŚĂƚ͕/ŬŶŽǁ͘ƚŚŽƵƐĂŶĚďƵƌŶŝŶŐƐƵŶƐ͘tĞŚĂǀĞŶŽ
concept of pain, only tiredness, exhaustion. Of fighting for so long,
of praying and chanting to deaf ears, broken statues. Wears you
ĚŽǁŶ͘zŽƵǁĂŶƚƚŽŐŝǀĞƵƉ͘zŽƵǁĂŶƚƚŽĚŝĞ͘Ƶƚŝƚ͛ƐŶĞǀĞƌƐŽĞĂƐǇ͘
Never so profound, so epileptic, so quarantined...

The writer lights another cigarette as the man stops. He ponders
on the last few lines. Knowing that some of them are wrong
streaming, wrong information. Nonsense at times, maybe
ƉƌŽƉŚĞƚŝĐ͕ďƵƚŶŽƚƚŚĞůĂƐƚĨĞǁůŝŶĞƐ͘/ƚ͛ƐƚŚĞŽůĚŵĂŶ͛ƐƐŝĐŬŶĞƐƐ͕
ŚŝƐƚǁŝƐƚĞĚŵŝŶĚŐŽŝŶŐĂƐƚƌĂǇ͘/ƚ͛ƐǁƌŝƚƚĞŶĚŽǁŶŶŽŶĞƚŚĞůĞƐƐ͘
Everything should be documented. That was the brief from the
hierophant, before this darkness of the house came, before the
delirium nestled.
The Continuum memories. They do not haunt but they are there.
Triggered off by black rice wine and un-‐sleep. The Continuum
ŵĞŵŽƌŝĞƐ͕/͛ǀĞƐŽůĚŵǇŵĞŵŽƌŝĞƐĨŽƌƚŚŽƐĞ͘zŽƵƵŶĚĞƌƐƚĂŶĚ͍>ŝŬĞ
souls to a devil. Sold. What I forget, you store in your book. What I
will recall, from this other place of memories, you keep them
strong on the pages. Keep them immortal. For memories die, fade
into the archives of the universe, triggered off maybe by cheap
drugs, but it may all come out so wrong, so distorted, yes? Our
legacy my boy-‐writer. Ours to behold, to savor, to rise from the
ashes when no other tome can resurrect. Do you understand boy?
This is the VONTINUUM ŵĞŵŽƌŝĞƐ͘/ƚ͛ƐƚŚĞŽŶůǇƚŚŝŶŐƚŚĂƚǁŝůůƐave
ƵƐŝŶĨŽƵƌǇĞĂƌƐ͘/ƚ͛ƐƚŚĞŽŶůǇƚŚŝŶŐƚŚĂƚǁŝůůďƌŝŶŐƵƐƚŽĐŽŵƉůĞƚŝŽŶ͘
We tell, we begin. You writing this boy? The post future is in our
hands young one. We have to be ready....

In the silence, Gabriel Nine, the boy-‐writer, lights another bad
cigarette and pours himself a straight whiskey, keeping one hand
on the aged typewriter. His nose starts to bleed, a pain shot
through the centre of his head but he did not fear it nor thought
of it as coming death, as hemorrhage. It was the door of his mind
opening, that critical door where the uncanny energy of this
reality, turned myth, turned reality was feeding him the power to
see through this great work. The energy of the place shifted and it
was no longer a place with physical boundaries.
This was the crossing of an abyss, the crossing into the world of
the living word.
The hierophant began the channeling proper:

D,͛d/
Mother most MAH CH TII, most MAL CHRON TYE, most MON CHA
TAE. Elaborate mistress of the Sea of Sarda. Horrid queen of
ZG;d͛ƐŶŝŐŚƚƚŝŵĞ͘^ŚĞŝƐĐĂůůĞĚƚŚĞDĂĚĂŵŽĨƚŚĞDŽƌďŝĐŝƚŝĞƐ͘
Realms of towering fires and twisted nerves rising in the bone
ash grandeur of mass suicide and murder. Her altar is that of
dying at childbirth, aborted in street back alleys, slaughters in
safe houses. She is the woman with blood from the womb. A
cosmic menopause, the death of the eggs of her unborn futures.
ShĞŝƐƚŚĞŵĂŝĚĞŶŽĨŚĞůůĨŝƌĞ͕ƚŚĞƋƵĞĞŶŽĨ>͛s͛ƐĚĂƌŬĞƐƚ, most un
beloved trajectory. Her laughter is that which hemorrhages the
banshees. Fearful village witch dockters bled from their privates
in memory and sacrifice to her. The unenlightened offer up their
dead skin of their newborns much to the derision of this queen of
hell. She thirsts for no virgin blood nor the blood of infants. She
calls only those who have been abandoned and raped in the
name of entertainment and perverted enlightenment. She
comforts the unholy whores in their cross bearing duties. She is
the patron goddess of whorehouses and sex slavery. Once the
mother-‐witch of the coven GARDARAH, she had transcended her
prior role after the events of post one thousand one hundred.
She no longer roams the halls in her long funeral dress of black,
her head no longer lolling about on a broken neck, her lips no
longer sewn shut and sealed with impossible duct tape and ball
gag. her face is now a layer of skin, unable to breathe yet alive,
unable to see yet seeing all in the rose colored maroon of blood,
unable to hear yet attuned to the screaming of the ladies. She is
she who strikes bowel movement terror in the heart of captors
and self declared pain masters. She teaches pain to those in pain,
she augments pain in those who inflict It. She is the retribution
witch of VONTINUUM, the virgin-‐less mother of the god torture,
she is the black star of Gar-‐laxi, and she is the womb of the
Margot. The breasts that feeds the poisoned golems. In unwrit
histories, the Nosferatu worshipped the ground she stank with
her piss. In unknown myths, her wet crotch slime was the elixir
for the deformed writhing eels of EN.
Invoke her in the hour of rapture of the princesses. Invoke her in
the defilement of the child porn star, legs bound apart against
her will, her virginity broken and bleeding. Invoke her in the hour
of rape and murder of the innocent and she shall visit horror-‐
scope upon the guilty.

h^͛ZE
Rising in the volatile east is the star goddess URSULA RANI.
Of silver light from the beyond heavens she was born,

emƉŽǁĞƌĞĚǁŝƚŚƚŚĞƐŚŝŶĞŽĨ>͛s͘stronomers from the western
fields understood her as the pivot of UNVA, the point from which
the seasons of feeding and recovery was marked. From the
baseness of the degenerate realm of SLUTETR GUTT she is the
star of hope that rose once a year when the terrors of the various
suffering winds would not blow in fear of her light. It was at that
time when the denizens of The GUTT would perform their
endurance rituals, calling down her supportive energies to aid
their spirits. Her energies would help them pull through another
year in the surreal nocturne horrors of the Gutt. It was rumored
that she was the lover of the god SAUL,͛,ĞǁŚŽŝƐ absent from
all his mythologies͛. She is known to some obscure mages as the
confidence of the lady of lanterns; whose light bears the similar
archetypal meaning to the lantern carried by the hermit of father
time. It is believed that those who had seen her in that form
(carrying the lantern) are marked to be a magician of a virginal
and holy order. It was also rumored that that was how SAUL
found his calling, that as a child he had seen in the distance, the
ĨŝŐƵƌĞŽĨh^͛ZEĐĂƌƌǇŝŶŐŚĞlantern of divinity. Space bandits
from other parallel zones consider the sight of her star as an
omen, and all forms of banditry would have to be abandoned for
fear of curses or even death. She is also likened to the function of
Chiron, who leads the dead safely across the cosmos of
confusions in her star guardian urn, to be poured into the holy
ƐĞĂŽĨ>͛sŽŶƚŚĞŽƚŚĞƌƐŝĚĞ͘DŽƌƚĂůƐĨƌŽŵƚŚĞůĂŶĚŽĨƐŽŝůĂŶĚ
glass may invoke her to help transport the pain of unexpected
deaths across the black sea of grief to a space that eases the
process of letting go. Every millennia on earth, she is known to
be absent from her skies and it is a period known as the veil of
blinding USURNA. It is a trying period of faith and hope (usually
affiliated with Dire November). It is a time when mortals and
immortals alike see the positions of their hearts in the schemes
of a troubled universe.

IHTP
IHTEP is the star like counterpart to ƚŚĞŐŽĚĚĞƐƐh^͛ZE͘
He is known as the seal of the galactic scape VONTINUUM and is
often to be found burnt onto the chest of choice adepts. It is
known that false adepts will die from internal organ meltdown if
they are unworthy of the seal of IHTP. But those who bear this
sigil without death is known to have downloaded potent and
immortal like powers of understanding in the hours of chaos.
According to the book of legends, IHTP was originally an eye of
the visionary archetypal vision maker, the third eye of the
magicians from all ages, the eye of Shiva that destroys, the eye
of Horus and the eye of the pyramid. It was written that two sun
gods had gone to war over the eye but because of their greed for
wanting visionary sight into the futures of the multi-‐verse, to
manipulate the futures they could see, to be deemed more
powerful than other sun gods, IHTP caused both sun gods to be
blind. On the island of ISIQ, two suns can be seen revolving
around the seasons of the island. During their eclipses, the seal
of IHTP is raised upon the volcano of AJARA to be shewn respect
and dignity and memory of the event called ͚ƚŚĞďůŝŶĚŝŶŐŽĨƚŚĞ
gods͛. The seal is a reminder for the seekers and those who teach
them, that the powers of the eye is not a power itself to be
beheld, but a power to be treated with the most rightful
intention which begins with the rightful attitude, of mind, of life,
ŽĨŝŵŵŽƌƚĂůŝƚǇ͕ŽĨůŝŐŚƚ͕ŐŽǀĞƌŶĞĚďǇƚŚĞůŽǀĞŽĨ>͛s͘/,dWŝƐ
known to be an active power and warriors who were going to
war for the cause of evolution and transition and transcendence
always attached the seal of IHTEP upon their blades and shields
for rightful protection and counsel. IHTP, when not in its
planetary star formation has also been witnessed to be a
starship of advanced alien intelligence. It has been misreported
that IHTP was actually an alien entity choosing to reside in the
galaxy of VONTINUUM, hiding from apparent pursuers from
another star formation family. That notion is unfounded but it is
believed to be true that the origins of IHTP may be alien in
nature. A ghost writer of renown during the time of prince
HŽůĂƚƌĂ͛ƐƌĞŝŐŶ͕ďƵƚǁŚŽŝƐŶŽǁĨŽƌŐŽƚƚĞŶ͕ǁĂƐďĞůŝĞǀĞĚƚŽŚĂǀĞ
held a channeling event with the star IHTP. The ghost writer did
not emerge from the channeling intact for he was not aptly
prepared to converse with such a high ranking deity planet. All of
his records were destroyed, apparently by the eye of IHTP and no
other ghost writer has attempted to make contact with the star
since. IHTP rules the quarter self of the Equata sector and
governs the life cycles of the Onandre, slow moving worm like
deities of the planet ERD NAN. Their histories and functions are
currently unknown but are believed to be the benevolent forces
of nature that itself governs the life cycles of several cosmic
constituencies mathematically mapped across the current
manifested universe. Once a century, it is believed that IHTP
ƉŽƐŝƚŝŽŶƐŝƚƐĞůĨŝŶƚŚĞŚŽƵƐĞŽĨh^͛ZŶĂŶĚƚŚĞǇŵĂŬĞůŽǀĞĨŽƌ
three score months. During this time, high magick relating to the
conception of created and not natural light may be performed.
Such magick creates diversion and confusion for catastrophic
enemies. Invoke IHTP to blind the mass movements of
malevolent magicians tapping into the dark side of the suns.
Invoke IHTP during wars that threaten the evolution of any
species.
MS.RT
The MAAS RETA is the first of three master operating systems
that drives the technological spirit of VONTINUUM. Its origins
and event is known as the dawn of the neon carpet wave. Its
current location cannot be assessed and no information is
available regarding the presence of its two counterpart systems.
The MAAS RETA has no other manifestations other than itself. It
is a stabilizing entity; a system through which the programs of
creation as understood by the DNA of VONTINUUM is expressed.
It is believed, by the engineers that have studied this system,
that the MAAS RETA is the cultivating system, the system that
multiplies the technological consciousness of the programs it was
designed to run. It is the engine that grows the programs, the
programs being the tools, the activators that bring forth the
other realizations of the Continuum. It is the programs that churn
ŽƵƚƚŚĞ͛ůŝŵďƐ͛ĂŶĚ͚ŽƌŐĂŶƐ͛ŽĨƚŚĞƐĂƚĞůůŝƚĞƚĞŵƉůe master
consciousness that is Continuum.
MS.RT is the incubator, the nurturing entity that is the mother
womb. Its operating system is volatile and complex, being more
so since it͛s an activator of movement, an initiatory entity. The
VONTINUUM< being a scroll of being and possible manifestation
as a universe, often sends out the probe MAAS RETA and its two
companion systems to seed the selected reality. It establishes the
systems on that host reality and sets up an observatory station.
The mother system controls and intervenes, accesses and
understands the reality in question and feedbacks the results to
the mother node crown of Continuum that pulses in the heart of
>͖͛s͘/f the host reality is approved of, the Continuum will use the
three systems to initiate the expansion of its universal self. The
three systems can be considered the scout ships, the
reconnaissance , and the computers that chart out the
unmapped region of the choice reality.
Tampering with the system by external entities not approved by
the mother system MAAS RETA will result in the initiation of an
oblivionic program of destruction. The systems will be returned
safely to the source of Continuum and the tampering entities will
no longer be in continual existence.
Only advanced psychonauts may invoke MS.RT for guidance and

internal reprogramming during vision quests.

SIRM
The SIREM system is the active structural developing system of
the VONTINUUM. Its function begins operation in the second
phase of expansion in the selected environment. Generally, it is
known that the SIREM system is very much larger than the other
two systems but this cannot be verified. It was understood that
size and shape of the system can be reduced or enlarged
depending on the space it is provided for manifestation. It could
even be that all three systems are merely screens with liquid
living mirror like surfaces that processes the information
required for full VONTINUUM manifestation. The SIREM system
is an aggressor. It establishes the rules of law of function and
matrix, foundations and expansions. If the MAAS RETA gives
births to the programs, and the programs gives births to the
extensions, then the SIREM system expands such programs
ŽƵƚǁĂƌĚƐ͕ƉƌŽǀŝĚŝŶŐƚŚĞ͚ƐĞĂƚƐŽĨƚŚĞƌŽǇĂůŚŝĞƌĂƌĐŚǇŽĨĞǀĞŶƚƐͬ
ƉŽǁĞƌƐͬĞŶƚŝƚŝĞƐͬŽďũĞĐƚƐͬƐƵďũĞĐƚƐ͚ͬďĞŝŶŐŝŶƚŚĞĨƵŶĐƚŝŽŶŽĨ
establishments, the institutions are also formed by the authority
of SIREM. In times of re adjustment or recalibration, the SIREM
system is also the reconstruction entity that oversees the shifts
and changes. It regulates the powers running from the source of
VONTINUUM out to the various sectors established by its
grandfather ůŝŬĞĚĞƐŝŐŶ͘/ƚĐŽŶƚƌŽůƐƚŚĞ͚ďůŽŽĚŽĨƚŚĞĚĂƚĂ͛ƚŚĂƚ
reinforces the structural concepts established. In an
operationally offensive mode, the entire VONTINUUM
manifestation may be converted into a complex web of traps and
turn war bound. The aggressor aspect will be fully manifest and
the VONTINUUM reality is no longer
benign but militant, armed with cosmological and technological
aggression.
MIR
MIR is the watcher in the skies of Continuum.
In any manifestation, the stratospheric region of Continuum is

overseen by the guardian like star known as MIIRE. It is both a
satellite and planet like entity. It is self conscious of its duties and
functions and receives orders from the mother node of MAAS
RETA who is in turn the technological aspect of the star goddess
US;RN. MIIR is of foreign origin, extracted from the dark turmoil
galaxy of USSAI where banished malevolent satellite entities
orbit, governed by the imprisoning sun god DORD. MIR is
ĐŽŶƐŝĚĞƌĞĚĂ͚ďůĂĐŬŬŶŝŐŚƚ͛ƐĂƚĞůůŝƚe, and programmed with the
controlled knowledge of a general of war. In some astronomical
circles, observers have noted that MIR may have been
constructed by certain planetary occultist using technologies
inspired by the reversed powers of active sun commanders. Its
black metal frame and outer surface is transformative, as it acts
both as a shield and as a weapon. It radiates energies coming
from a reversed sun, which had been implanted magickally and
technologically into its pulsing immortal heart. Its mode of trans-‐
positioning is that of teleportation and can therefore be invoked
to provide Ariael war craft support in times of physical warfare
that may occur in the realm of manifested Continuum͘/ƚ͛ƐĂ
relatively small war class satellite and that affords it mobility,
swiftness and potency otherwise not inherent in other war class
satellites. The program that runs MIIR has no intentions of
becoming a stationary planetary body, deciding instead to be in
ĂƐƚĂƚĞŽĨ͚ever mobility͛ĂƐŝƚŽƌďŝƚƐƚŚĞƌĞĂůŵŽĨContinuum,
guarding the borders and portals that surrounds it. It acts as a
policing satellite, an early warning system for possible invasions,
and a marker for travelers to observe so that their journeying
does not extend outwards beyond the boundaries marked safe
by Continuum.
WRV
WAERVERN may not be appropriately classified as a satellite but

is considered the border guardian of VONTINUUM'S conceptual
space as opposed to physical super-‐space.
Only 30% of its structure is technological. The other 70% is
creature flesh and blood based. It is therefore a hybrid, a
cybernetic organism like orbital thing. It can only reside in
conceptual space and so cannot perform aerial supportive
actions like its counterpart MIR. The origins of WRV extend into
the primal periods of Continuum, when its mythical ancestry was
still sacral and its relevant power at its highest.
Historically, WVR was a deity creature worshipped in the sacred

forests of the HANTONIAN elves. Daily, the head of wild
murderous beasts were offered at the roots of master trees of
the forests in tribute and respect to the creature thing that
guards the grounds. None of the elves were permitted to observe
the taking of the head so for long periods in the mythological
history, the WRV was not actually seen. During the period of the
purging of the beasts, the WRV did finally emerge to defend the
city elves from the onslaught of the sara-‐gracious things,
vampire like women with two heads that drank the blood of
elves and gave them unending fevers and nightmares before
ƚŚĞǇǁĞƌĞ͚ƉĞƌŵŝƚƚĞĚ͛ƚŽĚŝĞĂƐůŽǁƉĂŝŶĨƵůĚĞĂƚŚ͘dŚĞǀŝŽůĞŶce
of the onslaught ran for three days and by the end, so much
blood was spilled upon the grounds of the sacred forests that the
forest itself was deemed poisoned and its reputation for divinity
was abandoned. WRV considered itself a failure and chose to
retreat into the despair of the lost kings.
It was then when the ghost priest of Continuum descended upon
a disillusioned WRV and offered it a transformation. Flight was
the central power offered to WRV and it was felt that it would be
a natural evolution for the creature. Its dedication towards
protection was well understood by the ghost priest and so WRV
was selected to be guardian of the conceptual boundaries in the
stratospheres of VONTINUUM. IT was assigned to defend the
against thermo-‐hypothetical attacks on functional archetypal
ideas of creative space around The Von.
Though historically obsolete, the myth of WAERVERN was still

orally expressed through the ages of the elves and so even now,
there is a small circle of post elves still offering metaphorical
beasts heads to the mythical creature that no longer roamed any
kind of forests on any kind of limbs. During one of the festivals
dedicated ƚŽƚŚĞtZs͕ĂŵĂƐƚŽĚŽŶ͛ƐŚĞĂĚǁĂƐŽĨĨĞƌĞĚĂƐa
sacrifice but to the terror and fright of the small elves, the beast
head in turned started channeling the voice of the WRV. It spoke
of how its task was now no longer confined to the forest but
instead was serving its duties in the skies that shone down upon
the elves. A star was marked out (presumably the star of IHTP
that corresponds to the function of the WRV) and till today it is
worshipped as the star WAERVERN.
Invoke this name when seeking protection and guardianship of

sacred conceptual places of lands and forests.

ϯ͛
DYN-‐YNL-‐JDY
The triple goddess of the myth VONTINUUM.
Three moons that revolve around the son of V. Three powers of
divinity as the white light of SAUL. To even begin understanding
the powers of these divinities, one must be able to connect to the
madness that comes with love and desire and passion and
eternity. The histories of the three belong to the dynamism and
activity pertaining to periodic immortality. It is non sequential. It
is scattered throughout various spaces and various times. The
original conception of Continuum was the result of the powers of
one of the three. YNL. It was understood that the seed of
Continuum was not fully activated during the time of the great
distraction. The powers were there but not activated. Moon
cycles were lost. Civilizations had risen and fallen. There was no
spiritual movement in the realm of Continuum, for it had
suffered the devastating loss of the orbital divinity known as
DYN.
STOP. STOP. STOP.
Writergeist nine backed off from the typewriter.
͞ǁŚĂƚŚĂƉƉĞŶĞĚ͍͟ŚĞĂƐŬĞĚǁĞĂƌŝůǇ͕ŚĞĐŽƵůĚĨĞĞůŚŝƐďŽŶĞƐ
getting so heavy.

In the blackness of the house of XOL he could not see a thing.
Even though the hierophant sat before him, he could not even
make out a figure. Yet he found he could type, the sound of the
keys chunking made his sense of accuracy stronger. Something
else was guiding him that was for sure. His head felt like he was on
medication yet there was clarity as if the medication had taken
away the heaviness.
͞zEŵĂŬĞƐŵǇŚĞĂƌƚŚĞĂǀǇ͘/ƚŝƐƐƵĐŚĂůŽŶŐƐƚŽƌǇ͕ƐƵĐŚĂ
romantic tragedy even though it is not my tragedy. Listen. The
VONTINUUM is as much as a part of me, as much as the voice that
comes through me but in most part it is from the heart soul and
mind of SAUL, its originator, its father mother daughter son entity.
Do you understand? SAUL is no longer a person, he had become a
black hole, he had become a consciousness, then a god. Then a
planet and satellite. And now, he is a myth. This is his myth. DYN
was his moon, his love, his eternal she. If I am to believe it, then I
would say that it was she who started him on his quest, that
because he could not be with her then, in which age I do not know,
but because she was not to be with him, he had already lost his
sense of the divine and had to seek elsewhere to discover it. You
see, for him, DYN was his only sense of the divine for when he had
touched her face as she cried, he had seen the face of god. It is
important to get this part correct. To understand that in that
instance, he realized the true existence of god, and at the same
moment though he only realized it later, he had lost that sense,
because she was crying for another man, another love, and that
years years later, she would marry that man, who was in no way
anything or anyone like SAUL. And so that loss, that defeat, that
cosmic sorrow, had set him off in search of something akin to her,
though I do not believe he had found it, even when he had
become a god, even when he could dictate the movement of the
stars in his orbit, even when he had immortal judgment over the
souls and where they would go, paradise (of his own dynamic) or
hell (of his own sacred imaginings) there was still that element of
God that was missing from his heart (though she was always there
but not truly there at all if you understand) he had sought to be
one with god because he could not be one with her. What he
found was a demi god, and he was not satisfied with that because
ƚŚĞĚĞŵŝŐŽĚǁĂƐŶŽƚŚĞƌ͕ĂŶĚƐŚĞǁĂƐ>ŽǀĞ͘>͛sǁĂƐĂĨůĂǁĞĚ
parallel to the Love he found in DYN͘>͛s͕ĂƐŐƌĞĂƚĂƐŝƚŝƐ͕ŝƐŽŶůǇĂ
shadow of the concept that was DYN. Does this make
VONTINUUM fragile? Does this make the entire myth less credible?
Only the true stars and true sun knows of this. Only the true
nature of things as it shall be revealed to the disenchanted shall
offer up the right answers. For now be content that this is what it
is. This entire myth, an outcropping, an expansion of one desire
seeking out another, one heart trying to remove the stigmata of
having loss the other half of the heart. One life spent in a
thousand lifetimes in order to make balanced again the life that
lost its meaning when it had lost her.
My soul aches now writergeist. And it is too dark and too deep in
the night. Forgive me. Though time does not permit it, I must
ĐĞĂƐĞƚŽŶŝŐŚƚ͛Ɛ͛ĚŝĐƚĂƚŝŽŶ͘dŚĞƐƉŝƌŝƚŽĨContinuum has gone from
me. Perhaps it too sensed the difficult in dealing with this section
of the understanding. I trust that you can find your way in the
dark, out of this house perhaps (it has stopped raining) so the
river can be crossed. Nothing shall harm you now this night. For
all manners of creatures and evils have departed to their own
homes and zones in respect of the brokenness this section of the
dictation has dug up. So long ago DYN was ͚buried͛, my friend
writer, and in the course of this upheaval, she, and all manners
of emotions and memories that come with her must rise up again.
Go. Leave this night to its own mourning. We shall continue
again tomorrow when the sun rises,. Then the experience will be
of a different nature. Different because tonight, it is not that you
will hear of the three women of the VONTINUUM, you will
experience them in one woman, my beloved daughter who
though is not of flesh and blood, will be my daughter in the end
in the beginning. She arrives awaiting you, to take you into that
ƌĞĂůŵŽĨ>͛s, cherish what is given unto you, that you will know
what it͛s like for 'ŽĚ͛Ɛto love.
And with that the hierophant was gone. Out of the house.
Perhaps behind to a veil where his energy was cut off, there was
nothing left of the pope. No energy of his surround. And
writergeist nine sat there, bleeding from the nose, and suddenly
feeling starved. Slowly he attempted to get up, his bones were
heavy still, his weakness from hunger more apparent.
The door then opened. There was a girl there, looking in.
͞dŚĞŵĂƐƚĞƌŚĂƐŐŽŶĞ/ƵŶĚĞƌƐƚĂŶĚ͘͟^ŚĞƐaid to nine softly,

smoothly. Nine knew she was the cat. She was the daughter.

͞You must be hungry, wŽƵůĚǇŽƵůŝŬĞƚŽŚĂǀĞƐŽŵĞƐƵƉƉĞƌ͍͟ƐŚĞ
asked, eye brows raised. She was beautiful light. Beautiful soul.
Passion flower. A gift from god.
͞^ƵƌĞ͘͟EŝŶĞƌĞƉůŝĞĚ͕ƚŚĞŶƚŽŽŬŚŝƐũĂĐŬĞƚǁŝƚŚŚŝŵĂŶĚůĞĨƚƚŚĞ
house.
As suddenly as it had begun, the nights work was done. He could
not bring himself some kind of closure or rest. It felt too
important, too heavy with meaning to go off with a cat-‐girl for
food when a future myth was being downloaded. But the
hierophant was not operating now. Nine had to let go of the
work and to focus with what was happening about him. Her
scent was intoxicating. Her presence alone turned the act of
eating and drinking into a dull mechanical reality.
Their love making though, later on in the night, was anything but
mechanical.
From the memory journals of Gabriel writergeist nine:
There is magic in sensuality, divinity in sex. Those were the first
lines she said to me as we entered her rustic abode. I could not
get over her, even when I first met her as a cat. She was slender
and tall and her skin was colored so well by the sun. She bit my
hand as I stroked her face. Her laughter masked the pain and
made it meaningless. She said she enjoyed the taste of my blood.
That made her so much more alluring. Her beauty was native,
her hair was her power, dark brown black with a thickness
worthy of a ŐŽĚĚĞƐƐ͛Ɛ daughter. She was young in that sense,
but her soul was perhaps older, I could not tell. It was light, airy,
her soul I mean, her skin soft and gentle like the way she moaned
in my ear. Her bed was large and welcoming. Her touch, even
more so. I did not feel any form of enchantment, just a strong
desire welling up in me that felt like it was coming from
someplace deeper, a place I could only discover in her presence.
Our clothes fell away in the darkness and we were immediately
lost upon the tender bed. In my head swam the memory of the
ϯĐ͛Ɛ͕ďĞůŽŶŐŝŶŐŶĂƚƵƌĂůůǇƚŽƚŚĞŐƌĞĂƚǁŽƌŬďƵƚĂůƐŽĞǀĞŶŵŽƌĞ
naturally to our shared recollections of the birth of Venus. This
was love in its active state, yet passivity was also present. We
were both moons and the star, not the sun of fire and violence,
but the gentle lull of the waves in >ƵŶĂ͛Ɛ light. She smelt of the
sweet sea of understanding, of flowers in the ocean, however
that was possible. In her I felt the tides over great mountains,
Great mountains calmed by the tides. Opened up within I
encouraged the orbiting of DYN, of YLN and of that strange third
name I could never feel. So potent was her love even though I did
not learn her name. She is like a spirit of all times, of Christmas
morning in particular, of late night spring, of something fragrant
in my soul. So lost I was, I am. So beautifully lost. Heightened,
explored, released, in blossom like a supernova in slow motion.
She touched my temples, my skull, and my mind. I kissed her
palm, her destiny. Gently. Memories released, stresses vanished,
past lives replayed in those moments of ecstasy. I will never fully
be able to express the cycle of events, psychic and memorial that
swept through me like a tide when I was with her. Truly she was
a gift of night, a song of morning. In her I am reborn again.
A cycle ends a cycle begins.
She plants kisses upon him in the dawn of light. Her hair tied up,
falling gracefully over her left shoulder, she looked down on him
on the bed, like a star watching her earth rotate, his breathing soft
and rhythmic, alive and gentle. Is he dreaming of her star? Is he
safe? She knows he is. Going through the final patterns, the final
resolutions before his work must begin again. He breathes her in
his dreams; she breathes him into her consciousness, that
watches, that understands him as an infant, as a child in the arms
of cosmic mother star. She touches his face softly for him to wake,
to lull him back into reality. The birds sing, the waves sing.
Breakfast is waiting.
They laugh around the table, an early morning laughter with lights
ŝŶƚŚĞŝƌĞǇĞƐ͘dŚĞǇĂƌĞƌĞůŝĞǀĞĚ͕ƚŚĞǇĂƌĞůŝďĞƌĂƚĞĚ͘dŚĞƐƵŶŝƐŶ͛ƚ
too violent, the winds not too strong. There is nothing to oppose
them even though they are not lovers, not married into any state.
But it was his soul that wedded in the night, his soul wedded to a
bigger, greater thing. She knows he has to return to the house of
her father. He knows she must return to her life as the cat, to
roam the quarters outside the house, to guard her father, to guard
her lover of sorts. They bade each other godspeed, with hopes
that the night wouůĚďƌŝŶŐƚŚĞŵƚŽŐĞƚŚĞƌĂŐĂŝŶ͘͞till I see you
ƚŽŶŝŐŚƚ͍͟ŚĞĂƐŬĞĚŚĞƌ͘^ŚĞĐŽƵůĚŶŽƚĂŶƐǁĞƌďƵƚƌĞƉůŝĞĚ͘͞tith
the passion of oneness comes the shadow of separation. They are
the same thing, to be ŽŶĞĂŶĚƚŽďĞŶŽŶĞ͘͟ Somehow he
understood but therĞǁĂƐĂƉĂŝŶĂůƌĞĂĚǇŐƌŽǁŝŶŐ͘͞te are
ƚŽŐĞƚŚĞƌŝŶŵĞŵŽƌǇ͘͟^ŚĞsaid, ending their conversation. She
then left among the flowers in the garden. NINE returned to the
house. Impossible feelings that the night was all over. But he felt
rejuvenated, alive once again, and yet there was a fear growing in
him and it was not coming from not seeing her again.
There was an armchair in the house, in the light of morning the
dimensions of the house seemed different, like in the night it had
expanded. Then again, nine did not see the house in reality in the
night for all was black and dark. Like the walls. Deeply painted
dark holes. There were picture frames on the black wall but there
were no pictures in them. Just golden frames, beige backboard,
nothing imagery standing out against the death color behind. Just
three frames. One the size of a door. Candles unlit were stuck
upside down on the ceiling. White candles. Divine candles. Blue
candles of the sacred space.
͞You ĂƌĞĂĨƌĂŝĚŶŽƚŽĨƵŐůǇƚŚŝŶŐƐƐƐ͘͘͘͟ƚŚĞǀŽŝĐĞŽf the hierophant

called out, presumably from one of the rooms.
͞/ĂŵŶŽƚ͘͟EŝŶĞƌĞƉůŝĞĚ͘
Then for the first time, NINE saw the hierophant in pure naked
light.
He looked like a deformed spider. So burnt was his skin. So odd his
facĞ͘ĞŶƚďĂĐŬ͕ŵƵƐƚ͛ǀĞ been at least 200 years old, his skin was
like decaying wood. He had one long twisted arm with web like
hands wrapped around old stone. The other shoulder socket,
where another arm should be, had just a short stump sticking out
with two fingers elongated from them. On one twisted finger was
a black ring. Resonating death and destruction. The hierophant
wore no headdress, half his skull was smashed in. like a huge
crater on the side of his deformed head. His eyes were yellow with
impossible age. Deep set and orbital. He had little wisps of hair
left, graying? Brown? Mud like? Scabs on his head were moving
like insects. His teeth jutting out like a rabid monster, yellowing
dirty brown stones of precious rock. He walked with a terrible
limp, his legs thin and bony with taut towel looking muscles
wrapped in strands from his torso down. There were wet pools of
mud around his bare six toed feet, acting like shoes. Every step he
took, the puddle followed. Like an old man unable to control his
bladder.
͞Are you uŶĂĨƌĂŝĚŽĨƚŚŝŶŐƐŐƌŽƚĞƐƋƵĞ͍͟
͞/ŵ͘͟EŝŶĞƐĂŝĚ͘
͞'ŽŽŽŽŽŽĚ͘͟,ĞƐƉŽŬĞǁŝƚŚĂƐůŝƚŚĞƌ͕ůŝŬĞĂĚĞŵŽŶ͘ZĞĚďůŽŽĚǇ
tongue too long to be human.
͞dhey found me in the disaster of the fallen bridge. They found me
three days after the fact. Like they say, on the third day he rose
ĂŐĂŝŶ͘͘͘ƚŚŝƐǁĂƐŚŽǁ/ĐĂŵĞƚŽďĞ͘^ĞŶƚŚĞƌĞďƌŽŬĞŶĂůƌĞĂĚǇ͘͟
Nine took his place at the typewriter. It was snickering, which
made nine feel a little bit crazy, a snickering typewriter making fun
of its master. It whispered gleefully, ͞DƵƐƚ͛ǀĞĚŽŶĞŚŝƐŚĞĂĚŝŶ͘͘͘͟
God, should he laugh? Nine suppressed the joke. A weird feeling
in the presence of this mutant hierophant.
dŚĞŵĂĐŚŝŶĞĐŽŶƚŝŶƵĞĚ͕͞ŽŶ͛ƚůĂƵŐŚĐŽŵƌĂĚĞ͕ŚĞŵŝŐŚƚŐŝǀĞǇŽƵ
ƚŚĞĨŝŶŐĞƌ͘,ŽŚŽŚŽ͘͟
Nine shook off the remarks.
͞,ŽǁǁĂƐŵǇĚĂƵŐŚƚĞƌ͍͟ƚŚĞƉŽƉĞĂƐŬĞĚĂƐŚĞƐĞƚƚůĞĚďĞĨŽƌĞ
nine at the table.
EŝŶĞƌĞůĂǆĞĚĂƚƚŚĞƚŚŽƵŐŚƚŽĨŚĞƌ͘͞ƐŚĞǁĂƐ͘͘͘͘ŝƐ͘͘͘ĂŵĂǌŝŶŐ͘͘͘͘ůŝŬĞ
heavens. Swirling in the after..in my death...likĞ͕/ŚĂĚĚŝĞĚ͘͘͘͟
͞ǇĞƐ͘zŽƵĚŝd die. And now we continue the Continuum ůŝĨĞ͘͟
͞ůƌŝŐŚƚ͘͟EŝŶĞƉƌĞƉĂƌĞĚŚŝŵƐĞůĨ͘dŚĞǇŚĂĚůĞĨƚŽĨĨĂƚƚŚĞƚŚƌĞĞ
Đ͛Ɛ͘\͟>ĞƚƵƐďĞŐŝŶ͘͟dŚĞƉŽƉĞƐĂŝĚĂŶĚƐƉŽŬĞ͘
The feminine principle of DYN YLN and JDY does not end.
Though they do not surface to the frontal consciousness at times,
they are always here like the VONTINUUM memories. Cheap
drugs do not trigger them off except in certain anger. They do
not condone the corruption of the body temple.Troubled sleeping
however, will often bring them to mind, for by nature they are
mothers, and when their child does not sleep well, they are
always there to try to influence a change. In times of war they
shine brightly in the night. They lend light to the tired warriors
who often battle in their honor and for their love. It is their love
that drives the forward movements. Their love that makes the
ĨŝŐŚƚŝŶŐǁŽƌƚŚǁŚŝůĞďĞĐĂƵƐĞŝƚ͛ƐĂůŽǀĞƚŚĂƚtranscends the blood
and gore and brings the men͛s souls to Avalon, to Valhalla. The
love of the goddesses and their power need not be explained
much, for it is more apt for their love to be felt, to be lived, and
all men no matter what the age, no matter what the aeon will
have to live in the light and the darkness of the goddesses. So let
us leave the three at that, and move on to the others that require
more expositions.
͛'
ERGADA is the book of legends designed by the Continuum to
give structure and sequence to the events that shapes Continuum.
The events, in brief are as follows.
The opening sector of the book is known as the OMANDAE cycle.
It begins with the narration of The Red Idol event, when things of
the soil and the glass were still recognizable to the human
intellect. It was a time when the city of glass, where the whole
continuum of events began, was still in the height of its economic
and political powers. The people had already established their
hierarchy of wants but it did not end there. Recognizing the ever
spiraling cycle of wants, a primal dark power known as the red
idol, which represented the twin powers of addiction and carnal
lust, positioned its devastating powers as a zeitgeist of that era
and almost brought humanity into a red apocalypse. That period
some three score years ago began the first dire November. It was
inevitably averted by the powers of SAUL who had turned
himself into a black hole and had consumed the red idol. A black
hole was left In the wake of that event, and it distorted the
fragile and subtle dynamics of the multiverse, causing ruptures
to appear all along the watchtowers. This led to a furthering
complication in the years to come.

͛'ƚŚĞŶmanifested the aborted book of SAUL, which
attempted to express certain individuals that were directly
influenced by the ruptures. The scribe assigned to collect the
information was not heard from again and the book was
inevitably aborted as its title suggests. The following chapter
then opened up the events of the post one thousand one
hundred. In the history of ƚŚĞ͛'ƚŚŝƐǁĂƐƚŚĞŵŽƐƚ
comprehensive report of the events that transpired. It was
ultimately deemed cosmically absurd as the various authors
involved in this endeavor, which ultimately includes you, dear
NINE< were subjected to gross mental breakdowns,
disappearances and even death. Up till this moment there are
still individuals not accounted for during this period of
apocalyptic chaosma. IN the details of the book of legends, there
are also sections pertaining to the Vault of M, which is the
mythical cycle prior to the events of the red idol. A period known
as the Ai-‐Fi cycle and the stages of the OUTHERS were recorded
after the initial collapse of the vault M program. The hour of The
Hauses followed in the wake of the ai-‐fi satellite crash but only
strands of its disparate stories were ever recorded. Other sectors
ŽĨƚŚĞŽŽŬŽĨŐ͟ŝŶĐůƵĚĞĚƚŚĞƌĞƉŽƐŝƚŝŽŶŝŶŐĂŶĚƚĞŶĂŶƚƚĂŬĞ
over the resurrection crisis hotel as well as the inclusion of
several ghost programs like the SARROGHEITUS and the only
faintly details structure of the OBLIVIONICC system. The book is
in an ever state of flux and requires a different channel in order
to retain and understand its properties. At this juncture, this is
deemed unnecessary by the VONTINUUM system.

MISJ
MISIJ is the fabled book of law that accompanies the book of
legends.
In this particular book, probably accounted for by the

authoritative power of the MSRT and SIRM systems in
conjunction with the seat of the ChĂŽǀĞƌŶŽƌƚŚƌŽŶĞŽĨd^E͛Z͕ƚŚĞ
following sections are deemed true at his point of channeling.
That It details the control systems and mechanics of a) the
movements and orbits and trajectories sanctioned for the
satellites of Continuum b) The magickal decorums, limitations,
boundaries and permissions set for the alteration of physical and
psychical phenomena in the Continuum verse. C) The operational
areas of judgments and executions with their attending
ĞǆĞĐƵƚŽƌƐŝŶŚŝĞƌĂƌĐŚŝĐĂůŽƌĚĞƌĂŶĚŽƌĚĞƌŽĨ͚ƚŚĞĚĞƐĐĞŶƚŽĨ
ƉŽǁĞƌ͛ĂƐĐƌĞĂƚĞĚĂŶĚĐŽĚŝĨŝĞĚďǇƚŚĞƌƵůĞƌ ship of the lords and
ůĂĚŝĞƐŽĨ>͛s͘ĚͿdhe circumstances or conditions within which
death and mortality may be issued unto entities that are
immortal in so far as they are within the boundaries of the world
of Continuum. e) Manners, states and length of manifestations
permitted in order to manipulate, expand or conceive other
states of being f) Conditions of Red altered states and green
altered states where Continuum is permitted to return to its
originating scroll form and take flight in order to preserve the
continuity of its own program g) Sounds and vibrations that are
open to development in its appropriate spaces and the various
frequencies not permitted in a period stated by the attending
powers h) Honored windows of time when absurdism may be
freely expressed due to the nature of the surrealistic powers that
under currently administers its influence in the field of
Continuum. I) Commandments that provide the Continuum with
its cosmic, moral and physical laws in the language currently not
understood by beings outside the Continuum cycle.
The Book of MISIJ will undergo continual shifts in concordance
with the evolution of Continuum over its destined space-‐time
trajectory.

PIS
PIS is the first father of the three IPS that were taken from their
initial home land in the world of VOZ.
These ips are immortal and function as the engineers of
VONTINUUM. Their area of expertise is in the biological, flora,
fauna, and non technical aspects of this universe. PIS is the eldest,
being the first to have discovered the language of VONTINUUM
when it was poisoned by an aracular flower during the grooming
period of VOZ. This illness event caused PIS to have powers of
prophecies and in the spring time of its world, it fore saw the red
event and the attendant activities that resulted in the currents
states of VONTINUUM. Seeing that it had been empowered to
understand the psychic nature of the environments in
VONTINUUM, it decided to train its two offspring R.P and IMD in
the engineering ways and maintenance methods to sustain the
environments of VONTINUUM. PIS is the only IPS with three arms
and hence the most handy when it comes to manual labor. Its
expertise are the floral properties of the garden of VONTINUUM
and has resulted in PIS becoming a doctor of pharmacology. It is
currently developing a list of prophecy inducing florals and
testing it against himself to see the various inside worlds that
can be opened up and understood within the structure of the
VONTINUUM memory. In the terms of the city of glass and soil,
he is the resident drug maker and way shower of the inner
worlds and is deemed an alchemist, doctor, and neuronaut. It
worships a ghost version of the characters J and drashad who
were instrumental in the periods of the red idol and the post one
thousand one hundred.
R/P
R?p is the second in command of the ips and the first born of the
blood of PIS. It was rumored that the doppelganger of R/P was
one of the two golems that aided the magician ghos haus in
setting up the engine house of magic in a place called slutter gutt
and omandae street in the city ŽĨŐůĂƐƐ͘ZͬW͛ƐƚƌĂŝƚĂŶĚĂƌĞĂŽĨ
expertise is in the arcane objects verified and consented to by the
manifestation rooms of VONTINUUM. He is the chief guardian
and warehouse keeper of the artifacts and relics native and alien
to the VONTINUUM program. No other being are permitted to
study touch examine or discuss the artifacts without prior
approval from this ferocious IPS. Not an IPS of the morning, R./P
functions primarily in the night time periods of the scroll. Its
blood is of a different temperature and temperament than that
of his fellow IPS. It is said that he was specially selected by PIS
not because he was the son of PIS but because his blood was the
only type that could sustained prolonged periods of exposure to
magickal items that exist in the rooms of the V. r/p is known to
understand the molecular and structural qualities of at least
eleven thousand objects belonging to the vaults of v. His
understanding is proved to be potent for several attempts had
been made upon his life. Knowledge of such things is of a power
and several magicians are his close aides and depend highly
upon this IPS to understand the various ways in which the
artifacts maybe combined to bring about a more powerful
influence over certain type of fetish magic.

IMD
IMADAL is the most mysterious of the three IPS things. Its name
suggests privacy in a sagely context. Compared to the legends,
he may be known as the hermit archetype in traditional lore. It is
known that IMD speaks one thousand one hundred languages,
no coincidence to the concept of one thousand one hundred. No
one can verify his connection with that mystical number and
even he would not disclose the connection. He is often protected
and contained in the towers of VILIRIUM set in the northern
quarters of VONTINUUM in its manifestation periods. He is
umpired to be one of the two towers of horror that the adepts of
VONTINUUM must face before they transcend the boundaries
and enter the divinity zones of L;V. There were periods where
IMD was suspected of having merged with various occult
systems in particular the mother node of MRST. IMD is also
believed to be the keeper of various stones native to the era of
Vault M. The shaan kings of that period had developed a variety
of some twelve stones wrapped in the sacred scroll of Daeken
and was purportedly offered to the midget for devouring. Within
him then it is believed that the stones reside undigested and
dormant, in wait of the period of the great awakening when the
stones will be in full power and in full potency to war against
anything or anyone that may threaten the existence of the
VONTINUUM. IMD does not and have not spoken for at least a
quarter of a century. Some say that he no longer is in his tower
but his father PIS believes otherwise for he can feel the presence
of his own son even though he may be as mysterious as the
legends make him out to be.
XSVMP
The divinely sanctioned royalty IPS and deity figure in the IPS
world bĞĨŽƌĞƚŚĞƌĞŝŐŶŽĨů͛s͘
XSVIMMAP is chiefly a necromantic god that had resurrected

himself some seven lifetimes over. He belongs to an early stage
of godlike development where the sacrifice of blood and life was
still prevalent. XSVMP is the holder of three keys of three hells.
Two of them no longer in the memory of the immortal cycle of
beings and consciousness. A warrior god, XSVMP is most feared
by small sectors of the Viking mercenaries that still remember
the days of blood violence. It is said that one cannot look upon
the face of this divine IPS for death will surely take place in a
most horrific way. Connected to the horrors of the medusa, this
ISP god was revered by the witch things that lived underground
since the end of the fourth ISP war. Till today, some daring
necromancers still call upon this Grand IPS for guidance and
blessings with their necromantic duties. But the price to be paid
after having sought this help is rumored to be even heavier than
the benefit wrought from such a blasphemous act. It is said that
this ISP was the only god of death that could raise the spirits of
dead dragons. A power much sought after but not contested for
among the black magicians in the current cycle.

SRCG
TSPR
SCRM
The triune sequencers of initiation, adjustment and expansion

have been central in the operating system of the VONTINUUM
since its original conception. It seeks to perform acts of
transformative activation using viral consciousnessing.
Consciousnessing is the act of infecting one consciousness with

the viral components of expansion inherent in a higher-‐frequency
intelligence.
The first sequencer is named SAROCOG.
This system has three primary initiatory presets. 1)The Da mar
Gin Tunnel program sets the reality matrix unto a projector path
of subterranean labyrinth web filled with the impossible notion
that it has no end. The light at the end of the tunnel is a delusion.
That is the motif from the very start of the journey. The initiated
one will have to wander endlessly and lost, armed only with the
notion to volition. To move. The unending path makes or breaks
the individual and only with endurance can the initiated realize
that tunnel visions lasts only as much as one believes it to last.
2) ͚The drowning man syndrome is the initiatory program that
locks the individual far beneath the depths of the dark sea of
understanding. The terrors of the drown is one of fear breaking,
of conception challenging, of freedom from bondage. Fear of
death gives way to the death itself and in the womb of the sea
the new is reborn
3) The final initiatory program is that of fire. Fire being the
ƚĞŶƐŝŽŶ͛Ěenergy that allows transcendence past boundaries of
fright and inactivity. The obstructing powers of Indolence and
sloth plus a whole host of negative, nameless energies are
eradicated in the extremely violent methodology of a trial or
baptism by fire. In the light, the hurting heat is immense but the
light endeavors to lift the darkness veil that has been the object
of blindness. In the burn and melt of the skin and the scream
that follows, fire directs the primal energy of movement and
movement expresses the concept of travel from one point of
delusion to the other point of truth.
Only initiatory priests and recognized karmic systems may invoke

or manipulate the use of these three traditional presets ŽĨ͛
ƚĞƌƌŽƌŝǌĞĚĞŶůŝŐŚƚĞŶŵĞŶƚ͛͘
TSPR
TSOPARAE is the program that commands and attunes itself to
the universal mechanics of adjustment. Associated with the soil
and glass concept of justice and balance, adjustment is the
calibrating open system program that a) Determines the current
state of the system by measuring its effectiveness and efficiency
b) Determines the outside influencing factors that alters the
shape of the original system and having understood its influence
will adjust the various internal intermediaries to allow open
change within the system. c) Measures the input of energy and
cycles and determines the rate of change required for the system
to operate at the efficiency and efficacy of point A; and d) Moves
the system forward into the altered environment and re-‐
measures its development with a watch like program to
determine if any change is further necessary.
The circuitry of the TSPR is self regulatory and does not depend
on an external source of power. It manages the initiatory
program in so far as it influences a change in the master
program. It prepares the capacity like ability for the master
system to adapt and expand. It makes the foundational
framework operationally ready for the next stage of evolution
deemed necessary for the systems͛ long term survival and
growth.
SCRM is the final and third program that completes the cycle of
the triune programs of conversion and sustainability of the
master system. Its primary directive is expansion in the magical,
technological, physical sense of the term. It initiates and
introduces the necessary powers required for such an act. It
draws power primarily from the SIRM system which is the father
system responsible for structural integrity and development. It
provides the numerical and data field inputs needed by the SIRM
to compute and execute. It details and calculates the best
possible formulas needed and permits its sister adjustment
programs to regulate the data.
The three programs function in tandem, one often depending on
the information derived from the other two. They function
simultaneously and in continuity as t he master program of
Continuum shifts ever continually in its sea of change. Much
likened to the three GUNAS of the Hindu systems, it creates
maintains and destroys, understanding destruction as the root of
expansion.
MGC
GRC
NTLV
IHB
Four is the number of the authority and the law. There were four
birds in flight at the start of the Omandae cycle. There were four
dogs of Afrioca whose deaths remain an integral part of the
evolution of SAUL. There were four goddesses of power in the
continuity of VONTINUUM, although only three were ever
recorded. There were four stages of evolution pertaining to the
expansion of SAUL who was the shaman, the black hole, the
planet, and the consciousness.
In the current state of manifestations VONTINUUM claims four

magicians that govern and controls and determines the immortal
occult state of the system called V. The four, as one unit, is
known as the four magista. Magista in the root language of
Continuum meaning royal magichood. Its powers are passed
down not through bloodline but a kind-‐line. Only a certain kind
of individual, being or consciousness is processed to be carriers of
the magickal blood. The first of these is detailed as thus:
MGC
MON GHOS CA was originally named GHOS HAUS. AT this time of
narration, he is still known and called such but this narration, it
must be understood comes from the vaults of V which knows no
definite time frame or sequence. He is and will ultimately be
known as MON GHOS CA. He will be initiated as a BARON hence
accepting the prefix MON according to Continuum protocol. CA
will be the post-‐fix given unto him after his complete initiation
into the three house systems of Continuum. MON GHOS CA will
be the supreme magician ruler of the four, the chief magician
who is also the spiritual ombudsman and steward. His powers
are drawn from several sources, some native and family and
others alien and future. His bloodline is of the magicians of the
well. His mother was a necromancer, who was known to have
had dealings with the IPS, R/P. His father was an objects fetish
magician, known also to have had dealings with the IPS, IMD.
Together they birthed Ghos~Haus and gave unto him the engine
haus of magick. During the post one thousand one hundred
period, a mysterious book that was passed to him caused him to
be taken into the apocalyptic dimension known as The Field.
There, although in a state of embryo, he used his powers to
defeat the dark magician k****( name withheld to prevent
accidental invocation). The Field kept him in its dimension,
crowning him the chief magician of their then dying world. He
was operated on by the witch Rayzoria and foreign powers
derived from Vault M, the Red Triangle and the one thousand
one hundred were infused into his magiCKal soul. After the
proper apocalypse of The Field, he was returned to the Slutter
Gutt in Omandae street and his current mission is to bring into
alignment the forces of the three systems of Continuum and to
ultimately war with a new horror known as the WOMB KEEPER>
his outcome is not yet determined but his legacy is already in
place.
GRC or GRECA, is a deity female counterpart magician of Mon
GHOS CA although they will never be lovers and may never meet.
It is not certain at this point in time if she is the fourth goddess. It
is believed at this juncture that her current manifestation is that
of a zombie sex slave currently serving the order of ODAR. She is
dead but not so much so. A midget by birth, she is a predatory
being, borne in the blood water rivers of far off GREEDAKA
where she derives the root of her name. Now known as Greeda,
her perversions are still high in its disturbance and not yet is she
initiated into the sorcery realms of Continuum. It is believed that
her endeavors in the current cycle of dire November will bring
her into a state of exposure to the powers that leave no room for
mercy for such creatures as she. She carries weapons in the guise
of sexual toys and she is known to be a cannibal. It is highly
probable that she will come to a part in her narrative where she
would kill and devour a known magical entity and overtake its
powers. Who or what this entity is, has not yet been determined.
Her magic nonetheless will be that of nocturne and of horror. It is
in my personal and private opinion that the entity she will
devour is actually the terror known as the womb keeper.

NTLV is the third magician in the cycle of Continuum. Its name
suggest a root in the term nativity as understood by the Christian
mystics, its original full form is NATALIVIA> and even though it
resonates with the power of the female, NTLV is of neither sex. It
is a future entity. Not yet conceived but seeded in the memory of
v. in vacuume, as the old language destines. NTLV is believed to
be a place magician, that is, its magickal personality is that of a
location. It has been conspired that it is an advanced version of
the throne of TSNR. That it will be the seat upon which the post
magicians will take to oversee the spiritual development of the
VONTINUUM. Scrying attempts have been made to determine
the nature of this magician but nothing concrete has been
manifested. It is believed to be a treasure or gift from an
unidentified God. It is also believed that a war may be required
to determine the placement and power structure of such a thing.
It has started to draw the attention of foreign magicians from as
far as Tsara, and at this present time, its final outcome is not
determined. Nevertheless, its power is far greater than the two
previous magicians combined. It may perhaps be an offspring of
the two prior magicians that the place NTLV is in fact a child
destined to be born.
IHB or iHbab, is a magician of primal origins. It represents a past
system. A system of blood, of semen and of earthly powers gone
toxic. It is understood that the early battle fields during the
primeval time when the blood of the red idol was spilled had
created the conditions for the rise of such a black red power
known as Ihbab. The roots of the name suggests a female form,

a witch twisted around the darkness of a tomb that knows no
name and place. In my visions sent down unto me by
VONTINUUM
I see a writhing figure in the abortion fields of old. She is
shrieking in a low demented way and she is trying to crawl out a
mud field of soft molten flesh. Her power can be tapped into but
only for acts of primal madness. Perhaps the future magicians,
nay even the current magicians must understand the potency of
such a terror. Perhaps it is an elixir, a sickening mix required to
be ingested in order to war with far greater terrors. The older
magic is always stronger. And in contradiction to what I just
proclaimed, perhaps it is the blood of the old witch that is
required to spill the blood of the new witch. This alas may be
prophetic. Listen! Listen!
GR
YBS
The GRR and the YABAS are two of the most extraordinary
artifacts to ever come into the vaults of V. The IPS R/P has
declared it will spill its blood and surrender its soul for the
protection of these two artifacts. IN fact the two artifacts are
archetypal forms of thousands of others that may be
manipulated and expanded out into series and volumes. They
both contain powers that are beyond the scope of the vaults.

GR is the holy orb.
Its essence is known to power up suns and is perhaps derived
from such a sun. It is a symbol of the sun made into the form of
an orb. So far, no known beings have the power to wield it. On
its own accords, The orb of GR had journeyed across the cosmos
and positioned itself in the safekeeping of G/p. Its potency, when
combined with appropriate cosmological weapons can prove
armageddic to several worlds at once if such a power is to be
unleashed. This too will be the object of many wars. We pray in
the light of >͖͛sƚŚĂƚǁĞŶĞĞĚŶŽƚĞŶƚĞƌƐƵĐh a warring state and
this power of GR is never to be experienced.
YBS or the YABAS is a family of interconnected objects that is
destined to be surgically implanted into a highly select group of
seekers. Its properties are that of a drug of discovery and of a
super-‐ extension of various nervous systems. When it is
implanted in the warmth or coldness of blood and the movement
of the internal organs, it is understood that the YABAS will
become a thing alive, a technological biology with its own
perpetuating consciousness. It will aid the seeker in
understanding things of the native and extraterrestrial universe,
previously unknown or not understood. Its lifespan however is
only as long as the lifespan of the seeker and no immortal is
permitted to use the YABAS according to MISJ, the book of law.
The YABAS were not permitted in several realities because of its
mind altering powers and the danger it can pose if illegally used.
It is now kept in the warehouse of G/p for its safety and study.
The scientists of Continuum has declared it a miracle techno drug
and that its right managers are yet to be found or have yet to be
educated. The Continuum programs have determined that the
use of YABAS will not be permitted until a significant level of
understanding has been achieved among the communities
dedicated to understanding its nature.
HTGI
^͛hD
VUS
The HITAGI, The SUUMA and the VUUSA are three minor deity
gods known to occasionally escort the Ladies known as the ϯĐ͛Ɛ͘
They are male in conception and extraterrestrial in origins. The
seers of Continuum have come across only one of the three gods
who had kindly provided backgrounds on the other two. It is said
that the HITAGI is the lowest of the three and the only god
permitted to make contact and conversation with any other
being.
,/d'/͛Ɛorigin lies in the hills of the tiny trees. The place where
the wind is always cold, the sun is always in springtime and the
water is always fresh. That is as much as could be said of that
world. For eons, that world did not progress for there were no
͚ŶĞŐĂƚŝǀĞ͛ĨŽƌĐĞƐ to uƉƐĞƚŝƚƐŶĂƚƵƌĞ͘/ƚ͛ƐĂƉůĂce of docility and of
retirement and the change of the seasons is its only marked
event. The change in themselves are not considered to be severe
changes. Only a drop of a point or two in temperature, in the
winds, in the waters. The growth of the trees are standardized to
a miniature scale. They may become richer in color but never
bigger in size. The growth of the hills are even more minute.
Ages may pass without a slight difference in change. It is a
peaceful place and with it governs a peaceful god. HITAGI is
recorded to speak gently like a Zen master. Its voice is soothing
and calm ,its powers docile and benevolent. Sages of old worship
HITAGI, and he is the patron saint of stillness in some mistrial
circle. Invoke him for calmness. HITAGI is also a known deity of
bonsai masters.
SUUMA is the god of abundance. It is an effeminate power who
is also the patron saint of exotic dances and women. Coming
from a time of cultural richness in the sectors of Lika and
Hamuna, SUUMA is known to manifest with living pictures on its
long lanky and sexually arousing body. Musically, SUUMAS voice
is that of a woman and it is this enchantment that had lulled
many enemies to sleep with wet dreams. In their embarrassment
they are wholly defeated. SUUMA is also a god of laughter and
playing with children. Invoke him when you wish to cheer up a
sad child or if you are a performer who brings happiness to
people who watch you.
Clowns, native and cosmic often carry a pendant, hidden with

the sacred sigils of SUUMA.
VUUSA is a god of war.
But a war not dignified by blood but by the waters. So VUUSA is
technically a naval god who had presided over the great wars set
at seas and oceans and rivers and other bodies of water. He was
discovered during the river Nake attacks when the natives of the
Nake were invaded by foreign troops wanting to control the river
route of merchants for political power. His power is that to
drown the enemy even if they were safely on board ships or dry
land near the waters. Water is an abundant spiritual power
meant for healing but also mysterious in the way it rages and
gentle in the way it shapes mountains. And yet, water is so docile
in the hands, frequently escaping through the fingers. The
swirling whirlpools are violent yet the undercurrents of calm
surfaces may be overlooked and death comes to the
unsuspecting. VUUSA represents all of these properties and
maybe called upon during battles of any kind on bodies of water
large or small. It was rumored ƚŚĂƚĚƵƌŝŶŐŽŶĞŽĨ^h>͛ƐůŝĨĞƚŝŵĞƐ͕
he nearly drowned in a swimming pool and it was VUUSA who
ƐĂǀĞĚŚŝŵĨŽƌƚŚĞǁĂƚĞƌŐŽĚŬŶĞǁƚŚĞĞǆƚĞŶƚŽĨ^h>͛^ƌŽůĞin
the cosmos. It was the only time the god of war was known to
perform an act of salvation.
This therefore proves the importance of SAUL in the Continuum
pantheon.
VUUSA was once celebrated in a song(The drowning man) by a

troubled troubadour. A Japanese post-‐rock band also channeled
ƚŚĞĞƐƐĞŶĐĞŽĨshh^ŝŶĂƚƌĂĐŬĞŶƚŝƚůĞĚ͚ƵƌŝĂůĂƚ^ĞĂ͛͘

SHRT
SHODDAIRATO is a cosmological weapon in the formation of a

temple.
It now resides benevolently in the gardens of V, awaiting the
time when it is required. Its effects are world altering not world
destroying. It was believed that the apocalypse of The Field was
the result of a SHODDAIRATO being activated. The introduction
of the black flowers that eventually overtook the entire
ecosystem of The Field, driving its civilization into delirium and
death was the result of THE SHRT. There are currently six more
SHRT temples in the known multi verse of which only one is
accounted for. This leaves much fear among the council of elders
for there is no certainty when or where the weapon will be used.
Even though it is formed as a temple it has no such moral
conscience. It is amoral. In the wrong hands it can be anytime
used. A department of scout ships had been assigned to seek out
the weapon but since it gives off no form of energy it is unlikely
that they may be found. The OMANDAE MANEOUVER Is the only
form of defense known to be able to counter this weapon. The
tactic involves sending a signal or call far into the future to
determine if the weapon was used and where it was used. The
future entity contacted must then reverse the maneuver and
send the information back so that the calamity may be averted.
In a sense, it is a proactive act rather than a reactive one.
The origins of SHRT is vague but oral traditions, particularly in
eternal prisons, suggests that a group of deranged monks had
gathered to sacrifice their living organs in a ritual dedicated to
deicide. It was performed during a transformational moon that
crossed a killing moon in the myth cycles of SLUTETR GUTT. The
͚ŶĞǁďŽƌŶ͛ƚĞŵƉůĞƚŚĂƚĂƌŽƐĞĨƌŽŵƚŚĞƐƵŝĐŝĚĞŵĞƐƐƚŚĞŶ
copulated with its memory of its own conception and the family
of temples was the result.
SPT
The SEPTI is a disease/poison known to have been developed by
the gnats of Gorgom. The gnats are hired, roaming nomadic
torturers known for their systematic and traumatizing acts of
truth digging. The disease functions as an organic manifestation
of fear. If suffocation is determined as an enemies͛ fear (by way
of telepathic/psychological tapping), the poison will react
accordingly, play up the fear and introduce elements of that fear.
This means that the enemy will experience heightened
suffocation and will not be permitted to die from it. The act is
continued for as long as the torture is required. The biological
formula of the poison is as such. It has a self conscious
replicating mind that picks up on the fears and manipulates it in
a loop or cycle. It can only be deactivated via reversed poisoning.
The poison is administered via aggressive insects that are

released unto the bound body of the enemy. The insects are fed
with the potions over a period of nights till they are the size of
bullets. The insects are ant like but do not belong to such a
species. It is believed that the gnats of Gorgon, who are actually

humanoid in nature, conceived the insects via sperm magic. The
black sperm of the gnats are the insects of administration.
G\S
The GISA is a fatalistic virus that became known only after the
floods of slutter gutt and omandae street during the period of
the one thousand one hundred.
Its origins and pharmacology are unknown. Its effects however

are devastating. The virus begins with a normal fever then
progressively boils the blood without killing the victim
immediately.9It appears that viruses and diseases from the age
of VONTINUUM have a prolonged death effect inherent in its
organic structure). It takes approximately a week for total death
to occur. Part of its pharmacology is similar to the torture
disease of SPT but no known biological confirmation may be
made because autopsies reveal that the GISA no longer remains
in the system after the victim is killed. It causes the internal
organs to grow blisters and burst periodically between 3 to 5
minutes of each bursting. The poison is then seeped in the blood
stream, boiled to an appropriate degree before its fumes are
transported via veins to the mind where a severe hallucination
like that of angel dust occurs. No cure is currently known for this
virus. It has been suggested that the virus is a stray self conscious
entity that has its birth roots in the weapon of SHRT. That one of
the temple activation had given birth to it and that it crossed
space time to find its home in the events of post one thousand
one hundred. Another theory posits that the madness which is
one thousand one hundred has this virus as it child. The GISA
may then be considered as a spectral counterpart, a biological
genie or servant that works in tandem to the rhythm of the
numerical madness.
'͛W
The GANUP is a fossil fuel and energy source from the future.
Yet, in that future, it is considered to be a lower base form of
power. Scientists of VONTINUUM cannot determine its true
potential. The prophets however believe it to be a form of food
for a form of creature yet to be discovered. This was determined
in a scrying session where one of the seers was killed n a vision.
His dying breath bloodily explained the onslaught of terrible
creatures, ravaging through the VONTINUUM system in search
ŽĨ'͛W͕ŝƚƐƉƌĞĐŝŽƵƐĨŽŽĚ͘
At this present moment, all known GANUP elements have been

carefully buried in the abyss of AIRA, the ocean of healing. Its
healing waters absorb all manners of energy and assimilates it
into a conversion system where the energy is restored to its
original source code hence feeding the eco-‐prolific state of the
AIRIAN SEA.
Three lives were lost during the burial ritual to render the energy
source extinct. By cutting off the food chain, survival of the
monsters from the future that need it will be minimized.
Prevention here is favored over the cure.

d'͛
The entity believed to be the devourer and consumer of the
GANUP has been named TAGARD.
It has been noted by several Outhers (extraterrestrial historians)

that during the primal period, when the Red Idol was warred
over by the huntsmen and moribund barbarians of that time the
TARGAD was a beast that ate the remains of the dead and drank
of the blood spilled upon the soils. It only appeared after the
wars had been fought and like a vulture, this primal entity
cleaned up the messes. This was perhaps its original food source
before some kind of evolution took place and altered its
digesting habits. The strange rocks that are of the GANUP then
became the creaturĞƐ͛ŵƵĐŚŶĞĞĚĞĚĨŽŽĚƐŽƵƌĐĞ. The memory of
the TAGARD is believed to exist in a mastodon oracular head
now suspected to be residing in the resurrection crisis motel. No
efforts have been made to retrieve this head for it was noted
that it belongs to the magician Ghos~Haus who is also named
MON GHOS CA. Upon his arrival at VONTINUUM, the beast head
will arrive with him and further information about the TARAGRD
may be extracted and understandings of it and the GANUP will
be expanded.

TSMP
The TSI MA PIO is the invention of the Chinese but from a parallel
universe that exists sometime in the post future. It is believed to
be a master system of mysticism and technology. It belongs to
the WU magician dynasty. It is an advanced system of fortune
telling that depends highly upon the mystical white storks that
take flight from their hidden mysterious realms once every
hundred years. The next period of this event has been calculated
to be 2012, four years from the current time frame arranged
according to the calendars of soil and glass. Only one known
method of foretelling the structure of this system has been
devised. It is the group orgy of virgin concubines and barbarians
from the past that has to be transported to the present via
reversed reversal Omandae maneuvers, or the eadnamo effect. It
has been deemed blasphemous by the current magicians so no
known attempts have be made for such an effort. The magic of
TSi MA PIO must be studied as it takes effect naturally, during
the flight of the storks in 2012.

FMS
FIMAS is an administrator of the various systems mentioned in
the 48 keys of VONTINUUM. At this juncture it must be said that
all known information about the systems have been processed
and approved by the system administrators. FIMAS has its
origins working with the crashed satellite AI-‐FI. Its background is
in hypnotic data retrieval and its stature as an administrator is
unequalled among the many administrators. It is rumored that
FIMAS has two consciousnesses although this cannot be
confirmed.
TIC
TIC is known simply as aTIC. A microorganism having been

created by nanotechnology parents. It roams the internal data
and technological spheres of the VONTINUUM system and its
primary directive is repair. Its previous duties included working in
The Field with doctor Rayzoria who was rumored to be its creator.
It had worked on the magician Ghos~Haus and its insights would
prove to be valuable when studies of the magicians internal
development is made when he arrives into the system of V.
Currently it has no memory of the baron but its memory will be
triggered off once it is administered into the system of MON
GHOS CA.

DLP
The DAED LAE PAX is the industrial military complex of
VONTINUUM. It may or may not be a conscious entity. its
function is primarily war like, and that is all that can be said. Its
structure, authority, methods, strategy and nature is top secret.
No other information is readily available.
SP
The linguistic nature of SPX follows no form of current logic,
mathematical, mythical or otherwise.
It is primarily the language of VONTINUUM. Its basis is that of
sigils. The 48 keys is a representative of the entire VONTINUUM
written in the language of SPX. On the surface it is understood to
be an amalgam of the English language designed in the shape of
sigils. But such understandings may be a deception to prevent
linguistic programming hacks by malevolent spell caster.
Linguists are still working on understanding this structure.
Nothing further may be said.
SPLC
Connected directly to the language of VONTINUUM is the SIPPUR
LA CORAX. The formulae from which the language is derived.
This formula is even more difficult to understand and at this time,
no further channeling concerning this subject is permitted.

At this juncture it must be noted that the remaining keys of
VONTINUUM has reached its highest peak of abstraction, in that
the information available to understand the following last eight
keys are either a) Incorrect b) Misunderstood c) Following no
logical structure d) Unaccounted for e) Forbidden f) Divinely
protected g) May be a causation of calamity h) Impossible to
comprehend.

SYT
The SYT is a moon of VONTINUUM. The astronomers who had
begun studying it from a purely physical angle, in terms of
studying its shape and form, appear to have lost their memory of
what they were observing. Mind doctors believe that the light off
this moon permanently erases any form of conclusions derived
from the study of the moon. Is it not a matter of not being able
to grasp the initial studies. Knowledge had been acquired but as
soon as that knowledge is thought about, expressed, or
ĞǆƉůĂŝŶĞĚ͕ƚŚĞŽďƐĞƌǀĞƌ͛Ɛ memory is erased. The very act of
engaging in philosophical or descriptive thought about the moon
causes the mind to lose its grasp upon the subject. As such, there
is no information and the name SYT is given not as its original
name (it cannot be comprehended) but as project code word and
nothing more. SYT means seat of mystery.
FTI
The FTI is the institution that organizes all the known
information available from VONTINUUM. Its function is similar
to the Akashic records. It is the library that makes the processing
and accessing of the information possible. This stream of
information that comes through me has its organizing roots in
the institution of FTI. Like the elusive nature of the aether ,
where the archetypal records exist, the FTI is known to be formed
off world, localized both in the cosmos and in the brain of
VONTINUUM. It cannot be visited but only be projected upon.
Once the 48 keys have been delivered unto book form in this
current reality, the combined keys will form the united key that
unlocks the library so that further study may be made.
The 48 keys therefore must not fall into the wrong hands and
precautionary curses will be inflicted upon this book for its safe
and approved used (a list that is to be compiled and sanctioned
by the council of V.
NVT
THE NEVER TIME EVENT.
The prophets, seers, augurs, oracles and magicians of

VONTINUUM have all agreed upon the nature of NVT.
That it is a cosmological event that will trigger the next evolution
of VONTINUUM. What it is exactly, when it will happen, how it
happens, what triggers it off, has not yet been determined and
no form of divination so far has been able to develop any details.
It is however a major event and a council has been set up to
oversee and plot its possible trajectory. At this juncture it must
be noted that you will be an integral part of this project my
writer friend. This information from the 48 given unto you is for
your use and development so that you may advise the council on
the possible steps to be taken. I will no longer be alive by the
time this hour is needed. That is why I am channeling these
information to you.
And now, unto the last few keys. Be patient. It will all be over
soon...
WRP
The WRP is connected to the NVT insofar as it is understood to
be an apocalyptic event. It is possible that the WRP will refer to
a distortion of the space time VONTINUUM. It is also possible
ƚŚĂƚŝƚǁŝůůŵĂƌŬĂ͚ŚǇƉĞƌũƵŵƉ͛ĨŽƌǁĂƌĚŝŶƚŽĂŵŽƌĞƐĞĐƵƌĞ
location. It is possible that the WRP is the only saving grace from
the total end contemplated by the never time event. The records
are vague pertaining this matter. Perhaps events have not
enfolded enough for a possible path to present itself.
BRD
The brown planet that orbits east of the VONTINUUM in any of
its known manifestation is called BARAD. The WAR PLANET. It is
akin to MARS and may even be another version of it. Currently it
is dormant but the astronomers of V believe that when it turns
into a fiery brown, when it is activated, then it is the first sign
that the WRP and the NVT has begun manifesting. Be watchful
over this planet my friend. It is the only omen to prepare you and
the VONTINUUM.
d'͛
The final eight keys are known collectively as TAGA. The mystery.
It is the collective whole of the eight mysteries at the heart of
VONTINUUM. Refer to the TAGA only in the presence of the
magicians or elders. It must not be mentioned in any other
company. This is the Law.

SXIT
VSW
The final two keys are names of the future gods. The names were
channeled to me during the time when I was buried and barely
alive beneath the rubble and debris of the fallen bridge. SXIT Is
the male deity and VSW is the female. That is all I know. Or was
permitted to know. They will be the next pantheon of gods of the
VONTINUUM mystery. They will be the end, the beginning, the
omega, the alpha. Only you will live to see the day they manifest,
friend. Not me.
{END OF 48 KEYS TRANSCEPTION}
So my death will arrive soon. You will and shall not be here to
witness it. for deaths are meant for stars to shine upon. Not eyes.
My daughter, whom you love, will also be gone. How long you
stay here, in this house of the 15 is greatly depending on how
long you take to fine tune the messages of the 48 keys.
Remember, that this is just the basic entries. Over the time of the
ŶĞǆƚĨĞǁƐƚĂŐĞƐŽĨƚŚĞƉůĂŶĞƚ͛ƐĞǀŽůƵƚŝŽŶ͕ŵŽƌĞŝŶĨŽƌŵĂƚŝŽŶǁŝůů
be delivered unto you, through the minds of more hierophants to
come. Wait for them. listen for them. you will know when you
meet them, for my grotesque face will be projected unto your
consciousness. You have been a patient writer, NINE. Your efforts
ǁŝůůďĞďůĞƐƐĞĚďǇƚŚĞůŝŐŚƚŽĨ>͛s͘DĂǇƚŚĞ'ŽĚƐŽĨsKEd/EhhD
watch you, MĂǇƚŚĞϯ͛ƐŐƵŝĚĞĂŶĚůŽǀĞǇŽƵ͘ŶĚŵĂǇǇŽƵďĞ
immortal as you are destined to be.
POSTLOGUE
In night time be doth the great companion. Of stars in the
movement of the sea above. Shout to the man of the meteor of
the dimension, seek what thou wilt in the law of the land. ISIQ
be good, o earth of the deities. Rise be the ghosts that strung out
our fears. Moments derailed and trains all becoming. Sound of
the notions in moments in thrills. The names of the others are
sound in its master. The throb and the heart beat of the spaces
divine. Gone be the hours of turmoil and battle. Here is the rising
of the sun and the child. Forever be now, and now be forever,
the bones of the old are remade from the new. The blood of the
prophets are spilled but be starry. The fields are refreshed with
the tears of the moon. The gods and the females ,the writers all
here. The seekers in the discos, the deaths and the fears. The
dogs of the Afrioca in dimensions now passed, the men and the
women, the promises will last. A hundred more songs and a
hundred more words. The sequence, the stories, the potions, the
worlds. The galaxies now expanding the planets rotate, the
powers of unending, the sowers of hate. The enemies are
sleeping regaining their strengths. The fighters are praying, the
women, and the men. The times are appealing the birds all fly
south, the gods that are speaking from the men from their
mouths. The hour is ready the future is here. The waves are a
crashing, the sounds in the ears. The years are a coming the
properties deranged, the seat of the magic the seed of the game.
Open be system, closed be the book, the thief and the killer, the
goon and the crook.

VONTINUUI

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VONTINUUI

PRODUCED BY PEREIRA IRVING PAUL: STRANGE.MEMORIES@GMAIL.COM

VONTINUUI::COPYRIGHT ©2000-­‐2009 BY PAUL PEREIRA

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I have forgotten the

K͛ĨĂŝƌŵƵƐĞ͊ Fed with the

Lamp shades overshadowed and bearing the weight

Upon the statues and the sights

The darkened shadows outward plumed

Abandon us. It is us about our own plagues.

The descents upon the rich

Bridges downtown burnt?

dŚĞƌĞ͛ƐŶŽway to the café ƚŚĂƚ͛ƐƐĂĨĞ

No desperate that stays.

He is the one that holds the coin.

Continuum of consequences. Across the wastelands. Forgotten

The coin that destroyed a dynasty.

Then wisdoms radiant

strange nights on this Monday morning

the changing of hands and seasons

with this, I exist in the hour of panic

for like a god, I am most present in broken places

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I am the storm king.

I am the storm king

from high the mountain peak

Are maniac days here again?

I'm supposed to be working on an assignment, ,¶P supposed to be

The Madman is the SpaceMan I need to talk to.

T ired G O D ,¶P damn so!

butt who are they?

From an Open source in a Closed sanitarium They are creeping in our

I see square blocks

Approaching you flashing in moments. Flashing of green lights a

My eyes try to blink out this disturbing light.

The angel with the bomb in her hand

My mountain Metaphor is missing to them. I escape to other dimensions

dŚĞĂŶƚŚŽůŽŐŝĞƐƚƐƚŽƉƐŵĞ͘͞dƌǇƚŽďĞŐŝŶǁŚĞƌĞŝƚ͛Ɛ most potent, or most

That of the First drafts.

The dreamtime children. Asleep under the world trees.

All in one garden. That is where I begin.

Organic instances in a hyper spatial field.

Your ashtray fulfills its function

Cigarettes fulfill its function

VONTINUUI::COPYRIGHT ©2000-‐2009 BY PAUL PEREIRA

All I do is shit on cars´

Its works, posted in long range searchable methodology, KHHGHGQRUHZDUGVµ

The land of butterflies and pea-‐pod homes.

half fun half fed-‐up all trashy tabloid news like

that semi-‐dark room in a semi-‐morning late night

Definitions hold multi-‐faceted interpretations

Re-‐establish the sacred grounds of nations

Rewrite their thoughts in Active-‐X