The following is a collection of log

entries dated between 2017-2019 which

acts as a suitable prelude to Clyssus of
Man.

To Come
November 1, 2017

Over the coming week(s) I intend to post an assortment of unfinished texts

and fragmented thoughts/admissions dating back from the past three months.
Most of these were meant as Facebook posts but, for one reason or another,
ended up being scrapped or forgotten. Additionally, I may be making available
the preliminary draft of my autobiography (at least in part). More will be said on
this as a decision is reached. This blog is intended to function as a personal
exercise as well as just being a sort of information dump. Dealing with a fever at
the moment so I’m not really up to explaining its purpose right now, haha. But
from this you can expect something more casual, emotional, imperfect and
intimate than my website and other accounts.

The Refusal to Supplicate

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 November 3, 2017

There are many of us who refuse to ask for aid from others. Some would
attribute this to “pride” or “integrity” in some form, however, I would contest that
self-respect is very rarely at the root of such a stance. Instead, I would say it is
most frequently adopted in aversion to indifference and incompetence—that is,
the fear that others will not care, or that they are ultimately incapable of doing
anything about it. I am one such individual who has taken this extreme stance in
life. For twenty-six years I endured my every personal burden in silence behind
the curtain of mine own devoutness, believing it was better to suffer by my own
fault than by the fault of others. Through my darkest years of life I refused to seek
out help from “friends”, “family”, and/or society on the whole (of course that may
have been handled differently had I known anyone I could really call a friend or
loved one at the time). This has even affected my willingness to seek out medical
treatment as I feared to find that our physicians were no more qualified than the
lot of us when addressing serious concerns of health.

In my particular case, the refusal to grieve and complain is more complex than
a simple matter of aversion and relates as much or more so to my desire to set
an example and be an encouragement to others. Most persons unfortunately lack
the means to distinguish between a negative experience and a negative attitude
in others. This leaves individuals like myself, who strive to be a positive influence
yet live an extraordinarily unpleasant life, in a confusing position and ultimately
feeling they must cater to the uninformed. Yet after so many years of doing so,
the uninformed are no less ignorant and here I have denied myself a proper
catharsis.
This will be addressed separately for the sake of avoiding tangles.

Towards the end of 2015 I made it my goal to improve on my ability to trust

others with the darker tones of my portrait. I did all of this believing it would bring
me closer to others and allow me a healthier outlook.
I will be sharing with you the outcome of my experience in an upcoming post.

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 Seven Faces
November 18, 2017

Some arbitrary compartmentalizations to aid those of you who could use

some help in navigating my discography. I may rewrite this at some point since it
is very crude (and somewhat more negative than I want it to be, although I’m not
sure if there’s anything I can do to change that). Again, as ever, I ask you to bear
in mind that the following describes events from a decade past.

01-06: The Embryo (Organolepticas to Sororal Satans)

I first wish to make clear that albums one through six were originally created
under a different moniker and never intended to form an actual project or see
public release. These albums are better termed compilations which gathered
together all songs from a given month onto a disc. For example, “The Perfect
Swarm”, released in September 2007, was just a CD-R burned at the end of the
month featuring standout songs recorded in September (and in several cases,
like Sororal Satans, I would include older songs just for the sake of having them
on CD at my convenience). This format continued on for the first six song
collections.
In the beginning, this project was more or less just an emotional outlet for me
in a time when the fraternity was restricting my ability to express my youth and
sentimentality. The lyrics are whimsical and highly metaphorical and what I would
all style over substance. Still experimenting with style at this point so albums can
be very inconsistent.

07-10: The Fontanelle (Floor of a Flood to The Gredients)

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 A brief and very hazy chapter characterized by stark atmospheres, overtones
of disorientation, and a sudden increase in emotional depth.
Floor of the Flood, the first work to be released since my departure from the
fraternity (as well as being released just two days before my breakdown), is
considered to be the first “true” Tendon Levey album, despite being labeled as
the seventh canonical song collection.
This chapter ends with The Gredients, an album which documents the
beginnings of my opium addiction and my “coming to” after two months of
catatonia.
Lyrics are very confused and introspective, made more difficult to decipher by
the presence of oft-conflicting vocal counterpoints. Metaphors of gestation and
birth are very common. The vocals are very weepy and emotional, sometimes
bordering on “bluesy”.

11-22: The Imp Child (Uhh Usst to Rice Water)

An adaption period in which I struggled to regain my sense of self and looked

to music as a canvas on which to recreate my identity. The lyrics are often vague
and cryptic and focus on addiction, longing, personal mythologies and social
seclusion. The music is weak and at times sounding somewhat forced as
emphasis was then being placed more on expression than melody and
songwriting.

23-32: The Unhinged (Shrinking Zeal to Candlelike)

The singing becomes more incoherent and careless, resembling a child and
often sounding as though I simply don’t care. Instrumentation is strange and
rarely euphonious, incorporating lots of experimentation. Lunacy and
experimentation tend to overshadow the songwriting. Lyrics revolve around
revenge, homicide, betrayal and self-pity and are performed in a delirious fashion
that I would describe as being simultaneous lethargic and hyperactive.
This period was spurred on when, while attempting to reach out for support in
my overcoming of anxiety and agoraphobia, I was betrayed by my former closest

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associates—Patrick, who stole/plagiarized my work, and Florentin, who used the
situation as leverage and attempted to blackmail me (referring to a nasty
situation with my former fraternal advisor who attempted to restrict my musical
expression due to how it reflected him and his group).
Neurosis becomes all-too apparent in my delivery and what may be perceived
as childliness and flippancy was in fact reflective of a regressive psychological
state brought on by my inability to properly confront (or bear the responsibility for)
my overwhelmingly violent thoughts and desires.
My behavior in this period is the cause of great shame, knowing that I allowed
my illness to integrate with and influence my identity structure. These feelings of
shame and regret likewise affect my ability to enjoy the music created in this
time, even though there were some good things to come out of it (although I’ll
admit that a couple of these albums just seem ridiculously inane to me now).

33-39: The Sorry (Man Made Clavos to Benbenet)

It is in this period that my physical health took a sudden plunge and the
condition of my throat forced me to temporarily adopt a more croaky, robotic style
of vocals (yet all the while producing more emotion than the majority of previous
releases).
It was the longest night of my existence, carrying over the animal mentalities
from previous chapters and adding body horror to the batter. The two did not mix
well and just kept feeding off of each other in a most horrendous cycle of
hysterical conversion. I have experienced more uncomfortable and dangerous
incidents since then in my life, however I continue to see it as my “darkest hour”
(or “the winternecine”) due to my being in the wrong mindset to confront my
deteriorating physical state.
My skin turned gray and cold, my throat closed shut, my tongue turned silver
and metallic and my semen turned black, leaving me to suspect that I had
already died (this suspicion may make more sense to those who understand the
specific entailments, real or mythologized, of a rivcorvpeu-arary bond, which
contributed to this bizarre outlook; though the symptoms I was experiencing were
more accurately explained as resulting from poor nutrition and rabid psychogenic

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illness).
I spent these three months of my youth prostrate on the floor begging and
bartering and howling out to whoever or whatever would bring me to back to life
as a human child. It is at this point that the role of music within my life sees a
change from passionate recreation to an utter necessity—my only means of
survival—and takes on a very different tone as a result (which is not to negate or
deemphasize even the role of passion in these works!)
Lyrical themes revolve around isolation, depression, suicide, madness,
monstrosity, desperation and winter. I derive minimal enjoyment from music
created in 2009 due to these horrific associations.

40-52 The Romantic (Sexless Carcass to The Room of Burglaryable Spirit)

2010, on the other hand, would be a very different matter. Upon realizing just
how powerful a positive outlook could be to a positive outcome, themes of hope
and love and tenacity become prominent as I attempt to pull myself out of the
hole and seek healing and recovery. The maturation of my outlook expresses
itself in the gradual maturation of my vocals and song structures.
Whereas I was previously more focused on relieving my emotions, achieving
catharsis and more or less recreating my mindscape in music/art, I now become
more interested in creating pleasant and melodious songs. I become more self-
conscious/self-aware of how I might sound to others and repudiate the lunatical
format of yesteryear in the belief that I would soon be singing duets with my
muse and that I must create something that could work appropriately as a duet.

53-60: The Moribund (Cry But Why to Countertorch)

Hopelessness and desperation once again become prominent themes with

the return of winter, though now with more fortitude in my expression and less
hysterical behavior.
Alcohol dependency becomes an issue following the events of September
2010, often requiring me to perform multiple vocal takes. The vocals become
more breathy, as well as being generally more polished and the song lengths see

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an increase. The baritone vocals are further developed, becoming an integral
part of the music and adding an element of depth to the mix.
I suffered somewhere from six to eight muscular pulls in different regions of
my throat between November and May from vocal overuse/abuse. The first
transpired on Thanksgiving and left me unable to sing for ten whole days. Upon
returning to sing, I pushed myself too hard and too fast and lost it again, this time
for almost three months. Even after all my struggles with health, the reality of
losing my voice had never occurred to me. I panicked, unable to view the
situation clearly due to my idealism. Seeing my voice as something being “taken
away from me”, perhaps by “fateful circumstances” beyond my control and not
something that I was damaging through my own habits and actions, I pushed
myself harder, attempting to record as much as humanly possible before “the
inevitable end”, and subsequently rushed headlong into my own demise.
The addition of a sampler to my music helped steer my work into a new
direction, like that seen on The Stomachic Chariot, but it was not fully explored.

Mascherari
November 21, 2017

In January 2010 I created a few “imposturous” side projects to serve different

utilities in my life, from fooling the public to taking a break from my Tendon-y ego
and pulling a sort of artistic paradigm shift. This would often help to recharge my
creativity and/or motivation (which is funny considering these projects regularly
involved deliberate attempts at creating uncreative music in a sort of stealth
parody style). One of these projects was Mascherari (“mask-makers”), an
alternative rock band with gothic and post-punk (and British/Australian?)
overtones “led by vocalist Bauta”. It was all done for my own amusement and I
didn’t take it seriously as a project at the time, seeing it as a vague and deranged

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homage to “Diesel and Dust” era Midnight Oil, though I sometimes wish I would
have taken it further.

The influence of Mascherari did later enter my main project, with the so-called
“Bauta” voice cropping up in songs such as “Bat In The Wall”, “After This Ride Is
The Date Today” and multiple others (especially concentrated on Lord Testing
and Chameleon Silks).

So here are some of the Mascherari tracks—the majority of which are just
unfinished, improvisational sketches which I put together in fifteen minutes or
less and never returned to (as well as some gibberish and a few somewhat
cringe-worthy vocal gargles from before I had a proper idea of what I was going
for). Free download is available!

The Toreadors
November 21, 2017

On the topic of stealth parodies and imposturous side projects, here is yet
another project from January 2010—this time the psychedelic pop project The
Toreadors. No vocal effects were used, but I did alter the timbre and up the
distortion just a little in an effort to disguise my voice.
My listeners may recognize some of these melodies, being that they would
inspire other songs in my canon, i.e., Hunger Pains became Times Will Orbit, The
Kind To Beg inspired Lonely Birds’ Tocorchage, To Have A Better Sleep inspired
Blushing Burn, and there is a hint of Warmness in Gifts For You.
The lyrics are very embarrassing to me, to be frank, which is why I never
posted this sooner, haha. I was still quite hung on the plagiary at the time and
purposely sabotaged the songs lyrics in an attempt to ward off plagiary. It was

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also, in my mind, a way to keep my fake projects from being embraced more
than my main project, which would have bothered me quite a lot at the time. After
posting all of those neutercanonical compilations recently I’ve become somewhat
numbed to the embarrassment, hahah. It is what it is, and I tell you, it was great
fun, just like Mascherari. And as with Mascherari, this isn’t really an actual album
to what extent it is just an incohesive collection of demos and taste tests, but I’ll
spare you of the explanations since it’s all becoming just a drone.

Baby Bone
November 23, 2017

In February 2007 I moved into a secluded little house in central Virginia. The
house was notable for being surrounded on all sides by a dense and disorderly
curtain of trees on an otherwise well-landscaped street with very few trees. I was
immediately drawn to it for the fact that it resembled a sort of "haunted house". At
the time that I was moving in, the house was entirely empty with not a trace of
the previous tenant, with the exception of a single photograph found in the attic. It
appears to be a very old photo (like >1940) and shows a ghostly, dead-eyed
baby biting at a pearl necklace (and seemingly levitating mid-air) and in the
backdrop can be seen some run-down house or shack. The photo and its frame
are so large I just don't see how it is possible that the original owner could have
forgotten about it, so I always figured that it was left intentionally.

All I know of the previous tenant is that his name was Bone. He refused to
show up for the meetings with the realtor and I never got to meet (or see) him
personally, which everyone thought very strange at the time, but I continued to
receive his mail for years, enforcing the impression I have of him as some
unusual and mysterious individual. It's been posited that the baby in the photo is

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actually Bone, and the similarities between the names Bone and Tendon have
been joked about.

I don't take it too seriously, and I find it funny more than anything, but I would
sure love to be given a better understanding of the situation.

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 Tooth and Claw
November 26, 2017

Those long yellow nails and rotten teeth mentioned in my bio? I still have
them. I keep them in a small pyramidal trinket box alongside a shark tooth I
pilfered from Lajos’ house back in 2007. These weren’t even the whole nail
clippings. They were so long I had to go at them with a pair of scissors.

I’m sure it may seem bizarre that I would do this, but all actions are with their
purpose in my world and it is not always readily apparent to others what purpose
it may serve. I went without clipping my fingernails from mid 2011 until the
beginning of 2014 as a preventative measure taken to prevent me from playing
music. I knew that if I picked up a musical instrument I wouldn’t be able to resist
the desire to sing, and if I continued to sing in my condition I would surely die of
asphyxiation. Even knowing the consequences, the desire and temptation never
lessened, and thus they continued to grow. The difficult part was writing my
autobiography like that!

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 Preliminary Autobiography Draft
November 28, 2017

I have decided to begin revealing the contents of my biography, bit by bit.

Being still in the preliminary draft stages, it is not even close to being completed,
and I honestly don’t expect that I will ever manage to complete my book given my
circumstances. I will be releasing the contents in their current, incomplete state
because, as much as I enjoy finally being able to share my work and my history

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with the public, my recent achievements and the individual I have become are
underrepresented if not neglected utterly as I devote all of my time to describing
my foolish youth, and this is not without unfortunate psychological ramifications. I
simply wish to move on with my life, in a sense, because I’ve just so many things
I’d like to share and having this huge back-up of information is surely interfering.

That being said, I will have some comments and disclaimers to make with its
release. More will be said shortly.

Most Holy Imago

December 5, 2017

[The following post assumes that you have read the “Origins” page. Otherwise
it is of little sense and worth.]

Some time in my latter teenage years I had the following dream:

The setting was a loud and bustling ballroom-type hall wherein there was
dancing and drinking and masquerade. In the center of the room there was a tall
and beautiful staircase, and on that staircase sat an aloof jester-like character
who observed through the rails.

I would periodically catch him watching me from afar as I made my way

around the event. Yet whenever I would approach the staircase he would turn his
face away with at least part of his face being purposefully obscured at all times.

Another notable detail is that he was seated not at the top of the staircase; no,
for at the very top one cannot gain a view of the crowd (due to the walls of the
upper floor). This is how I understand it anyway! Instead he sat at the highest

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point where he could also watch the event.

I once overheard him offer help to someone requesting directions and noted
that he was both very wise and very cordial—two things I might not have
anticipated from looking at him. However it was quite clear at the time that he
was covering the lower half of his face, most likely to prevent me from
recognizing him.

I was already well enough into my practice as a hypnognostic at this time to

realize that he wasn’t a floss. He was sentient as I, myself. But it would be years
still before I realized him to be the Idem, my Most Holy Imago.

A decade ago I came across an image of some game character who I

believed to resemble this figure on the stairs. I see I’ve still got that image on file
(I’ve added a filter to it). Of course this is not identical, but it does project a very
similar aura, if you will. Can be described as “jester-like” without also suggesting
any sort of humor.

I wish I had drawn up some portrait on my own, and I hope I haven’t

cheapened the concept with this photo. Oh well, that’s not how it turned out.

Edit: I thought it was Final Fantasy, but it was a game called Phantasy Star
Online.

What Is It!
December 7, 2017

“What is it!

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 It could be your typical three-quarter, open-face cycling helmet.
It could be a blood-drenched geometer.
It could be a crab with dimidiate chelae.
It could likewise be a woman . . . but I am sincerely doubtful that she is
anything like my type.”

Keep Silence
December 8, 2017

It’s been six months since I last spoke a word. It isn’t easy to accept that I am
back at this point so soon, on a psychological level. This time around, however, I
realize I do not miss speaking. I don’t miss it at all.

Progress
December 16, 2017

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve been stealthily posting chapters of
my autobiographical draft under the “THE CHASTEST” tab in the site menu over
the past two weeks. I have so far released chapters 2007 through 2011,
accounting for the timeline that corresponds to my musical career.

If you do end up reading what I’ve written, I would encourage you to first read
the “Information/Disclaimers” page as it contains a few bits of info that may aid

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your understanding. The page will be updated with more information in the near
future, and I will also be adding photos and sound bytes to the chapters to make
it a more visual/sympathetic experience.

I just want to express how relieved I feel in this moment. I feel myself liberated
to a degree like not before, having finally moved beyond the paralyzing
perfectionism that threatened to engulf my achievements in life.

It’s moments like this that define my experience—these moments wherein I

reflect on what brought me to this point of success and observe how it was made
possible by injury and setback. I refer to this concept as Redistribution
(somewhat analogous to the law of conservation of energy, yet reapplied, if not
simply repackaged). 2017 has been a difficult year for me, possibly the worst I
have known, and one element making it difficult was a muscular injury which has
limited my ability to use my hands since the month of May. In case you didn’t
know, I’ve had to manage the entirety of my (computer-based) tasks—including
all writings—on a cell phone since I am unable to use a desktop in my condition.
But were it not for said muscular injury I may have never succumbed to posting
these imperfect scripts. They were in an endless state of incompletion and
revision and were it not so difficult for me to type at present I may have never
been able to justify their release. I can even claim to feeling that all such agony
has been justified by this victory over my neuroses!

Yet I would hesitate to celebrate, knowing that it stems not from courage and
acceptance to what it extent it stems from apathy and resignation.

And in terms of my biography, there is much more still to come—the majority

of which I hope to have posted before the year’s end.

But as it stands, I am filled with joy and relief to finally overcome this personal
hurdle.

At long last, I may finally get the chance to live in the present, no longer

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slaving over years of crude residuum. What’s more, I may finally die in bitter
calm, assured of the survival of my efforts, right and wrong.

The Topology of Human Identity

December 17, 2017

As you may already be aware, I make extensive use of identity experiments

and alternate social personas as an aid in my self-development (and also as a
means of navigating society). I’m presently laconizing some old theses on the
topic and I would like to offer my audience some insight into my process and
findings.
I rarely attempt an explanation since it requires so much prefacing and I must
be careful as to not misportray it as some manifestation of thought disorder. But
dammit I am eager to share my thoughts on the matter.
I may also eventually decide to write up some in-depth “bios” on these
puppets/appendages/personas and the very specific ways in which they have
aided my progress as an individual in the hopes that it might inspire my readers
to experiment similarly.

“Musical Influences”
December 17, 2017

Some have mentioned a lack of talk of musical influences/interests on my

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page. I wanted to explain the reason for that.
Although my shorter bio doesn’t explicitly emphasize this fact, I carried out an
experiment beginning in August of 2007 in which I avoided all music created by
others. Simplified, I didn’t wish for my work to be influenced by the experiences
of others but by my own experiences in life. It was an attempt to keep the
process as pure, as personal and as meaningful as possible. What was originally
designed as a short term experiment ended up lasting for four years—in other
words, for the total duration of my recorded output (as Tendon Levey). There
were just a few exceptions made along the way, mostly in special circumstances
and only if I didn’t believe the music in question would influence my own due to
vast stylistic differences; for example, I would sometimes listen to Vangelis and
instrumental/choral New Age music during panic attacks. I also got heavily into
Blue Öyster Cult for a time.
But I was quite sincere about this challenge. And considering all that I put into
this process, I have always been a bit hesitant to share my musical tastes
publicly simply because I know it would frustrate me to have others making
inappropriate/anachronistic connections. It would, in a way, detract from my
achievement. I hope it doesn’t come across as pretentious in some way, or
conceited. It’s not as if I get aggressive or defensive about it, but I would surely
like for others to know my intent, whether or not it seems overly quixotic. I only
wished for my work to draw from my identity and not the CDs on my shelf, and in
the end, it brings me great joy to be able to say that my project had no
(conscious) musical influences. I wrote up a paper on this experiment at one
point in time. It’s a lot more thorough and perhaps more profound than what I’ve
typed here and if I can find it I may end up sharing it on this site. I also had some
more to say on it in the Autumn 2007 chapter of my autobiography.
In the past two years I’ve had to put in a conscious effort to overcome my
indifference to expressing my acknowledgement, respect and support for other
artists. There was a whole philosophy behind it. I didn’t want to endorse/support
the work of anyone who I could not also endorse as a human being, on a
personal level. I’ve since eased up somewhat on my stance and I’m better off for
it, and I now “get to” wear band shirts for the first time in almost ten years
(although I still find it difficult to derive entertainment from works made by

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persons who behave unkindly towards others). I’ve also gained a new
perspective since bringing my own work to the public. As I mention on the
Support page, I would like to post periodically about some of the lesser known
artists who have improved my life in some way through their music, so keep an
eye out for that!

An Update on my Health
December 22, 2017

I have an unfortunate update to make. It is one I have been delaying for a

while now, unable to speak it plainly.

Malignant cells have been detected within my throat and oral cavity. It is not
known how long exactly they have been present since I waited until 2016 to have
it examined, but it has already metastasized to my lymphatic system. The
presence of comorbid conditions (laryngeal) has unfortunately complicated
treatment options, to where “treatment” of the malignant cells would only put my
health in greater danger. So the decision has been made to forgo further medical
treatment. I have recently cancelled my insurance plan due to price inflation,
although I was honestly considering it anyway (“aegrescit medendo...”).

I have known about this for some time now. In fact, it was instrumental in my
decision to release my work and life story to the public when I did. This sudden
and unexpected move on my part was but an attempt to foster meaningful
relationships and to find the motivation to continue my fight. I hoped that the
excitement and newness of the experience alone would come with some benefit
for my condition, if only by improving my outlook, for I know all too well the
degree to which one’s outlook can impact one’s health. Sadly this year did not

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unfold as I intended.

I am sorry if I have upset anybody by concealing this information. It has been

the source of tremendous inner conflict in this year, forcing me to confront a
dreadful quandary: if it is better to inform or to inspire. To be wholly honest/
transparent or to uplift?
My hesitancy in this case has been informed by negative past experiences—
some of which are still quite fresh. Unfortunately I find that most persons are
utterly incapable of distinguishing between negative circumstances and a
negative attitude, and I shudder at knowing what this means for me. I worry that
this news will discolor all I have worked to achieve in life, overshadowing the
determined spirit I’ve maintained through ten years of night; overwriting the “real
message” delivered via my word and warble. I am weak against the ignorant and
there is little that can be said to assuage my convoluted emotions, knowing that
my corpse will be left to their ways. I have attempted to come forward with this at
several points since the summer, but every time I have prepared myself to speak
up I receive another kind letter from someone who wishes to tell me how much I
inspired them with my music and my story. And, well, I instinctively feel that I
would ruin all of that with my ill news... But I am deeply moved to receive such
feedback. It’s all I wanted from the very outset: to restore curiosity and candor to
this age of time so woefully lacking in the richness of mythology and adventure.
Please do not misunderstand my tone. It truly does mean a lot to me. I just have
some poisoned thinking and false dichotomies to quash. I blame only myself for
having not moved beyond this by now.

I must fear that by disclosing such bleak news I am destroying the potential to
form new relationships. Even as I write, I am horribly conflicted. Because
regardless of what I have known, and regardless of what seems possible at this
point, I still wish to experience love and friendship and family and the sense of
community I’ve not known before. And I feel I am killing off all such opportunity
with my death stench. I also worry that my illness will deflect endorsements from
label/distribution entities who might otherwise take interest in promoting my work.

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 It is deeply agonizing to feel myself unable to share this information with
others. I have kept it to myself like a filthy secret for all the year, unwilling to face
a repeat of past ordeals. And at times I have attempted to include casual
allusions within posts and conversation, wishing to convey the information
without wanting to emphasize it, but that just makes me sound fatalistic and
cryptic, and I feel I’m verging on passive-aggressive behavior at this point. Slight
though it may be, this behavior is beneath me, and I regret that it has come to
this point. It is reflective of an intense inner struggle involving my will, my
perceived rights, my emotional wellbeing and my desire to leave behind an
admirable legacy. I want to be forthright but I am finding it so difficult to get past
seeing my suffering as others have “forced” me to see it through their selfish and
destructive behaviors: as an inconvenience; as an intolerable miasma; as
something that will only complicate their lives. I’m wiser than to fault myself in this
case, yet that isn’t enough to protect my outlook from the pain caused by
knowing that the world is disposed to perceive in this manner.

All that aside, I do, however, believe that I would benefit on multiple levels
from becoming more transparent about my condition and the circumstances that I
face. And it’s not just about “getting it off my chest”. I would like to offer some
insight into my mindframe (and the situation itself) if and when I’m feeling up to it.
I refer not to complaintive rambles, but philosophical ruminations which, I hope,
might be of some use to my audience. There are also lots of little things I often
wish to say and analyze but hold back due to an underlying morbid nature. For
example, earlier in life I received a dream in which it was projected that I would
die at age 30. As proof of what I am saying, this was alluded to in the lyrics of the
song “The Burial Womb” (2, 41) as well as “Thirty” (8). Whether or not this holds
any weight whatsoever is to be determined. But I find it fascinating that this was
dreamt about almost fifteen years ago, long before sickness ever became an
issue in my life, and it now looks as though it will be an accurate prognostication.
Morbid though it may seem, it may also be seen as a testament to my capacity
as a hypnognostic, which I see in a positive light.

I’ve catered too much now to the perceptions of the ignorant breed, and I am

21
attempting to shift my own way of seeing things so as to move on from this
perception. It is the unfortunate result of having lived my life apart from society
without a witness to attest to my character. So every word I utter is judged
mercilessly by me in light of its accuracy as self-portrayal. Needless to say, it’s a
neurotic nightmare, but not without cause.

So, regarding what I was saying the other day. If you’ve been keeping up with
my recent posts you will see that I worry about the ability of my creations to
survive my death, and now this worry may make a bit more sense to you. I’ve
spent three decades developing my phrenetic legacy, but no time propagating it,
and I haven’t the time or emotional stamina to promote my work to a society to
which I am indifferent. Moreover, I wish to dedicate my remaining time in life to
completing (or at least continuing) my writings, and “self-promotion”, though
necessary, is the worst way I can imagine spending my days, especially when
most of the time it will just amount to ignorance and rejection (and perhaps worst
of all, “we’ve got our hands full for now, come back later!”).

I lack all guarantee in this case, having no family, close friends or significant
others to whom I can entrust these roles and duties. So I have only my audience
to turn to in this time. I’ll let you make of that what you will. I just want to express
my need, which is to get my work to the point where it can sustain itself without
the constant upkeep of a single person/group of persons; and those who put forth
a kind effort to help me towards that point, through efforts great and slight, will be
shown my highest gratitude.

This is touched on in greater detail on the recently-added Support page. I ask

you to give that page a read if you haven’t already done so!

I don’t know who reads this site. It could be five persons, it could be five
hundred. I have no knowledge of these metrics as I have disabled them so as to
do away with all pointless distractions. And I must say, a great weight has been
lifted from my spirit since going on to post some of these more intimate texts of
mine. You can possibly see that I’ve become more comfortable in recent months

22
in terms of sharing—or at least more accepting of flaws and incomplete projects.
It has provided much relief to me in this time and I wish to continue posting at this
pace for as long as I am able, releasing my private archives into the world via this
blog. I have a lot yet to come to terms with in life, namely involving my
relationship with society, and this has been helpful to those ends.

I’m going to leave off on that note for now.

I thank you for listening, I thank you for reading, now for the love of god would
you please stop breeding.

Magis Qvam Ante,

Tendon

None So Vile
December 25, 2017

There is no violence so vile and destructive as the pretense of compassion

and understanding.

10
December 27, 2017
I decline to atone for my virtue in life.

23
 Wmmmm
December 30, 2017

What a week it has been. I am alive, though—albeit dealing with some horrid
complications from a hernia which have kept me in a timeless vacuum of
sleeplessness and immobility and starvation. I’ll be providing some updates
within the week, though, and possibly some sort of overview on my personal
growth this year. I have a lot to say on where this year has taken me...! It isn’t all
rosy. In fact, none of it is. But I did find some precious stones hiding within the
rubble and ruin and I would be an incorrigible patzer to understate such treasure!

Patches in Production
December 31, 2017

2×4′′, metallic gold thread on brown patch

Logo design by Wagner Ödegård

24
 Back to Biphasics
January 5, 2018

I’ve reinstated a biphasic sleeping schedule into my life after a stupid and
unfulfilling year of monophasic sleep. My original reason for switching over was
for social ends which, of course, are no longer relevant to my life. This gives me
more opportunities for experimentation which has me feeling smally refreshed
lately. I’ve really neglected my sleep studies in these past two years due to my
injuries, since being unable to speak, as well as unable to write freely, has made
it near impossible to maintain my dream journals. This has my feeling more “like
myself” again.
I just woke from an interesting one. I was working an experiment within a
dream when the distant sound of a locomotive was heard. As it grew nearer (and
louder) I woke myself, unwilling to confront it, only to find myself lying in bed with

25
sleep paralysis and with the locomotive still traveling my way. Light began
pouring in through the window above me and the sound grew louder and louder
until I finally disengaged the paralysis just before it had reached me.
My idea of a good time! Not an unusual occurrence in and of itself but I’m
hoping that there could be a causal link between the abovementioned
experimentation and the locomotive’s perceived ability to “transcend” my dream,
hah!

Shakere...
January 6, 2018

At the point of throwing daggers into my audience. And I don’t want that. I
really don’t want that. I never wanted these daggers to be seen... felt...
experienced..
Shakere...

WHH
January 6, 2018

26
27
 Enter Maclura
January 7, 2018

“The Madman” and “The Magickian” are two distinct roles comprised of the
self-same constituent parts. Both terms refer to handlers of the symbols of
humanity and subhumanity. Yet while the Magickian subjugates the symbols,
directing their acquired “power” to suit hiser own ends, the Madman is ever at
their mercy, crushed beneath their influence and unable to maintain his say.
If you haven’t yet heard my take on magick as a practice, let me just say this
much:
I was never one for fantasy fiction and angels and demons. I do not claim to
harness and manipulate the energies of spiritual principalities but sanity—
personal and social. That is the reality of magick and its wielders, as I know it. I
am not a spiritualist but a symbolist. This stance seems to contradict some of my
experiences, I know. It’s no simple matter to explain, but more details can be
found within the first chapter (2007) of my biography.
So having said all that, allow me to share with you a little information on my
current project.
In a last-ditch effort to improve my circumstances I will be attempting an
identity experiment unlike any I’ve taken on in the past: my first attempt at a
“polycephalous” identity—that is, “multiple simultaneous entities”. Unlike the
previously mentioned extremity, this one is not made to suit superficial/social
purposes but to produce radical alterations in consciousness.
This is more or less a volitional dip into psychosis, as onlookers might term it.
And in most cases this would be shelved as a ludicrous idea, being unlikely to
bring about a stable result in the short-term. I have put a considerable deal of

28
effort into preparations, but unlike what is normally the case, I am not
predesignating any especial motive/nature.
I will create the egg with all that I am, all that I lack and all that I lost. The
spider will then decide for itself the constitution of its diet and the integrity of its
web. And me, I will have no influence in the matter beyond this point but when to
fetch the pistol if all goes horribly wrong.
This will require a prolonged period of intense experimentation and may
hamper my interactive abilities. As so, online activity may be erratic in the initial
phase as I prepare and adapt my mindset. And how this will ultimately affect my
manner and behavior, I do not know, but I have taken certain measures to ensure
that my ability to communicate with society is not hampered by my experiment
(and vice versa). I do not wish to shut out the world entirely. The “multiform”
element is expected to allow me to bypass many a prospective pitfall.
The Entity will be given two mouths, so to speak—the inferior of which will
belong to the Vicegerent, if you will, who will act as an intermediary between the
Maclura and the public, maintaining select ongoing affairs, e.g., my websites and
communications.
Think of it like Speaker and Translator.
Every little detail of this operation has been well-thought out and exists to suit
a specific purpose in the preservation of my psyche, be it offensive, defensive,
constructive, deconstructive, dezinezinet.

As with any operation of this sort, its success will depend on my ability to
integrate my consciousness and ideologies with that of the semiautonomously
constructed entity and the sustentation of belief requires a great deal of
forethought on my part. I am not simply pulling a latex mask over my head. What
I am doing is a highly complex paradigm shift.
I take it all very seriously. I am not but a facile artist, producing flourishes
without utility. I am a magickian with all of nature as my hostage.
I would like to say more about what goes into these experiments of mine but
that will have to wait—at least for a little while.
I’ve been feeling that this is necessary for a while now. Well, you see, my
growth process works much like a dream/wake cycle: a period of dreaming is

29
necessary to beget and introduce a new set of symbology and inner mythology
into one’s life. And one must then wake to fully analyze, understand and finally
integrate these symbolic findings with their person. You see, I’ve been awake too
long now. I’ve grown tired and my symbols have been exhausted/absorbed and/
or grown irrelevant.
Even though I previously felt it was necessary to the furtherance of my
development, I could not fully succumb to an operation so unstable out of
concern that my body can not withstand the level of somatic stress that comes
with psychological instability of this magnitude. After all, I am still suffering the
daily consequences of things I did ten years ago.
I will admit, I am uncertain as to whether or not this will affect my body beyond
what it can currently handle and I am concerned by the thought of such an
outcome. But I have just one remaining coin, and I can’t afford anything in this life
with just one coin. I can only gamble it, hoping to double it. And I will continue my
attempts to multiply my hand until conditions improve and I can afford the basic
sustenance in life. It must sound to you like a metaphor. It isn’t. It never was. “I
am thin and I am a gambler”.
In addition to concerns for its effect on my physical health, all of this happened
at a time when I was fully focused on establishing a more social and online
presence, and I was concerned that this would affect my ability to maintain that.
But sickness has since broken the line and I must modify my goals to comply
with my capabilities lest I risk unnecessary frustration and overexertion.
The events of 2016 were eye-opening. Among other things, I was shown the
effects of prolonged oxytocin and dopamine on my physical condition. It was my
first time experiencing these chemicals in nearly a decade and I never would
have expected that these very basic chemicals were capable of healing my body
when nothing else would. I subsequently came to accept that my solitary lifestyle
was an unnatural one and that I must continue to seek integration with society,
no matter the setbacks, if I ever wished to recover my health and ability.
Unfortunately, all such attempts resulted in failure and these years have
caused nothing but harm to my health as well as my outlook. My options have all
since crumbled. All else within my ability has been exhausted and I have no more
time to wait on uncertain conditions. I won’t say that I am abandoning my

30
attempts to be a part of human society, but I am deficient in faith, hope and
desire at this point and would rather not continue pitching strawberries at a
vampire populace.
The events of these past two years have been the cause of extensive
emotional trauma in me. Approximately thirty percent of all conscious thoughts
occurring in the past six months have been thoughts related to said trauma,
traumatic flashbacks and thoughts of suicide. I start and end each day warding
off trauma-induced seizures while lying in bed.
The introduction of hope into my little oubliette of an existence caused quite
some issues in my personal development. I wish to god I had never known its
touch. I was managing myself just fine with only pride to my claim.
This has been an immensely painful period of my life, and though I can not
fault myself for the circumstances themselves, knowing I gave my best effort,
what was previously deemed tenacity and endurance now ceases to become so
beyond this point, and taken any further it would just be a refusal to adapt my
perceptions to my changing circumstances.
I have (very) recently made amends with my regret, recognizing it for what it is
(not regret but a misdirected emotional reaction/attempted transference of
outwardly-directly contempt) but I can not continue as I have been.
This is not my resignation. It is but the fuel for an undertaking long in coming.
My body has stopped producing the chemicals required to rebuild itself. My only
hope rests now on the madness to misconstrue my circumstances.
I am doing as I must to survive the night and my seemingly inescapable
circumstances/environment.
I will attempt to update my blog along the way with insight into the process in
the hopes that it might inspire my readers to approach their own personal issues
with more creativity.
My methods may appear foreign or “eccentric” to onlookers, but if you are
willing to overlook this fact, you will see that my awareness is without flaw.
It’s been a while, and I am feeling more eager than I have felt in so long,
because at the end of this dive lies life or death and I would happily embrace
either at this point.

31
 CIVIL ENCRYPTION: Maclura START PHASE: 01/2018 – ???

Personal Goals/Victories
Summarized
January 10, 2018

I’ve taken to mapping out a summarized breakdown of my primary yearly

goals from 2014-2017 as well as some of my more notable personal
achievements and I thought I could show off what I’ve written.
2014 is best remembered as being the year I overcame agoraphobia following
six years of living in a secluded underground cellar. It was undoubtedly a very
surreal year in my life. It was like being born anew into the world. Simply traveling
around the neighborhood in a vehicle was an ordeal.
A monumental event though it was, it wasn’t actually so difficult once the
psychological pieces had fallen into place. And these so-called “psychological
pieces” weren’t all founded on fear and anxiety. In fact, most of them weren’t.
One of the most essential steps in overcoming my inability was ridding my
mind of “ideal scenarios”. It is natural for us to form these scenarios within our
mind, as if awaiting a green light or even a red carpet. But it never materializes. I
realized this long ago, intellectually, although it can take some time to update my
unconscious expectations and its effect on my desires. I imagine we’re all guilty
of this to varying degrees. And once one begins setting conditions they are
evermore bound to the ideal and all stipulations therewith.
I care a great deal about strategy and believe that the ideal, whatever that
may be, is achievable with sufficient effort. It is in my nature to plan and predict

32
as I do, striving for the best possible outcome. But this can so easily become a
hindrance to progress, leading to missed opportunities, in addition to being the
cause of other more serious biases. These are all statements that I expect
onlookers will nod and agree to, being almost so obvious as to be platitudinous,
but few actually implement this knowledge into their daily practice.
Surely I am not saying that one should purge ideals altogether. I am now and
again sustained by a beauty seen only in my dreams. But do all you must to set a
clear line between wishes, expectations and demands.
So I would call that my main focus of the year: to establish such separatrices
that I may finally progress in a healthy fashion. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. I spent
many years crafting up some marvelous scenario, perhaps unconsciously even
expecting some sort of fanfare, but as it unfolded, my return to society was not
proud but spent sitting on a cold table with a distended abdomen, discussing
bowel habits with an irate nurse.

2015 was a very productive year in self-development. It was the start of a long
reassessment and dissembly of the ego carried out in accordance with the
reintroduction of social factors into my life. 2014-2015: I focused much of my time
and energy into growing my alternate extremities/social personas.
It was in this time that I discovered to what extent some of my most dominant
ailments and neuroses were actually associated not with my core constitution but
my ego self (referring to my self-perception).
There are traumas and injuries of the core self, situated deep within one’s
chemistry and requiring extensive rehabilitation to remedy and then there are
wounds of the outer layer that can be removed with the shedding of the skin.
An identity, being only the product of one’s perception/interpretation, is as the
skin in this analogy.
Issues as damaging as agoraphobia and anorexia were learned to be like
cicatrices on the surface of all that I am. They were wounds belonging not to my
core asomatous self but to an identity—a superficial perceptual construct
maintained by my need for linearity and personal integrity.
This in itself was not a new discovery (referring to the concept) but I was
surely surprised to learn that such debilating issues with great consequence to

33
my life were of a nature so superficial.
I had been conducting experiments of this sort for well over a decade at this
point, but it was in this time that something really appeared to “click” and I
learned the most effective way to carry out these experiments.
If only society at large could grasp the astonishing connection existing
between our manner of perceiving ourselves and our abilities and inabilities in
life...

2015: “Mythologies”
It was time to stop being dominated by my own “mythologies”.
To clarify, when I say “mythology” I do not refer to lies or grand delusions. We
all, to varying degrees, hold to an inner sense of who we are, where we came
from, what we were meant to accomplish in this life and who or what we are
fighting against—and finally, how it all forms a coherent whole. For some this
understanding is more Romantic and complex in nature. It is a wonderful but
mysterious process and nothing that I say can accurately describe its nature.
I perceive all of existence through a highly cinematic scope and the
extraordinary events of my years have made it all the easier to understand
myself as some heroic cinematic character representing all types of symbolic and
allegorical constructs.
Once more I will stress: this is not to suggest that dishonesty of any sort is
present within my self-perceptions or in my self-portrayal. The details I have
confided in my audience now and in the past (and in the future) are 100% factual.
This manner of seeing myself influences my actions more than anything.
It has enriched my life to perceive my existence in such a manner, supplying
me with the impetus to see my suffering through. And then to spend years at
work on my autobiography (2012-2015) just made me feel that much more like
some storybook character. My actions were being influenced by the knowledge
that whatever I did would end up in the book I was writing.
This worked in my favor and acted as an incentive to overcome countless
obstacles. I was sometimes braving the most horrifying circumstances if only to
have something victorious to add to my pages! However, there have been
numerous instances in which I fell victim to my own story: unwilling to act as I

34
wished or required because it did not match with the story as I understood it.
Come 2014 and I was at serious risk of betraying and surrendering all sense
to exist as a character devoid of autonomy, for it is so that characters are
commandeered by the expectations and demands of the collective.
With 2015 came the very saddening happening involving Anita, and it was
then that I would recognize the very firm hold that “the story” had on me and that
it was overthrowing my rational judgment. I struggled to deal with that situation
appropriately, as you would know from reading the “Tendon & Anita” page. I
found myself making decisions just because they contribute to and/or maintain
the romantic legend that I wanted for myself.
Most significantly, I spent the year toiling over whether I should continue to
hold out for Anita even after learning that we will never be together. I considered
remaining alone for all of my life, pursuing a ghost, out of sheer inability to close
a good book. And there are some who would have maybe somehow thought of
me as more “romantic” for it, but is that really how I deserved to end up? And it
sure disturbs me to think that any of my supporters would wish that I remained in
that lonely and unnecessary state for the remainder of my life.
The past three years have been a continuation on this theme, albeit to an
incrementally lesser degree with each passing year. I have shown significant
improvements in this area in recent years, and much of that was due to hard,
dedicated efforts on my part; though there is also a bit of it that is due to a
growing apathy and fatalism resulting from recent traumas/disappointments.

2015: “Abandonment of the Raft”

One highly significant (and equally difficult) lesson to come of this period:

It was March 2015, and I had spent the past few months struggling with the
mental and emotional aspects of the integration process. I was struggling to
transition between phases of identity.

I like to use an analogy of a raft. To survive my dire circumstances I was

required to cross a black and storm-tossed sea, and to accomplish as much I
constructed a raft with the only materials at my disposal. This raft represents the

35
internal psychological constructs (primarily of a moral and philosophical nature)
which I utilized in overcoming my “demons” and gaining the necessary
confidence/grounding/impetus.

For nearly four years (2012-2015) I was positively obsessed with

deconstructing and reconstructing my tenets to create the most sound structure
of identity.

I had taken a lunatic untrusting of his own hands and molded him into the
most upstanding creation. I successfully navigated the “dangerous sea” and
eventually made my way to land on these resources. I was proud of myself and
all that I had built from such limited means. But upon reaching land, my judgment
suffered a temporary failure and I remained for a time seated on that raft, unable
to lay it aside and admit that it was no longer of any use to me.

There is no reason to regret doing as I did, seeing as it benefited my life in a

variety of notable ways. But now I have reached land, my perspective must
readapt to this changing environment, and by refusing to leave behind my raft
upon reaching land would mean that I cease making progress.

It was uncomfortable experience for me to wake to the realization that this

estimable structure I had built over years of fervent thought and analysis was no
longer relevant to my journey. What once sustained me was now but an
unprogressive occlusion to my progress as an individual.

It was difficult for me to admit that victories, conclusions, epiphanies and even
relevancy could have only a temporal value. I have spent the better of my life
obsessed by the everlasting. I always refuse to do anything that I deemed as
having no worth in the end. This is my reason for refusing leisurely activities such
as television and video games and other such “meaningless distractions” over
the course of my life.

And what I sought in these years was a truth unbounded by time and

36
circumstance and culture and lifestyle and I wanted to feel I had somehow found
it. Apart from having to eventually confront the fact that there exists no such truth,
on an abstract scale, I had to figure out how to justify my efforts. And I swelled
with mortification at the realization, feeling, for a time, unable to defend my
actions. I did not actually believe that I had wasted my time, and yet I couldn’t
come to any conclusion on how to explain myself to the world without somehow
undermining all that I had previously achieved. I had uncovered “truth”, after all,
and to say that it was no longer true... wouldn’t that mean that it was a lie all
along? Well, no, but it is in my nature to measure value by permanence.

There is nothing in this life that frightens me more than time wasted. I am also
someone who likes to believe that the events of one’s life form a sort of pyramid,
with every individual event leading to the next in a meaningful and destinable
manner.
To carry the raft analogy even further, I may even be called to use that raft for
a purpose apart from its original designated purpose; for instance, as kindle for a
fire. I needed to accept that utilities can change and sometimes vanish altogether
without ever undermining their initial worth. I think this same principal can be
applied to much more in life. Most situations involving regret, really. Simply
because it didn’t serve the very specific function you desired of it doesn’t
undercut its value to your development.

2015: “Exit Tendon”

In the spring of 2015, while walking the town in disguise I set my eyes on the
man who gave me my name. It was “the runner”. It was my first time seeing him
since 2007. I wouldn’t have even believed that he was still living in the area.
It was he and his actions that formed the catalyst of the vengeful obsessions
that would carry on well into my twenties. Before him, I did not know true hatred
—a word that would become synonymous with the monster that was Tendon.
He became a symbol representing everything I fought against in life, whether
was my antipathy founded or unfounded. And for years I dreamed of the
opportunity to destroy him and all that he stood for. A collection of handsaws
hanging from the wall beside my recording station and bearing his name in blood

37
will tell you as much.
I followed him around for the entirety of the afternoon without his knowing. He
wouldn’t have recognized me even if he had seen me. I had him within arms
length. I had the perfect opportunity to exact my revenge for what he did to me
and my erstwhile intimates.
But as I stood there, near enough to smell his deodorant, I realized just how
much I had grown and developed in these past eight years. A mind once reeking
with homicidal desires and convulsive impulses was now unable to see the point
in all of this.
I had absorbed his crimes into my constitution and converted them into useful,
practical tools in my life. The utility of vitriol within my life has since evolved. It
has taken on a more productive role in the “furnace”, rather than being in the
“cockpit”, if you will.
This realization was overwhelming. The dominance of the Tendon appendage
was over and done. When it ended? Right then and there, I suppose. I took one
last look at the man before walking off in silence and I bought myself a cone of
vanilla soft serve.

The main focus of 2016 was knowing when to walk away from a relationship
and/or objective, as well as to move past feeling it is my purpose to “save” or
enlighten everyone I meet. The main focus of 2017 was to learn to stop settling
(particularly in the realm of interpersonal relationships). I haven’t had a lot of
options available to me in this life, especially where social matters are
concerned, and this has affected my outlook both positively and negatively (but
more-so the latter). I would like to go into greater detail on these two years but I
will have to hold off on that for now since it may be a bit hard on my emotions,
dredging up failed relationships and some of the betrayal I’ve faced in life, and I
don’t want to tackle that in my current state.

38
 On the Joy of Singing
January 10, 2018

I have a few words for anyone who might ever attempt to depict my story or its
details in some form of writing, be it an article or a script, or even just in everyday
conversation. It probably sounds conceited to even mention it, but I am basing
this off of an actual inquiry I received just last month.
I would have liked to give this some more thought and come up with a “poetic”
way of saying it, as it were, but my state of mind is currently very rushed and
unfocused.
Having opened up about the details of my throat illness and how it was
caused or at least exacerbated by the intensity of my vocal performances, I wish
to make clear to all that the act of singing was, for me, nothing but the most
incredible joy. Singing, specifically, was the most rewarding experience of my
lifetime. It was not some unpleasant, painful struggle against my body
(consciously, at the very least). In fact, the reason why I stopped recording when
I did (...apart from the fact that I would have likely asphyxiated to death if I
continued even one day longer) is the fact that I didn’t want to sing under these
conditions.. I didn’t want the most beautiful activity to be associated with these
feelings. It would have tarnished the memories for me, and I wouldn’t allow
anything to destroy those memories of recording those many albums.
That music was the only pleasant and pleasurable thing that has ever
happened to me. It was the funnest experience I could ever imagine. There was
no stress or frustration involved. It came about fluidly, effortlessly. If I was given
three wishes in this life, I would wish for physical healing so that I could perform
again, I would wish for a vocal range limited only to the limitations of my
creativity, and I would wish for a companion with whom I could sing duets. I mean
that honestly. Those are my three wishes in life.
After each and every song was recorded I would rush to add it to my MP3
player and then I would stand in front of the bathroom mirror, sometimes for
hours, while listening to my catalogue and giving lip-synced performances. It was

39
always so elating. Sometimes I couldn’t wait and would end up skipping the bass
track or some other purportedly necessary part of the composition just so I could
go and “dance and perform” to it. I did this every day for more than half a decade,
even after losing my voice. I would often even get dressed up for the “event”.

Unfortunately my abdominal injury in Decumbere 2013 put an end to this.

Otherwise, you can guarantee that I would still be doing it today.
On somewhat of a similar note: I ask that you DO NOT force me into that
cramped and ignorant little “tortured artist” box on which our necrofiliac society so
primitively depends. I vehemently oppose the myth/stereotype along with the sort
of patzer on which it is most frequently based. This includes any ignorant
attempts to glorify my suffering in life as being somehow the cause of my
creativity.
In a case like mine it can surely be difficult, if not utterly impossible, to
extricate my creative works from my life and, by extension, its “bleakness”. But
there is, indeed, a right and wrong way of addressing it. It can surely be handled
tastefully without wrongful romanticizations and exploitation.
I will not take kindly to those who insinuate that my talents were somehow
supplied to me by my suffering. My work was given life in spite of them. Surely
the effect of my illness on my work is noticeable (and this effect was often
negative, in nature), but again, there is a tasteful way of saying it.
If this is how you see me, then you have failed to truly see my offering and are
asked to either re-examine the story before you or move along and find another
source for your desperate catharsis.
I am not a self-destructive individual. I did not live my life as a brooding
individual. I have always been pleasant to be around, albeit perhaps not the
easiest to relate to/identify with. And if the world chooses to overlook the things
I’ve done in favor of glorifying the things that have been done to me... well, I don’t
really have anything to say to that, as this was never my world to begin with. But I
ask that my listeners heed the point of what I am saying and that it is important to
me. To glorify my pain is to glorify the forces that torture and oppress me, and
only my enemies would ever do such a thing.

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 Purgatorial
January 12, 2018

Though my ability to open myself up to the public has surely improved (to a
monumental degree) since beginning this blog back in October, I am still finding it
excruciatingly difficult to share my emotions and certain elements of my current
circumstances that I see as likely to dishearten or even disturb my readers. Since
I am currently in a desperate situation and looking for whatever I can to purge the
negative emotions that are retarding the healing process, I have decided that I
will create a separate page/tab on this site specifically set in place to function as
an emotional outlet. By doing so, I can say what I will without “forcing it upon” my
visitors. I may also password protect the page, all while providing the password
publicly, which is merely an extra measure enacted to ensure that only those who
are aware of what they will be in for will have access thereto. I have likely made it
out to seem like something that is not with all this obsessive talk. It’s more or less
what you would expect from a “diary of a dying man” as it will exist for the sole
purpose of allowing me to purge the emotional buildup within my heart after
twenty-eight years of playing a losing game. I’m just so intensely concerned by
the thought of discouraging my audience, knowing that if that is what is taken
away from my life, then all that I worked for would be pointless. Also, if there is
anything that separates me from my peers in this regard, it was the equanimity
with which I faced down my trials in life, and indeed it is horrifying to know that a
decade of fortitude and asceticism can be quashed with but a single emotional
outburst. I haven’t had an effective emotional outlet in seven years, since the end
of my music career, and since I’ve never seen any sort of counselor or therapist I
never had someone to open up to about my negative emotions. I shirked the
need for counseling as I had no use for advice, but I neglected to consider the
power inherent in simply having a forum in which to share myself and all that

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burdens me.
Edit: not sure when I’ll get around to actually posting in it, but the password is
simply the name of the girl who has inspired me all these years.

Some Tangential Thoughts

January 12, 2018

Like others, I contain an intrinsic sense of what is right and wrong within a
given context. I strive to act in accordance with this understanding at all times in
the hopes that this will allow me to achieve my greatest viable potential as a
being.
So I wonder—at what point does an honest effort to behave oneself become a
false portrayal/projection of one’s nature? I find it strange, since we wouldn’t
normally condemn it as deception. I care about these types of questions,
because this life has never been about “what I can get away with” but about what
will help me to achieve my personal sort of “apotheosis” or “catasterism”.
I deal with this matter often as I have led an ascetic existence for nearly half
of my lifetime. One of the very defining characteristics of my person is the
constant emphasis on exercising restraint over impulse and temptation. And then
there is also the lifetime goal of making it so that there exists no (or as little as
psychologically possible) distinction between my inner and outer self. In many
cases there is no conflict between my desires/impulse and my understanding of
what is “the best” action in a given situation, since after many years of dedication
to an ideal my desires have coalesced with what I believe to be said “best”.
For example, a notable contrast exists in “my way of experiencing hatred/
disapproval vs. my way of expressing it”.
You have likely heard me referring to myself as a misanthrope, but never have
I taken the time to describe exactly what that means to me. I have intentionally

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skirted the topic as I do not wish to leave a legacy of contempt, even when there
is perhaps no term more synonymous with the Tendon appendage than hate and
“the temptation of retaliation”. “Hope” is an invaluable element in life—one that’s
been in short supply throughout my dismal existence—and in most cases I would
rather go on living in silence than deprive another of their reason(s) to hope via
my acerbic judgments and chilly logic.
For many a punk and patzer the word “misanthropy” is but as superficial as a
spiked cuff, being little more than a fashion statement born from incapability and
encouraged by the misguided Romantic idea that anger and opposition confers
“depth of character”.

The contempt in my heart no longer guides my actions as it did in my youth—

say, ten years ago—but its presence within me is destroying my body in a most
literal fashion.
I take great care to avoid expressing such feelings, not in an attempt to
mislead others, but in an attempt to overcome the negativity. Under no
circumstances have I allowed my inner animosity to influence my attitude
towards others, and I have expressed to the world a kind outward nature free of
the judgment that suffocates my inner world. And one could overlook this
disconnect since I am behaving in line with what I know to be the most rational/
profitable action in mind, but I notice that this disconnect leaves me feeling... as
though I am starving some part of myself.
I aim to speak in a mature and respectable manner about persons or matters
with which I disagree, even in the case of my abusers (as is seen in my 2016 and
2017 pages... which is a decent demonstration of my point on the whole), but I
don’t feel particularly proud to be acting with such understanding. I feel
unfulfilled; and I try to analyze the feeling, asking myself “is that feeling founded
on emotional immaturity or is it actually indicative of an error in my methods?”
I struggle within myself—now more than ever. And it’s not about social
repercussions. Most people express these feelings without concern for their
repute and evade condemnation. For me it’s a very personal matter—my reasons
for caring as I do. It’s about wanting to make the most of the knowledge and
wisdom I’ve been given through my experiences; wanting to “rise above”, so to

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say, the urge to be an animal. Well... and of course I do desire to be
acknowledged for as much! It’s one way I give meaning to my years of suffering...
simply to grow from it. And I’ve done an incredible job, handling even the most
upsetting situations with poise, maturity and refrain, but I am finding that this is
having some rather damaging ramifications in my life.. and one of these days I’m
afraid I’m going to have to part my lips and let the vomit on out, if you will.
I think I will be giving this a bit of my focus in 2018, or however much of it I’m
around to experience. I tend to slip naturally into an “all or nothing” mentality if
not consciously circumventing it and I would do well to learn to take matters on
more of a situational basis in these cases, realizing that the moderated
expression of vocal criticism and ostensible cynicism should not in itself be
enough to discolor the sensibility I aim to effect. As much as I am aware of all of
that, there’s still more to it, though, since it’s not actually founded on distrust in
my own ability to convey my opinions.. but distrust in society’s ability to receive
and understand them. PPCCKC!

Beauty Sleep
January 13, 2018

The mystery of sleep and dreaming continually astounds me.

I can face off against the vilest of conditions in the day, and then from the
moment that I fall asleep it all becomes irrelevant, for it is all gone from my
awareness. But I am not referring to unconsciousness. I am referring to my
dreams and their very “clueless” contents. My dreams—they resemble our
human understanding of “reality” in more ways than my purported waking
existence. I’ve honestly even considered the idea that my years of
consciousness experimentation might have somehow even “interchanged” my
understanding of “sleep” and “waking” at some point along the way. Really, it

44
would seem to explain everything...!
Others would expect my dreams to be dark, or at least a deep shade of
peculiar—but that could not be further from the facts!
And that is perhaps what makes them so fascinating to me: their normalcy
and perfect coherency. My dreams are not some abstract concatenation of non-
sequiturs and distorted memories. They develop in a way that is sensible,
meaningful and ultimately pleasant.
Never are my dreams spent in this cellar; in this sickbed. Rather, they are
spent in the favor of society, commingling with the kind, ingenuous and the
curious. What is this world! Who are these people! Like no one I’ve had the
privilege to know.
And there is no violence! There is no suffering! There is no cause to mourn.
And it occurs so naturally, as if there could be no alternative. My dream log,
consisting of more than 4,000 dreams, is consistent in this much.
Isn’t it wonderful!
In one moment I find myself drifting off to the sine of traumatic flashbacks and
in the next I am far away on some shopping adventure with a beautiful girl or
sitting at a table exchanging opinions with new and unknown peers (stupid
examples but I can’t think of anything else to use instead!). The interactions
themselves form the focus, rather than the actual locations and events, making
my dreams “heavy on” discourse and... and... heheheeeooohhooo... affectionate
exchanges.
The world that is my ragged mattress: it is my pride. It is my prize! And I
accept this reward in the stead of every egg crushed uncaringly below the soles
of an insatiable kind.
My blessings are few, but my sleep is sound.

Leonardo

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 January 13, 2018

Da Vinci on autodidactism:

“Though I may not, like them, be able to quote other authors, I shall rely on
that which is much greater and more worthy — on experience, the mistress of
their Masters. They go about puffed up and pompous, dressed and decorated
with , not of their own labours, but of those of others. And they will not allow me
my own. They will scorn me as an inventor; but how much more might they —
who are not inventors but vaunters and declaimers of the works of others — be
blamed.”

Da Vinci on my finger:

46
47
 Da Vinci on amphetamines:

...

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 The Cross
January 14, 2018

In June of last year my dreams began to feature a certain recurrent message

which stressed that I would soon be nailed to a cross, on which I would hang for
“ten hours” total, and I was instructed to prepare myself through a variety of

49
means, such as getting sufficient rest, eating balanced meals and even
maintaining proper oral hygiene. This warning appeared within multiple dreams in
succession over the course of one week, and within weeks of receiving this
message (which I thought nothing of until months after the fact) my quality of life
took a steep nosedive and it has continued to dive in every successive week.

As I understand it, ten hours can be interpreted as meaning ten months (or
ten years), and assuming that the “crucifixion” began shortly following the initial
dream warning, my “ten hours” will be up around the time of my twenty-ninth
birthday, in April.
This dream has remained with me, making it slightly difficult to “resign” myself
in a period when suicide never leaves my thoughts. I wouldn’t say I’m hopeful,
but I trust my dreams more than I trust anyone or anything, given my very
dedicated relationship with the medium, and though I don’t know exactly what “it”
means to communicate with me in this instance, it’s all that I have left. I just
assume that nothing would have been said of preparations were there really no
chance of surviving the ordeal.
Also, please pardon the Christian/Messianic symbolism and the ostensible
self-importance that may or may not be construed thereby. That is not how it is
meant to be interpreted.

People of the Poppy

January 15, 2018

I found some stupidly silly tracks from back in 2006 that didn’t end up making
it onto Baby’s First Bible.
When I was younger, whenever there was a “sleepover”, we (my company
and I) would end up either recording an EP/album or filming some type of video.

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This was one such EP. This was back when Metalocalypse was brand new and
it’s a pretty obvious attempt at mimicking that style of metal. Michael (the
infamous one) handled most of the lyrics while I took care of the instruments and
vocals (with the exception of one of the vocal parts in the “Djinni” chorus, which
was Michael).
I’ve also uncovered a series of four albums recorded between ages 9 and 12
but I may still be a bit too embarrassed to show those ones off, haha.

Binshaavi
January 16, 2018

Was experimenting in-dream and then found myself being stalked through
three disparate dreams by a massive airborne and myriapodous entity who went
by the name Binshaavi of the Sleeping Deep.
Hah, one of these days I’m just going to not wake up.

Ungodly Cognipocket
January 22, 2018

(from my personal notes, describing an event that occurred two days ago)
I just freed myself from one of the most disturbing pockets of consciousness

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known to me before. I was in a sort of somnambulant state of mind (direct from
hypnopompia), carrying on a silent conversation with... ??? I believe it pertained
to my death. And I don’t know who I was. I surely wasn’t myself. I was one of the
“forces” responsible for my death. All was inverted. My thoughts weren’t matching
my words. They were opposite each other. I was deceiving those who I was
speaking to and feeling quite satisfied when my company was unable to see how
I really felt or the reasons why I did as I did.
I’m really struggling to make sense of it, though failing to convey it properly.
This description isn’t saying much of anything. It’s all based on residual
impressions. What a vile, unplaceable... otherworldly feeling it left me with,
though.

One Year
January 23, 2018

One year has elapsed since I first made my music and bio available online
following a lifetime of intense personal privacy. It’s been a highly unusual year for
me, like no other before it, and I’ll probably have something to say about it all
very soon. In short, it hasn’t been a pleasant experience for me, and on most
days I feel regretful about my decision to open myself up in this way to the public,
but I don’t believe that it was a mistake, and I wouldn’t want to act as though it
was entirely without its positives. I am thankful to all of you who have supported
me in this time! I can not thank you all enough. It’s your letters and kind
acknowledgments that have helped restore/maintain my focus on my overlying
objectives, which relate not to the winning of any pointless pageants but to the
ability to connect on a meaningful level with others; the ability to communicate
with others, like myself, who identify as outsiders in some manner or form.
In other news, ten years have passed since leaving behind the “solar

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fraternity”. It doesn’t even feel to me like I am living in the same lifetime.

Alternate Logo
February 21, 2018

I found this unfinished logo I was sketching out back in 2015 (clearly drawing
an influence from the black metal aesthetic). It’s quite raw, but I think it could
have been usable had I continued with it and cleaned up the lines. An alternate
version depicted a candelabrum on the bottom, whereon the rest of the logo sat,
but I couldn’t get it to my liking.

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ΨΨΨ
February 3, 2018

Είναι πολύ αργά για χάρις.

54
 Off to the Basement
February 8, 2018

I’ve some announcements to make and matters to address—not all of which

will be tackled just yet.
We are now nearing the ten-year anniversary of the social breakdown which
led me to isolate myself in that underground cellar, and in light of my current
needs I have resolved to withdraw from social communications much as I did one
decade ago as I move back into that self-same cellar.

I will have much to say in the coming week regarding my decision and the
entailments thereof, in addition to some other explanations/insights long in
coming.

Tendon (I)
February 11, 2018

I would now like to say a few words about Tendon. The goat of the hour! This
is a matter I have been wanting to explain for a while, but it can be so daunting.
So I will attempt to offer some sort of simplified explanation on how I understand
Tendon as an entity.
To begin, I should clarify that I am not Tendon.
In the most literal sense, Tendon has had no outside interactions since 2010,
and I have fought with all my might to keep it that way. So no, you are not
interacting with the self-same entity responsible for those recordings and other

55
works associated therewith. It is not some “split personality deal”, nor is it a
simple matter of time and maturation, but a deliberate compartmentalization of
identity and ego carried out in the name of self-preservation and self-
advancement.
To be clear, there were two primary phases of Entity Tendon. The first, called
Tendon Levey, lasted from 2007 until 2011 and was a phase ruled by the pursuit
of liberty and personalization. It was collapsed by disorder. And then the second
such phase, called Tendon Vzdutpondo, lasted from 2012 until 2015 and was a
phase ruled by the pursuit of order and self-control. The result was total
paralysis.
At their core, being both expressions of the Tendon appendage, they shared
identical urges, needs, and other such nuclear components, while confronting
them in disparate ways. For instance, the primary expressive vehicle of the
former was art, while the latter took more to philosophy. The latter also took in a
questionable amount of influence from the Thummim and kilise Vzdutpondo in
ways that I am not currently equipped to discuss.
I believe the simplest and most effective way of describing Entity Tendon is
this: Tendon is precisely all that was required to survive the tribulations of this
existence. It is not such a simple task to adapt to a fate as such that I’ve been
given, requiring a total reformatting of perception (and over many years of trial
and error).
The end result is a survivalist of merciless cerebral character. Terms such as
“extremist” and “social Darwinist” have been used to describe said character.
Competence, personal integrity and self-discipline were of the highest order, and
anyone lacking therein was firewood.
And because human society is by and large deficient in the very basic self-
insight required to actually propel such a heavy ship (let alone in the right
direction)... well...

I’ll continue on to the more aggressive part of this later...

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 V
February 11, 2018

I’m stuck in one of my vortices. They’re becoming more and more difficult to
escape as my body grows weaker. The end just won’t come soon enough. I’m
just minding the sand now, waiting for the right moment to spew my hate and
disapproval. I’m just waiting for the right moment to say all that I really mean to
say.

Purge
February 11, 2018

It’s stupid to use Purgatory for its original stated purpose. And I think I’ve
understood that all along, hence why it is bare. It’s like a knife in the pocket—it
improves my outlook simply to know I have options. I guess I’ll be using it instead
as a dumping ground for unfinished texts and those I do not want found via
search engines. None of this really needed to be said. I’m just typing as an
alternative to stewing. Would you believe that at this stage of it all I’m still having
to endure daily abuse from my family? It’s only gotten worse with time, really. I’m
always so careful to avoid mentioning them as it humiliates me to admit that they
are still in my life after all my determined attempts to excommunicate them
entirely. Some children, if they are lucky, are locked behind doors. Others, they
are dropped into holes. Don’t you understand... don’t you understand how it all
works... because I really don’t.

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 Opportunity
February 11, 2018

Try to take these periods of intense anguish as an opportunity to be seized...

an opportunity to part the shades all the more and spit out the hundred-some
unpublished posts I’ve written in the past year that remain unpublished for very
insubstantial reasons (in the grand scheme of mortal life), e.g. poor/disorderly
writing that might be the cause of temporal embarrassment for my ego! It’s a way
to make everything seem necessary...!

Tendon (II)
February 15, 2018

So let’s resume talk of Entity Tendon.

Afterwards I will be covering some additional matters relating to recent and
current circumstances/social standing such as I touched on in a recent post. It’s a
bit disorderly, combining multiple texts, so you’ll have to pardon that until I get
around to fixing it. I eventually plan to tidy it up and and turn it into its own page,
rather than a post. I just wanted to get this up before tomorrow.
Tendon! A militarized monastic! A sort of mental athlete seen too seldom in our
world. Of course I refer to the second extremity/phase.
Well-meaning though he was, Tendon would come to be regarded as an
unintegrable purist who bled himself into a corner. His personal ethical

58
constructs, stringent self-discipline and ostensibly “extremist” worldview removed
all ability to coalesce with human society—not that his ideals were flawed, in
themselves, but because our society is by and large unreceptive/opposed to that
which exceeds its established levels of comfort, comprehension and pace.
An important detail of his identity is the belief in a rational, pragmatic hatred.
Hatred as a concept was at the core of all actions and accomplishments
associated with Entity Tendon. Unfortunately for us all it is a highly
misunderstood and highly stigmatized concept associated in most cases with
acts of destruction and obstruction (in which case we are hardly referring to the
same “hatred”) and though I wish to see it reconsidered and vindicated, I also
think—no, I know—I’ve done a very poor job of demonstrating its innate value/
potential to the world.
Without the means to loath and despise there is no cause to overcome.
It’s not exactly the type of sentiment you’ll see printed in pretty italics on a tote
bag, but there can be no denying the pragmatic utility thereof. Of course it may
help to understand ”hatred” as being firm and passionate disapproval as opposed
to the plenitude of immature and ill-begotten displays of human ignorance more
commonly associated therewith.
To hate and to seethe: it was the surest (if not the sole) means of
transcending the pathetic and lacking standards of our distracted species. I did
not see it as destructive but as constructive: as staunch dedication to this gift of
life. And in seeing hatred as a power source, one to be fostered, I allowed it to
overtake me like an unmonitored fungus.
Now, there is positive (productive) and negative (destructive) hatred just as
there can be found in all forms of passion, which is by and large determined by
its focus point and to what extent it is within one’s control. I contain(ed) both in...
large quantities, and I bring this up if only to vindicate the name of hatred by once
again pointing out that I failed to demonstrate its full benefits.
Tendon’s perceptions of the world were strongly characterized by allegorical
and utilitarian values. These perceptions themselves had their roots in the
infamous “candelabrum” experience from our youth.

He did not see the person but their constitution—a faceless mass of

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symbology—that is, what they represent, e.g., their offering, their capabilities,
their idiotypic fibers. And the unfortunate fact is that most individuals alive on this
earth, if nominally, represent nothing whatsoever. Greater symbolic worth is not
innately bestowed but earned via merit and measured via a complex but arbitrary
system of ihahsbbklspspmkdskwakkss.
(If I get around to it, I would some time like to explain my worldview which
centers around symbolism and hails life as an allegory, wherefore the highest
goal is to achieve a certain sort of transhuman/archetypal value.)
These perceptions dictated his cold and unsympathetic manner in that he was
no longer seeing people as, well, people. The lot of humanity was perceived as
sandbags, obstructions to the realization of the final ambitions of the worthfully
determined.
In as many ways as he desired the intimacy of his species, Tendon was in no
mindset to hold an audience. His mind was perpetually fixed toward the skies, so
to speak; on the higher goals, the higher purpose, the sacrifices, the destinies,
the competition, the limits, and his inability to make allowance for recreation
(personally defined as that which distracts from and contributes in no meaningful
way to one’s overlying objectives) made connections totally impossible.
Haha, I’ve really built Tendon up as some purityrannical kommando over the
years, haven’t I. I have, no doubt, painted this portrait in a very caustic light...
which, I will admit, has very likely been skewed by years of self-demonization
and desperate progressiveness.
It was built into the very fundament of Tendon’s selfness to self-demonize and
it has a lot to say of why he was able to succeed as he did, in terms of stamina/
endurance. There was but one little lie he had managed to believe about himself:
that he was a criminal deserving of his fate. It was very easy to believe, after all,
considering the unfair treatments received in our upbringing merely for
questioning authority and wishing to gain a firm grasp on why we believed as we
did (referring to our years as a member of the Protestant church). And his fate
was far more tolerable when viewed as punishment for his “crimes” than when
viewed as unfairness, or as “shit happens”. The fact is, he was not a criminal but
an unfortunate scapegoat and this he would never accept.
So let it be said that though I may describe a severe sort of character, critical

60
in his judgments, there was nothing wrong with his behavior or treatment of
others. He was not, nor have I ever been an insufferable individual—neither
arrogant nor rude nor physically threatening. Blunt, yes, but I am not one who
automatically equates bluntness with rudeness. “No-nonsense” is surely the best
way to put it, which is not so much “insulting” as it is simply “intense”.
So when I refer to being “incompatible” with the people of society I refer not so
much to their reception of my behaviors inasmuch as I am referring to mine own
personal ability to work through my critical judgments of a people that fail to meet
my personal standards of quality.
Well, I guess we’ll soon be seeing how my understanding measures up to
reality. Of course I must be very cautious to avoid not only caricaturization/
unidimensionality (as encouraged by retroactive distortions) but also avoiding
mixing up “different character” and “immature habits/tendencies I’ve since grown
out of”. I wouldn’t want to actually regress in my attempt to change tracks. Have I
worded that in a way that makes sense? This act ultimately requires a thorough
and honest understanding of what my current phase has/had to offer and what
must be carried over into the next scene.
That is the latter incarnation I am describing in these paragraphs. Tendon
Levey, on the other hand, was a paranoid and revengeful ruin whose world was
devastated by a history of robbery and censure, leading him to take extreme
measures to protect what was his from the world (reflected in his private and
possessive behaviors).
A possession that none could wrench from his hands! A world beyond the
reach of his family, his fraternity and his own innate humanity! A lover beyond the
reach of a practical reality! It was this principle that ignited his initial passion for
singing: a treasure that could not be stolen from him. His singing voice was for
him a symbol representing that which was uniquely “his” in this life.
I have less to say of Tendon Levey at this point. My autobiography focuses
well enough on that extremity. It was, above all, an extended period of
adjustment: adjustment to the difficult realization that because of one innocent
oversight made in my youth that a normal life would never be mine. My lack of
insight into my own needs and my stunning detachment from physical reality
resulted in countless disasters which, as you should already know, devastated

61
my body and moreover my existential prospects beyond hope of rectification.
Yet he wasn’t some self-destructive, life-negating punk. He was simply an
over-stimulated and under-educated idealist without the sense to consider the
weight of his actions. In our autobiography I compared him to a loving mother
who incidentally asphyxiated their infant child in an “overaffectionate” embrace.
His crime was not a lack of care and attention but an immoderate degree thereof.
Tendon Levey was the type to take thirty aspirins in the ignorant-though-
wholesome belief that more is always better. Not stupidity but blind, groundless
idealism.
As it currently stands, I do not have the stamina nor constitution to continue
my attempt at interacting with those who clearly lack the sympathetic capacities
to face me in my humanity. Someone such as myself who has lived so openly
and forthrightly must take great care to guard himself and yet it seems I’ve given
my faith to any insincere smile that’s come in view.
As was aforesaid, I had little interest in rejoining humanity when I did. I did so
primarily in the aim of achieving a positive and encouraging conclusion to my life
story. I did it because I felt that it would further my growth potential. More than
anything, I think it was to show myself that I was capable of as much.
I stepped out into the daylight seeking medical intervention, seeking
friendship, and seeking the hand of she my beloved. Those little quests are over
and done and hardly worth a whisper. It’s just me and the long, descending
staircase now—and I mean that literally!

—- (missing paragraph... accidentally deleted?)

I was alone but I did not then consider myself lonely. I did not dare use this
term until more recently. I lacked all incentive to return to the public and this very
impractical disinterest on my part factored into my noteworthy decision to adapt
my psychological passions into a full-fledged practice, which was then viewed as
a means to restore meaning and interest in my perceptions of the... imperceptive.
It allowed me to do away with my aggressive and more or less black-and-
white models of society in favor of an outlook that had me viewing people as
puzzles to explore and decipher. I no longer cared as much about the inanity and
drool insofar as I was allured by its cause and overall purpose. My main

62
fascination throughout the past decade has been with egoic defense
mechanisms, and I would therefore consider this my specialty. I could converse
on this topic for days on end!
Of course when I talk of this as being an influence on my interest in
counseling psychology I do not mean to suggest that this is the sole influence
behind my late “career path”, for it is but one ornament on a complex and
particolored web!
It was moreover viewed as a means to make use of all my life experience: a
justification of all suffering. (Really poor explanation. I’ll try to write up a real one
at some point)
Yet it is true that I manipulated my interests as such in an effort to increase my
interest in a humanity which otherwise seems to me an arrant waste of my time
and attention. I don’t say that with venom but with a utilitarian monotone: I am an
individual with a never-ending “to-do list” and absolutely nothing of benefit has
ever come from interpersonal interactions/collaborations. Not one individual in
this life has ever left me feeling inspired (speaking exclusively about persons I’ve
known personally, although not much would change were I to include all known
persons, save for a few exceptions). On the contrary, I often walk away feeling
utterly drained of passion and intensity. To see what passes as priority, as
humanity, as capability, as... passable... it is enough to discolor a veritable pride.
Unfortunately these goals screwed up my priorities and led me to spending
undue amounts of time studying and interacting with damaged and disturbed
individuals which not only brought down my morale but my willingness to
continue as a practicing psychologist.
I had the best of intentions but it was not at all a wise thing to get caught up in
right out of the gate. I was so determined to improve the lives of others with the
insight I had gleaned from my years of solitude that I failed to recognize the effect
that this would have on mine own misanthropic perceptions to be interacting with
so many unfulfilled and unfriendly assholes. It’s a paradox... simultaneously
fueling and damaging my morale.
I love psychology dearly as a practice—no, as a lifestyle—and I will continue
in my individualistic pursuits as always I have in the aim of becoming “the best
person that I can be” in this life, but as Tendon would likely say, “I have far better

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things to do with my life than coddle the incurably incapable.”

Tendon understood that his dedication would likely lead to him being viewed
as an unapproachable presence by those from whom he sought intimacy and
understanding. The critical judgments which had molded him into a productive
and enlightened individual would only hamper all efforts to know human intimacy.
The notorious vertiginous episodes were worsening with each passing month
and he feared a total apathetic collapse. Within the span of just a single season
four of the events/characteristics which most defined the existence of Entity
Tendon had been resolved, i.e., agoraphobic seclusion, the search for Anita, the
Thummim and, to a degree, the will to revengeance. It took no effort to convince
himself that “Tendon” had reached an end and that it was time for something
new. It felt like a chapter break if ever there was such a thing.
In the spring of 2015, Tendon crawled into a corner and there he stayed,
choking on the density of hatred and belief. Tendon never left that corner, and
that which succeeded him has been bestowed the duty of seeing to it that he
never leaves.
This strange little incarnation was never given a name. Multiple times I
attempted to force a fit, but nothing felt true. And it’s because deep down I knew
that I was not in control of the turn-out insofar as I was enslaved by the need to
exist, and slaves deserve no name. This strange little incarnation never should
have been allowed to wear the face of Entity Tendon. It was an unconvincing
imposter. It was a dead and sun-dried fetus exalted to the status of a worldly
force. It was not an identity but a negation of immaculacy.
I reentered society in 2014 with every hope of finding that my thinking had
distorted beyond all sense by cause of prolonged social seclusion. That seems a
reasonable expectation to hold, yes? I may be a reasonably intelligent individual
but there is no denying that I’ve lived my life in a way that is remarkably “out of
touch” and what good are my answers if I’ve been reading from the wrong
questions?
I met my public with a clean hand and a welcoming tone, willing to find that I
was wrong; that I was the problem. I had to do as much. After all, I needed
something from them that I couldn’t get from myself. And the potion becomes all

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the more potent with belief! It does, it does!
Unfortunately it seems I wasn’t far off the mark with my ostensibly cynical
understanding/expectations. In fact, it was far worse than anything I could have
ever imagined. That isn’t to appear as some grand sweeping statement about the
condition of society as a whole. It’s just the same as it always is for me: the
hunters and vampires ever manage to find me first. They are quick to smell the
blood.
Of course the prognosis of the situation was not helped by my thinking it was
my mission to reach out to the underbelly of society, which I deemed “my kind”,
or my disastrous attempt to rekindle communications with shitty childhood friends
who I would never have locked out in the first place had they been anyone worth
keeping in my life.
I’ve never been so narrow-minded as to believe that this world contains no
goodness. I’ve only lost faith that I will ever see it with mine own eyes. And I’ve
now entered that age bracket whereat persons are less and less mentally
receptive to new friendships while they focus more on beginning a family and
working a career.
I was once willing to accept all fault for my strained relationship with humanity.
I would curse my discerning nature. I would taunt myself day and night with such
memorable one-liners as “the anomaly has no right to intolerance!” as if my duty
as the outlier is to accept a bloody landscape without question.
It took great discipline and humility to be able to address my thoughts in this
way, instead of just... creating concerning displays on my walls with handsaws...
you know, as I used to... but I’m not so sure it’s done me any good to take such
care. And maybe that’s because I’ve not actually altered my overlying outlook so
much as I have throttled and/or suppressed my active feelings.
All the hopefulness and humility in the world couldn’t absorb the spit that I’ve
since taken. The fault lies beyond my blame in all such cases and I lament that
there is no more I can do to mend the connection. I could continue as I am,
giving it all that I can and hoping that one day that works out for me, but I lack the
desire or ability to continue these games.
I was not purposed for a life among such a society. I say this without
melodrama and/or spite in my tone. It is simply an acknowledgement of the facts:

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they hang on display before us all so it would be stupid of me to continue to
speak with a tone of ignorant optimism.
I do strongly believe in the principle of Hanlon’s razor (“never attribute to
malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity”) and I’ve iterated it again
and again over the years like as a personal affirmation intended to quell my
vengefulness and remorse. But at what point am I being unfair to myself to
continue doing so..? At what point should I just allow myself to be hurt and upset
without feeling it is a sign of emotional weakness? At what point shall I finally
crush the heads of you bastard remoras?
Tendon certainly differed in that regard, viewing ignorance with no greater
leniency than the vilest of deliberate offenses.
All are presented with the means to learn, to improve upon their intellectual
and empathetic capacities, to grow into a most worthy and upstanding individual
in life. We are well past the age in human development where ignorance can (or
should) be used to excuse any such unpardonable deficiencies. Adapt to the
altitude or eat the gun.
I’ve lost far, far more than I’ve gained in this effort to maintain a sociable
lifestyle (or rather, to initiate one). And instead of turning against myself and
wrongfully despising my virtues of humanness, vulnerability and tenacity as if
virtue itself is the cause of my suffering, I will recede into solitude where I may
continue to explore and grow my humanness without regard for the social
ramifications; without the threat of extraneous influence and contamination.
At such a critical point in my life where my health balances on a thread I can
not risk being filled with extraneously-instilled doubt and discouragement.

My “hopeful-hopeless” meter has been taken for a ride from which I doubt it
will recover (at least not in my remaining lifetime). It once used to be relatively
steady—when living in solitude, that is. There were quite some declines and the
occasional molehill but rarely were there any dramatic spikes. I had decent
control over such a thing on my own. Yet since I’ve returned to the surface and
subjected myself to the care of charlatans it’s been largely unsteady. The meter
graph would resemble some bizarre carnival ride at this point.
That, to me, is the most unbearable part of the experience (and possibly my

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existence on the whole): not a lack of promise but the sheer volume of false
promises that come at you in a throng of excitement and then abandon you
without the slightest sign of conscionableness. What is it about my nature that
attracts these douche ex machinas at every turn of the bend?!
It wasn’t a lack of positivity and goodness and promise that disrupted my
peace. It was the power of falsity over verity. Goodness and righteousness have
no authority in this world, and if you are unwilling to adapt to that realization, you
will suffer as an animal. Or there is always hermitry, haha. I wish I could
recommend some type of secular monastery to anyone who finds themselves in
that position, but if I knew of such an environment I sincerely doubt I would be
sitting here with a compress to my neck and a bedspring up my ass.
Were I not constrained by my degenerate body I would have known a much
different experience and the outcome of my attempted social integration would
not have been in so many ways contingent on my social reception. But as it
stands, I lack the physical ability to function autonomously in society. It is a
humiliating admission to make, knowing that I will be judged not by the autonomy
of my mind and spirit or the efforts I put into substituting for and overcoming my
weaknesses, but by the wounds of my impermanent flesh... my cursed white
weight.
So I end up feeling like some princess in a fucking tower just sitting around
waiting for some kind soul to acknowledge my existence and to see that I am in
need of a helping hand and an open heart. Can you imagine the sheer
humiliation I face to be forced to live in this way? And of course I never just come
out and say it so bluntly. I couldn’t do such a thing, and I doubt that it would
receive any more from the patzersby than piteous and disapproving stares so it’s
not as if I missed out on some grand opportunity because of my pride or decency
or whatever you want to call it.
The majority unfortunately lacks the lucidity to understand that which I am
asking, and whether is it a reflection of their capacity (intellectual and/or
empathetic) or their will, I do not care to be told.
Every little phoneme uttered by my tongue, every little key punched by my
fingers since last January was a “cry for help”. That much is a fact. I would not
have made the drastic decision to reveal my highly private, highly personal work

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to the world were I not desperately seeking out a change in fate.
And the people stood beholding! And the people stood beholding!

And the people stood beholding! And the people stood beholding! And the
people stood beholding! And the people stood beholding! And the people stood
beholding! And the people stood beholding! And the people stood beholding! And
the people stood beholding!
Yet I am now able to share openly! I am able to weep at volume! And Hell
knows I’ll soon be barking! The end is here! It’s too late! Salvation is no longer
feasible! Death has permeated my every metaphysical pore! Death has come
into my philosophies! Death has come into my sperm! “Death dines delighted
beneath the card table!”
And for the very first time in my four hundred years of life on this planet I can
honestly say that I welcome my end without any hint of longing! Without
wondering what might have been! Without any cause to climb from this trench
and onto the tongue of a vampiric populace. So I can’t say that this little venture
into the overground was without its worth. It’s made it possible for me to die with
pleasure.
It’s unfortunate that after numerous vague and ineffective “anti-social” remarks
I have failed (or rather avoided having) to explain the basis on which my stance
is founded, increasing the likelihood that it will appear as ill-founded to onlookers.
I don’t seek to prove any point or substantiate my spiteful perch, and that lack of
explanation may only cause me to look unreasonable in my outlook.
Honestly, I have to expect that my perceptions of society will be shot down
and discredited by others by cause of my ostensible lack of worldly experience.
I’ve always felt my opinions to be disrespected and invalidated for precisely that
reason. Maybe it’s just self-consciousness on my part since I can’t really come up
with any particular examples (although I don’t doubt that some people will wield
these facts in an attempt discredit my perspective) but this has surely
discouraged me from sharing my more deeply traumatic experiences as well as
from going into in-depth personal philosophies and sociological rants.
I expect to be viewed by the public more as a poor and ignorant child than as
the modern monastic that I am. And I’m not so sure that that’s as much a

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reflection of my actions and abilities as much as it is a reflection of your own
grasp on the “spiritual” or rather symbolic developmental potential of the modern
man. So I ask you, do all you can to avoid making assumptions about my
underlying reasons for speaking with such self-assured distaste. It isn’t wrong,
per se, to use your prior understanding as a model to which to compare other
cases for an assessment of my verity and reasonableness but you must take into
account that though I wear your clothes and breathe through my nose, I do not
come from “your world”.
In anyway, the traumas I have suffered in recent years (and continue to suffer)
are not something I can bring myself to rehash in any context; not even at the
risk of leaving out some of the most “necessary” details of my life story. I simply
can not bring myself to explaining the harm and abuse that I have suffered from
the people in my life. I have several reasons to say so, and none of these say
anything of shame or secrecy, so don’t think that I’m concealing information from
the public for any reasons other than the fact that I’m having difficulty expressing
myself. And that isn’t always about finding the right words to convey my point, but
finding the right way to convey my point without causing an upset in my physical
tension.
My health is now in such a state that to even attempt to convey such
emotionally charged topics would bring untellable damage to my body via
somatic influence. I wish it weren’t so. As an example, as of these past three
months, due to my hernia, whenever I feel even remotely anxious or excited my
right leg/foot goes numb and my hernia shifts, producing great swelling below my
ribs and pain/numbness/coldness all along my right leg and foot as a result of low
oxygen/strangulation. That is only one of the symptoms I must face in reaction to
being even slightly upset and it surely isn’t the worst.
Moreover, I am unwilling to subject my wounds to your unqualified judgments
and that is precisely what I would be doing by sharing. A trauma is not an isolated
event but part of a highly complex sequence of events/conditions yielding
uniquely (personal) dramatic results, and there is simply no means for an
outsider to be able to properly assess the impact and ramifications of a particular
event/interaction occurring in one’s life. That is why, as critical as I am of others’
complaints and overall weakness, I do not dare criticize one’s traumas.

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 I do struggle with the idea of all these events and feelings going unsaid...
especially since I feel I must be vindicated and without voicing them it is just not
possible. I will just have to come to terms with it on my own.
My autobiography, too, is a poor source of information on the topic of my
traumatic interactions and deals primarily with the struggles I face in isolation. It’s
the most comprehensive source that currently exists, yes, but it was written at a
different stage in my life and there were yet certain blocks in my mind that
prevented me from facing them head on. Some of them were even undermined
by my own recounting, viewed through rosy glasses simply because I was so
isolated at this point in my life that I was feeling nostalgic for absolutely
everything that occurred in the presence of human company, positive and
negative alike.
Little time remains for me and it is positively foolish to continue resisting and
attempting to skirt my fate when my focus should instead be on accepting the
cards in my hand. And I do not say that with resignation but realism. All is
tapering to a point and I would be wise to devote this time to accepting what I will
of the fruits of my truth.

I know this must appear to you as a bleak and fatalistic outlook. Well, that’s
exactly what is, but I wish you wouldn’t look at it as an unnecessary adaptation
begotten of weakness or presumption or any such cause. Apart from the fact that
my understanding is based on actual data that only I have access to, there is
also a benefit to accepting these facts. It will improve both my attitude, my
outlook and the grade of my actions to recognize my circumstance for what it is.
Man is at his best when able to perceive each day as a gift, as an opportunity,
and unfortunately for what it says of our capacities, this standardly requires that a
sand-clock is kept in our sights.
That isn’t to say that there is some particular facet of my self or my life that I
struggle to accept. It’s simply about accepting that this is the extent of my efforts.
Lives will not be saved. Tickets will not be sold. Vows will not be spoken. I am
what I am and I did as I did, and if anything beyond that should occur, it will occur
beyond my realm of understanding.
My kindness and generosity did not prevent me from being abused,

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abandoned and left to experience this life alone. My talent and ingenuity did not
merit me any added respect or recognition in life. My bountiful passion did not
“save me” or even immunize me from my suffering. My knowledge, which was
meant to increase my function in this society, only isolated me therefrom. Slight
derailment: I very much dislike to point that one out as I’ve always been one to
reject the popular notion that high intelligence disposes the individual to a
depressive and lonely existence, and my argument was always to say that true
intelligence would be able to devise a way around such a situation... in which
case the so-called intelligence of this postulate is either artificial or simply
arrogance!
Well, I don’t consider myself depressed, and I have more sense than to
wrongfully blame my loneliness and bleakness of circumstances on my
intellectual capacity. That’s just masturbation below the table. As I notioned, true
intelligence doesn’t work in that way.
It was an insular existence through and through, and I was frequently upset to
imagine that no one understood what I had to say (and in many cases didn’t even
seem to attempt to), regardless of whether or not my perceptions held any weight
in reality. And yet I am sensible enough to recognize that the real cause of my
peerless existence was not so much a dearth of worthy persons in this universe
as much as it was the state of my health which severely limited my options in life
and prevented me from going to the necessary lengths to locate my kindred, as it
were.
In anyway, I must be able to accept that all I received for my efforts at leading
an exceptional and well-spent existence is personal satisfaction, and I wish, oh I
wish, to be able to accept that that, in itself, was enough to justify the efforts
expended and the throes I suffered. It will be a bittersweet turnout no matter how
it is faced, but I don’t doubt that I will find this acceptance in me. I expect it will be
fairly simple, actually, given my views on the law of conservation of energy and
the ways in which it applies to everyday life. I also think it was necessary for “the
world to reject me” as it did (quotations meant to be taken as an acknowledgment
of emotional hypberbolism), for this has forced me to confront my merits on
natural, neutral and intrinsic terms without influence from the praise and embrace
of others. Many persons base their own self-evaluation purely by (or in spite of)

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how they are perceived by others, and while I certainly don’t believe that others’
input is worthless, it is surely imperative to be able to form your own opinion
independently of extrinsic feedback.
Some things are accepted naturally and subconsciously over stretches of time
while others, I find, require a more ritualistic sort of setting/scenario, which is to
say a single, focused event, to really welcome this change into your programmed
consciousness. As for me, I think that with a couple of meditative, perhaps
candlelit evenings spent in the basement focusing on these issues that they will
cease to be issues and become an accepted and necessary part of my system.
I didn’t have outrageous demands of life. I wanted to make the most of my
capabilities and I willed to be perceived (and credited) as I am. High demands of
myself, yes, but I had far more sense (and quite enough cynicism) than to make
these same demands of others. Not even close, I assure you! I would have been
thrilled to have just one person in my life who could share in my wins and losses.
That would have been enough for me. That would have been enough to balance
out the darkness, I expect; just one person in this world who truly loved me, not
just with their words but with their eyes; with their soul. I won’t know what that is
like, and that is something I must accept.
Verily, I requested no more than I lacked. Verily, I requested no more than I
needed.
When one’s life is not unfolding as desired, look first to your expectations and
readjust accordingly to present conditions.
As for now I will be pursuing the reclamation and refurbishment of my selfness
and self-interest. It’s not that my sense of self has been shattered by this ordeal.
No, nothing so severe. I would like to think it’s not possible at this point! I’ve just
been infected with the words and stares and bacteria of society and I require a
period of indefinite ablution.
When a point of satisfaction is achieved I will have a laugh, I will have a clap
and I will greet the reaper without concern for what should this shitless world
think of my closing song.
These tenacious efforts to remain on an uninhabitable plain are taking me
further and further from my baseline—my home within. With that being said, the
Maclura experiment may have been a bit unnecessary as a measure in this time.

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I won’t be scrapping the idea entirely since I’ve got a great deal of work put into
its development and I’m sure I can recycle some of these ideas, outlandish as
they seem, but I’m not so sure that I will be following through which such an
erratic and unpredictable process now that I feel there exists a safer and more
reasonable alternative.
These past few years of life have been colder and lonelier than anything I
ever experienced in total seclusion. I am suffering. I am suffering in ways I never
knew possible. I am suffering like a roadside animal crushed once, twice, a
hundred times by callous tires without one ever having the courtesy to pull over
and finish the job.

My body is cannibalizing itself in ways you wouldn’t believe and at speed at

which my mind can not keep up. I must fight to keep from dissociating from my
body when the discomfort and trauma becomes unmanageably severe.
I no longer know the company of great desires and ambitions—these
hallmarks of my existence. It is not beyond me to fight, but I am without a
defense as I fight without a cause; without a focus; without a prayer.
I have been afflicted with traumas that can not be overcome by the means to
available to me. And if I can not expect to overcome them, the best alternative is
to find meaning in them, and no one accomplished that better than Tendon with
his traumaturgy and white combs.
Violence as Charity!
Traumaturgy!
Blister and bleed for the love of the game!
I will to be Tendon again—the Tendon that I once was, before all was
corrupted by necessity.
He did not experience suffering as I now do. It was a meaningful experience in
every way. That isn’t to romanticize any aspect of the experience, as there is
nothing romantic or desirable about my circumstances.
As concepts, pain is concrete whereas suffering is abstract. That surely isn’t
to negate the extremity of the suffering that I endured in previous years. No
matter the name, mindset, haircut I adopt, my mind and body have been razed
beyond human recognition and symbolic reduction.

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 However, there is no denying the effects of outlook, and I feel that prior to
2016 I put in a more conscious effort to eradicate all such classifications. I relied
on minor semantic distinctions of this sort to fuel my wounded morale. It’s not that
I no longer actively practice such methods. I have merely lost faith, or the
strength to support any bit of faith, and whereas I once could move mountains, I
now struggle to move my own body.
I can mourn a lack of overlying objectives and grand Romantic narratives all I
will, but a lack of desire may in fact be what is required to w(h)et my tongue and
share freely the thoughts in my head. Is that so important? Well, it is to me. (It’s
another rung on the ladder to death-acceptance. I think my most feared scenario
would be to die with words unspoken/stories untold.)
And because I believe my end is drawing close, I have not found it necessary
to put in the effort to conceive a new dream, which I expect would only add to the
emotional pain that I am experiencing. New interests and occupations, yes—I’m
constantly keeping busy with fun little projects and ideas. My days are replete
with an almost Wonka-esque whirl of curiosity and invention—yet I am not
inclined to conceive any new “reason for being”.

The person I have become in recent years is but a dull, infertile marshmallow
of a human being in comparison to all that I am capable of. I have not once
experienced satisfaction with this form/expression, and my discontent expresses
itself via the occasional (though increasingly common) fatalistic and passive
aggressive tone.
All that I have become in these years was guided by an earnest attempt to
derive and/or contrive a practical application from my experiences and the
wisdom gleaned therefrom, but I can’t even say that I have achieved that which I
set out to achieve in doing so. I have never stopped overcoming personal
obstacles and moving forward, so it’s not that I’ve become stagnant, but I am not
currently satisfying my own self-expectations. My performance is hot as ever but
I’m jogging on the wrong footpath.
I simply can not synthesize a means to integrate my understanding with a
world that exists in such a state. And perhaps this says less about reality than my
personal expectations. I’ll acknowledge that possibility. But for years I’ve held

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myself accountable for my perceived inability to find some “universal solvent”, if
you will, believing it is a reflection of my own ability or lack thereof.
And what did I accomplish as I sobbed below the shower head! What worth
have I lost to a rust-eaten drain! Tendon would not have tolerated such a
pointless waste of his precious seconds.
Though I look back on these years with criticism (most of which is honestly a
bit unfair to myself), I can not regret my actions in this case, given that I acted in
accordance with my beliefs which, themselves, were based upon careful
deductions using the information available to/understood by me concurrently with
my actions. I can not regret these efforts even as I failed to meet my objective (an
objective which may or may not have even been plausible to begin with!)
because I have acquired a great degree of insight and skill in these few years,
and these skills, when added to all that is Tendon, have a potential to form
something wonderful; something—dare I say—Idempotent!
That photograph seen on the panel of my web log... I quite like that photo. It’s
the last photo ever taken of Tendon (Vzdutpondo) and I feel that it perfectly
captures his “essence”, which I believe can be summed up as somewhat
“Pyrrhic” (as in “a Pyrrhic victory”). There is no mistaking the strength and self-
assuredness in such an expression. It is not at all like the tired expression I wear
currently, but with every word I type it’s as if I can feel my brow beginning to tilt;
as if the noble demon revisits me!
And if writing all of this out in text has taught me anything about my
circumstances, past and present, it is that it just isn’t worth it to continue on as I
have!
This gimp that I have been: a sore-footed archivist! I am naught if not the
Everycarcass.
SLIT ME, CROSS ME, DOUT MY FIRE.

I am naught if not the Everycarcass.

May all my days hereafter be ruled not by what I desire nor what I deserve but
by what I am! I am naught if not Tendon Pantocrator, the First-Second-Zeroth-
First.
And I can not exist as Tendon insofar as I seek communion with the willfully

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deficient.
The third mutation of Entity Tendon will begin precisely on the ten-year
anniversary of my public breakdown (2/16), the date on which I was first forced to
recognize that the public would never hold my interest in esteem and that my
progress and success as a spiritual-symbolic entity depended solely on my ability
to act in accordance with my inner narrative.
All outside communications are planned to cease on this date. After the
nightmare that was 2015-2017 I will require some time to restructure my intrinsic
sense of purpose.
Once I have achieved as much you will be hearing from me on one last
occasion. Change is imminent! I say that much with gladness.
As you already know, I have made the decision to withdraw from society and
contact on an indefinite basis. I will be selling off all that I own and moving back
into the basement wherein I previously spent the most productive and focused
decade of my existence.
I’ve spent this past year living in a cramped and impersonal room in the attic,
unwilling to settle... unwilling to personalize my surroundings in the belief that
personalization would mark concession. And that doesn’t matter much because I
spent the year sitting on the edge of my mattress staring down at my phone
(since I compose all of these texts via Notes), but this is not my home. I never
intended to stay here. I wanted to move to New Orleans. I made every attempt
get away from this horrible and disgraceful town. If only you were told how many
plans and “solutions” fell through you would react in disbelief. The thought of
being buried in this despicable and unwelcoming town is something so
But a figure awaits me in that basement cell—the sessile pupa of a god
wrongfully truncated and abandoned by his own bearings. And to me it is more
than simply donning a different nameplate. It is as a reunion between father, son
and holy goat!
So let’s talk about this room! My previous set-up was deconstructed in 2016,
as you should already know. The walls and ceiling were stripped bare and the
room has since been used to house excess storage. Smells of mold and musk
have left the room uninhabitable. A complete and thorough renovation is currently
underway. The carpet was thrown out, though not without preserving just a

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couple select squares of carpet as a memento (the square of carpet on which I
sat while I recorded my music and the square of carpet whereon my pillow once
lay).
Whereas my previous room was a shrine to identity and obsession, I now
intend to create an altogether dissimilar environment for myself. There were will
be none of that madness. It will be

a subtle homage to the worthwhile, to the serene and beautiful; a sanctuary.

And subtle is a fitting word, since compared to my previous room, which was
cluttered and highly phrenetic in presentation, this new one will take a more
“elegant” and comparatively minimalistic approach (comparatively...).
The prominent motif will be sleep. I believe it deserves the honor, not only as
one of the predominant forces in my life, representing not merely unmindfulness
as it would for the majority of individuals but education and exploration. Sleep
was my school, my altar, my social life, my love life! On top of that, I believe it
may be the sole element in this life that has continued to heal and preserve me
without ever “betraying” me!
On my wall will hang paintings depicting sleep, especially as personified by
Hypnos, as well as portraits of respected individuals, e.g., Leonardo Da Vinci
and... myself, haha. I’ve some lovely sculptures on the way, such as a bust of
Hypnos and multiple sleeping cherubs which will be set up around my room. I’ve
also got some scientific illustrations of papaver somniferum (opium poppy) which
I’ve framed.
The ceiling will be blackened and decorated with glowing star decals and a
model moon. The walls will be brushed with an oxidizing metallic bronze paint. I
will be sure to upload photos that you may see the progress. I am very excited. I
would also love a vibrant wall mural of the sort that appears like a window into
the outside world—into beautiful locations. I’ve even found one of the
Cyclades...! I’ve long desired to relocate to the Cyclades—Milos in particular. As
my interest in the legend of Hypnos developed I became more in favor of the
island of Lemnos, though my emotional attachment to Milos yet surpasses all
else. You may not be aware of my reasons at this point, but I hope to explain it at
all in due time. It’s considered to be a rather large and important part of my life.

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 The southern Cycladic islands—therein is my home! The only home I’ve
known! The Mortal Fine Meal!
In another life I would have loved to be an interior decorator, I tell you! It’s
always been a quiet interest of mine. Sometimes during my meal breaks I will just
sit and browse home and garden magazines. Yet with so many passionate
interests in my life it is unfortunate that so many will go unrealized. Gah, I wanted
to do everything. How do you patzers live to be seventy years old and still only
get as far as the beer aisle at the local supermarket before becoming smug with
all that you’ve seen and accomplished!
If I had a better yard for it (and the physical health for it) I would also love to
start up a moon garden. I’ve been giving the idea some thought lately, unlikely as
it is. Ahh, that sounds like a very satisfying pastime at this point in my life. I doubt
it will happen but ahhhh.
All in all, I am welcoming of this change and I seek to make good use of its
psycho-symbolic properties.
I will construct a shrine to a deep and meaningful sleep and I will die as I
lived, alone to my own.

As for the extent to which I will be secluding myself:

I have removed the comment box from this site. The Facebook and Instagram
accounts are officially done. I’ll leave the pages up—at least for now—but I am
uninstalling these applications from my phone so I will not be alerted to any
comments or messages received on these services. I will continue updating this
site at the usual frequency, though I would expect the tone of my writings to
change, if slightly, as a result of my changing needs and expectations which have
effectively written out any sort of extraneous desire and thus have left me without
cause to coat my gall in all this stupid fucking strawberry syrup.
You may still contact me via email, and I will likely continue to read all that I
receive, but it’s best not to expect a response from me. Consider that the rule,
and anything more to be an exception.
You should know enough by now about my heart and my intentions to know
not to take this personally. This is not some bitter backhand directed at my
audience. It really isn’t it. I ask you to understand that I am doing as I must to

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preserve my final remaining heat. Moreover, I ask those of you who supported
and encouraged me over this rough period of my life to be assured of the fact
that your every gesture was appreciated and will not be forgotten below the
rubble of negativity. Know that your contribution of goodness was appreciated,
even as we may have been touching from a distance.
Anyone who has been promised a package and is yet to receive it: I have not
forgotten and all packages that haven’t yet shipped will ship out this week.
Also, I’ve still a stock of merchandise on hand which I would prefer to sell off
or distribute while I may. The ideal would be to find a couple distros willing to
grab a boxful and then redistribute it in my stead, but I know no such distros and I
haven’t the time to hunt, so any leads or inquiries on the matter would be helpful
to me.
I may also be posting some high-resolution photos of the apparel and poster
designs along with the permissions for use/reprinting so that production can
continue on without my involvement in the future.
I will be concluding this post with that, though there is more to come.
Writing out this text has left me feeling an internal charge, showing me in what
ways my worth has been compromised, and how foolish I would have to be to
continue on this path.
Thank you, dear humanity, for denying my every offering, destroying my every
monument and hushing my every attempt to communicate, for it has brought me
back to the tomb of all-purpose, and there I have found Tendon, right where I left
him.

He is bleeding out, and the blood is strangely viscous, but in here among
these basement quarters he has accepted in his soul that if this is the sum of an
honest existence, then this too is true!
This is goodbye, in a sense, but I wouldn’t call it the end.

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Kaftan
February 16, 2018

A majestic new kaftan to start us off.

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81
Prints
February 16, 2018
The prints have arrived, too. Eager to have these put up on the wall!

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83
Design
February 17, 2018

One more design on the way.

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 Shifts
February 20, 2018

The process of shifting identical paradigms is just that: a process—one that

often requires six or more weeks to complete; but even in the span of four days I
can feel a noticeable difference in my internal processing. I can feel a healthy
aggression entering back into my cells. Not being forced; simply allowed. It is a
very pleasant sensation. It feels like me. Unfortunately I am finding it harder to
articulate my thoughts. I don’t know if that is the fault of an innate intensity or
complexity or altogether cum hockey. What... is... the... standard... and who...
declared... it... so...

To Stand as I Stood
February 24, 2018

Written previously (not long ago) but never posted.

Something recently occurred in my life which mirrors an event that took place
fourteen years ago—except that there has been a sort of role reversal. I am
referring to my originary “encounters” with the Idem at the age of fourteen/fifteen.
It’s as if I am now staring back from the “other side”. This is not the first such
occurrence and I do not expect it to cease just yet.

One may gather some interesting theories from these overlaps...

What a strange circumstance, overall. It’s as if I exist within a science fiction

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novel. And it’s only becoming stranger with each day.
The greatest mysteries of my lifetime are being revealed through a subtle
gradation. And the answers... well, they aren’t so pleasant in all cases. There is
much irony in the detail.
I have stalked the scent of this ultrasymbolic entity for exactly half of my life,
calling him hero and idol—and yet what do I know, conclusively, about his inner
existence! I leapt the stanchion if only to take his noble satisfaction as my own
and cared not to look beyond his nature. I never wondered about his perspective,
and least of all his “feelings”. I merely assumed. And these infantile assumptions
have undoubtedly delayed my victory in Idempotency. Yet this is less a product of
my ignorance than it is of my idealistic nature.
It’s been a trying existence... so utterly impossible to quantify. The days of
actually enjoying this miserable and (ant)agonizing existence are as far back in
history as when the CD shelves made up damn near half of any given Best Buy
retail store.
There are no words to describe the hadal horrors that I must face on an hourly
basis, and yet I am veritably fulfilled; and if you catch me on a day wherein my
war-torn emotions aren’t occluding an objective retrospective of my existence
and its uninterrupted, albeit unsung, string of personal victories, I will be happy to
tell you that I do not regret a single thing—right down to my decision to “stick it
out” for as long as I have despite the utter lack of some grand, existential
recompense, as it were.

I spent my life working diligently towards my very focused goal and I have
achieved that goal in developing into precisely the individual I set out to be. So
what sense would it make to grieve over a lack of common comforts when I
willingly and conscientiously set out on a path that promised none such warmth.
I met—no, exceeded—the expectations set by my imaginative will.
I am a living experiment—a living altar and the cumulative sacrifices slain
thereon. Some tests amounted to success while some went horribly wrong, but
all of them were willfully carried out.
I have made countless ill-informed decisions, and it’s so easy to grimace in
hindsight, but regardless of how I may feel for the outcome(s), I can not say of

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any one of them that they were mistakes.
So even if my existence is to forever remain an insular one, my song forever
unsung, my story forever untold, I did exactly that which I set out to do in life.
I wasn’t seeking wealth, nor popularity, nor a piece of the shit-spangled
banner. I only wished to transcend the decline of human self-estimation, and
while this society impotently awaits the coming of its pumpkin coach I determined
to pursue a life of action. And it took some time to actually get the thread through
the eye, but once through, I haven’t paused for even a single moment to scratch
an itch, as it were.
To repurpose my needs and desperation! To replace expectations with
ambitions! To exalt discipline over indulgence!
And for what purpose? For the approval of man? For the favor of some
“God”? The answer is of course “neither”. Extrinsic influences as these, generally
lacking in any greater an internal motivator than selfish, atavistic fear and
craving, invariably lead to eyeservice, hypocrisy—and here’s the maraschino
cherry—enough cognitive dissonance to constitute an irrevocable suicide of
one’s sense of identity. And this was everything with which I was disgusted;
everything I was meaning to “transcend” through a life of will and action.
I did it purely for the benefit of my own outlook and understanding. My
upbringing had depleted me of all faith in the capabilities of man, who I did not
trust could transcend the immediate fears and desires of his errant heart. The
decision to follow these mad ideals was, in substance, the decision to prove my
fears unfounded.
I only wanted to be an exception to all of the senselessness and incivility and
lethargy and self-deception I have seen in my experiences with others. I
determined to be someone whose steps in life were not informed by desperation
or by blindness, by tradition or by extrinsic pressures but by an intrinsic and
intuitively cultivated vision of principle and singularity.
I’ve recently reached a point in my developmental journey where I have found
that I am capable of understanding his actions and behaviors merely through my
own self-understanding.

And I know now why he sits in silence. Without a sound! Without a twitch! It

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is not coolness but a crippled state!
He is a cripple in whom there cohabitates an arrant pride and utter pain.
And I’ve had to wonder why he or the Steulugalnemraiant couldn’t just admit
to me as much! Why couldn’t I have been told that he was suffering so
extensively? Why couldn’t I have been informed at the start of my
thetamorphosis on what to anticipate from it all?
The answer is all too clear: it’s because they knew I wouldn’t have cared.
More accurately, I wouldn’t have cared enough to decline the opportunity “to be
someone worth being”. So by sharing with me such information it would have
only served to hamper my performance by adding a dimension of anxiety and
pessimism to my worldview and that would have rendered my developmental
journey null in all its parts since I am unlikely to have made it past my earliest,
most elementary of obstacles, such as suicidal depression and anxiety disorder.
I dare say I was the sort of child who wouldn’t reject the fruit of lucidity if even
knowing he would choke thereon for the rest of his days, never being able to
enjoy its very potent appeals. Was I a fool? Was and am, hahahaha, was and
am.
Yet when I look again upon that young and impressionable face it will no
longer matter to me that I am suffering, when all that this boy cares to see is the
majesty of principle and the integrity to maintain it. And I’ve only that to offer him!
Though it surely must appear fantastical to onlookers, I really hope to
experience a resolution to all of those dreams from my youth. And what a
powerful conclusion it would be to this ridiculous story that is my existence.
Nothing captures my heart like a full-circle-type tale! I’m so happy to think that I
might get the chance to experience something of the sort; and all the pieces
seem to to be lining up and crashing like dominoes.
Will I actually know the honor to sit as I sat, to stand as I stood, and to leave
the room with my blood still warm!
I won’t be making any follow-up announcement to the public, though. What
would I possibly say? I’ll just embarrass myself more than I already have,
hahaha. I really think that to continue to share the details of my personal
development (at least that which pertains to the “Idem”) is devaluing all that it
means to me, because, let’s face it: you people are coming into the theatre way

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late, the story is already nearing its conclusion and, having missed out on all my
victories and losses, all you are seeing is some sort of confusing, overly
grandiose and possibly “self-righteous” monologue by Lawyer Jesus, hahaha.
It also doesn’t help that I am yet to post some very crucial chapters in my
biography that may better help to bridge the gap between my past and present,
so you’re probably putting these words to the tremulant voice of a tweaked-out
Tendon Levey who, for all intents and purposes, disappeared into a cloud of io
moths nearly seven years ago.

I’ve so much more I would like to say on recent dreams and my own
realizations of the Idem and Steulugalnemraiant, and if I can ever work up the
time and energy, I would surely like to go into more detailed explanations on my
system of belief that may help to explain a lot of little bits of symbolism appearing
throughout my work. My world is a whole lot queerer than I’ve cared to let on lest
I unload too much at once and come out sounding to you like Baron
Tendonhausen, hahaha. There’s also the fact that this part of my life (quadrant,
really) is deeply, deeply personal to me and I am justified in being wary of how I
present it to the public.

Dodgy
February 24, 2018

I sure hope no one is wise to what looks like a big, drunken swipe of the
dodge tool on the cover of Heart is Debt, hahaha. I sure wish I had spotted that
before propagating this image across all databases. I’m putting this on my to-do
list, but if for some reason I never get around to it I’m going to need someone to
do God’s work and set things right.

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 On Eccentricities
February 25, 2018

“Eccentricity”.
I dislike the term, honestly.
Not that I find it offensive. I’m pretty accustomed to being perceived as
strange by others and I can’t rightfully fault you if that’s how you happen to view
me. But I want to say a few things that will maybe offer you a new perspective on
what it is you are actually seeing.
As I see myself, I am merely a boy presented with highly abnormal
circumstances in life, and because of a lack of options at my disposal I’ve been
forced to “get creative” in the management and overcoming of mine own
demons.
When the lot of you suffer setbacks in life you are likely left with a wide variety
of means by which you may overcome your circumstances, many of which you
undoubtedly take for granted, including everything from sobbing and rampaging
to “smoking up” to socializing with friends to meditating and exercising to
dezinezinet.
This is something I’ve been wishing to address for some time, since I’m not
sure that my audience understands the purpose underlying a lot of my more
garish actions, as it were. It’s so easy to write off any such quirks as some
gimmick or deliberate grab for attention and... ach... that would upset me greatly.
I guess I feel that being classified as “eccentric” or placing undue emphasis on
my perceived “strangeness” trivializes the meaningfulness of my choices and
actions. Eccentricity as a term is after all more commonly used to describe a
deliberately feigned or “non-medical based” display of behavior deemed unusual
to the public at large and is almost always without underlying purpose apart from
gaining attention.

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 Let me give you just a little superficial insight into my everyday reality and the
limitations with which I must constantly contend.
Given my current physical restrictions and disabilities, the following are
unavailable to me as forms of release: speaking, singing, dancing, laughing,
alcohol consumption, drug use, deep breathing exercises, punching, screaming,
crying, masturbating, running, walking, exercise, painting and drawing, playing
musical instruments, playing video games, indulging in food, dezinezinet.
This does not account for the extent of my limitations, covering only the most
noticeable/notable losses in my life.
I can do very little with my arms/hands as the result of an unknown injury in
the nerve running between my throat and my thumb/hand, which I believe may
be caused by nerve entrapment in the thoracic outlet (negatively impacting pre-
existing otolaryngeal injuries, of course). And then there is my hernia(s) which
has had me virtually bedridden for all of this year. I was walking by aid of
crutches last year but now I can’t even do as much due to my arms. And because
I lack close friends, family and community, I am left without the option for face-to-
face interaction and physical affection. My limited typing ability makes fostering
new (online) relationships not worth the attempt. Add to that the fact that I can not
drive and you may now be beginning to understand the hopelessness of my
circumstance. That’s all just the tip of it, and I haven’t even gone into what
happens to my body when I foolishly (though frequently) oppose or attempt to
ignore my limits.
So what can I do to alleviate/fight the negativity?
I can listen to music, I can sleep, I can shower and I can type a limited amount
of text each day on my phone.
There are other options available to me, of course, such as reading and
watching television, which I’m sure may appeal to the majority, yet I’ve been
thoroughly poisoned on such activities and therefore they do not bring on any
noticeable relief and may even trigger restlessness and depression resulting from
lack of productivity.

I am largely limited to psychological defenses at this point in my life, which

explains my highly intricate and creative means of tackling my weakness, such

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as via identity experiments and making aesthetic adjustments to my environment.
It is from these ostensibly “eccentric” acts that I derive the majority of my
encouragement. The ability to overcome my circumstances depends almost
entirely, at this point, on my ability to manipulate my own outlook of the situation
and foster a warrantless positivity.
Even when I had a larger arsenal to my name, I still had a preference for
identity-related experiments and whatnot as a means of tackling my upsets. It’s
all very much about manipulating my outlook as a means of adapting to,
accepting and/or bypassing circumstances beyond my limited control.
Music runs in a constant stream from the time I wake to the time that I sleep
(and sometimes as I sleep!). Depending on the pain that I am experiencing, I
might spend as much as 40-60 minutes in the shower per day (as is typical for
the cold seasons).
My dreams... they are my protectors, and I sleep soundly throughout the night
regardless of what struggles I face in my time awake, although having to sleep
with my feet elevated can be a bit disruptive.
That is quite literally about all that I can do without aid from others.
For a while now I have avoided painting an accurate picture of my
circumstances for fear of disturbing, appalling or drawing unwanted sympathies
from the lot of you. So I am aware you may be somewhat surprised to learn that I
am still very much “in the thick of it” despite my tendency to act as though my
darkest days are behind me.
So I wouldn’t say that I am “odd” or “eccentric” insofar as I am amazingly
crafty; and being well-versed on egoic defense mechanisms is a significant aid to
my ability to construct viable solutions to these very difficult situations. This, to
me, is what it is to be a magickian!
All in all, I am as I am, and saying all of this doesn’t change appearances;
however, I hope it helps to increase your understanding and therefore lessens
the perceived distance between you and I, in terms of our shared humanity. You
and I—we differ only in our strengths and weaknesses. Sure, that can account
for a whole lot, but never enough to where these particular methods that so
greatly benefit me can’t also benefit you in some manner or form. Yeah, I’m being
a bit vague, but you’ve got to have an idea by now of how I manage, and I would

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love it if you didn’t just associate these methods with me, as if some trademark or
possession to which you haven’t access, and maybe next time the booze runs
out for you you’ll consider going a more... hmm... “creative” route. Haha, I don’t
mean any of that condescendingly. (If I was actually meaning to condescend I
would not use “alcohol” as an example, what with my soggy history and all...!)

Isolation
February 27, 2018

Several times in this past year I’ve been asked about my lifestyle by
individuals who appear to be looking towards hermitry as a solution to whatever
social frustrations they are currently facing in their lives. More than anything, this
leaves me feeling concerned and I would like to offer my readers some insight
into how I look back on my lifetime of isolation. This may end up being more of
an ill-prepped ramble than an organized retrospective...
First of all just let me explain that my intentions, in the beginning (2008), were
not any more than to take some time off from interaction for the sole purpose of
restructuring my outlook and overcoming certain weaknesses. My becoming a
hermit was more or less the unintended result of an unfortunate (health-related)
chain reaction.
I mostly wish to address the effects of social isolation on the human body/
mind (especially on a molecular level) since this is the biggest issue that I have
faced in my experience.
See, it really doesn’t matter if you’re an introvert or extrovert, or to what
degree you “love your alone time”. I function perfectly well as a solitary without
being burdened by my aloneness inasmuch as I maintain high productivity levels
(which is absolutely no issue for me). Though due to a lack of human interactions
in life, my body has dramatically decreased its natural production of dopamine

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and oxytocin: two chemicals known to play an important role in the cellular
regeneration of our muscles and overall nervous system. My understanding is
very basic, but this seems to be the truth of the matter. The studies and their
findings are widespread. Simply search “effects of isolation on health” and you
will be shown more than enough data on the topic. I haven’t even explored these
studies as I would like. I’m just providing you an empirical report.
And it makes perfect sense on an evolutionary level when you consider it: the
outsiders—in other words being those who don’t contribute to the tribe—are
fundamentally unnecessary (and perhaps even a threat) to said tribe. That much
is just speculation on my part, but it appears pretty sensible to me...!
This life, which serves the many, does not see fit to preserve me.
Had I know earlier what I’ve since learned about chemical function I would
have swallowed my spit and found another means to satisfy my needs, or at least
implemented a greater balance in my very immoderate lifestyle. Sadly, by the
time I had begun to orient myself in the direction of the sun the seeds of
agoraphobia had already sprouted in me and my body had begun resisting the
change, coming against me with all sorts of anxious symptomology. And like so
many in this world of wonders, I brought upon myself a lifetime of unmitigated
suffering in an attempt to avoid a momentary bout of discomfort.
It is also true that there are means apart from intimate interpersonal
interactions capable of producing the self-same chemicals in the brain (at varying
potencies). Proper physical exercise—which should, of course, be a daily
practice in any able individual—is positively the most efficient.
Unfortunately I, myself, am unable to perform physical exercises of any sort in
my present condition, which puts me at a significant disadvantage in the recovery
of physical and psychological imbalance alike.
I should note that I also abstained from online interactions in these years (with
a few exceptions very early on, as was noted in my autobiography) which
includes involvement in online communities such as forums and other socially-
interactive spots. That is to say that the outcome may differ in some ways for a
technical isolationist who continues to make use of these services, although it
should go without saying that such interactions are inadequate substitutes for
face-to-face interaction. You likely understand this much, but I doubt that you

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respect it. Knives are merely nouns until they cut ya!
It’s necessary to note that I am not attributing my every cavity and pimple in
life to my isolative nature. No. You won’t be pelted with acid hail at the
deadbolting of your door. The point I am making is that this lifestyle drastically
impedes upon our system’s ability to restore itself (and I am certain that that’s not
the only function to suffer as a result). My wounds do not heal as they would
were I living my life in the company of a loving partner or even a caring and
understanding family, and this is certainly a problem when with every added
wound the snowball, as it were, increases in mass by cause of an inevitable
psychological/physical strain. I have done all that I can to repair my body via
psychological and nutritional means but it appears that all I’ve done is prolong
mine own suffering.
As you know, I devoted nearly a third of my existence to that lovely fantasy of
reuniting with Anita. Say what you will about our story and the percentile of which
may have derived more from fantasy than actuality, but my feelings for that
charming and beautiful girl were quite potent and managed to preserve my
outlook and, therefore, my health for a while there, even if towards the end my
feelings had veered towards the counterproductive.
2017 has the (dis)honor of being the first year in all my life (since the age of
four, I mean) in which I was not actively “crushing on” and/or pursuing a particular
girl, and I don’t doubt that this absence of fantasy came with consequences for
my health. That might sound somewhat menial, but... it plays such an important
role in my functioning.

Since childhood, each night before falling asleep I turn to the empty space to
my left and smile and whisper “I love you”. Even after I lost my speaking ability I
continued with this pre-sleep ritual, simply mouthing the words. It was built in to
me at this point. Yet after the events of last year it’s become something I must
actively attempt suppress since it now comes with adverse effects and will often
triggers a series of traumatic flashbacks amounting to hours of insomnia and a
five-dose day.
As some may have already concluded from a cute little tag line like
“Embracement of the basement”, I’ve somehow managed to turn my hermetic

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lifestyle into a borderline gimmicky component of my aesthetic identity. And why
the hell not...
That’s not an endorsement of my insular lifestyle inasmuch as it is an attempt
to attract the attention of those living under similarly hermetic conditions. So it’s
basically a big “Hey recluses! Over here!”
Though sometimes I stare at these photographs and I wonder, does my
audience understand that these are “real”? And by that I mean to say that I
wasn’t posing in these photos, as you’ll see with the majority of artist promotional
photos, wherein the artist will do themselves up with cosmetics and carefully
select the location and angle in the hopes of coming across as exactly the type of
individual they wish to be seen as... brooding? Intense? Carefree? And, without
putting any of that down, I guess I just wish to make it known that for me there
was none of that. These photos of me that you see on the internet were me in my
natural habitat with no plotting or preparations involved.
That black and white photograph showing me at the bottom of the staircase
was taken by a ‘family’ member who came by and opened the door to throw
down some laundry and found me in exactly that position.
“What are you doing?”
“Staring at stairs.” I said dryly.
And they snapped a photograph to show me how supposedly “unnerving” it
looked.
And that photograph showing a close-up on my face was just the testing of my
sibling’s new high quality camera.
That is something that I like about those photos: they were never intended to
serve any promotional or otherwise artistic purpose. To me they resemble my
everyday life and, moreover, the quality thereof. My reason to appreciate them is
the same reason I have to dislike them.
Make of that information what you will, but in my eyes they capture something
truly ghastly, highlighting the simple fact that we were not meant to live alone.

It’s more than a “pick-up line”. It’s in our connatural design.

I was not born sickly. Up until the age of eighteen I was just a boy with an
upset stomach. Even in the wake of my infamous public collapse... I had

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convinced myself that I was sick and required immediate quarantine. I had so
easily convinced myself that I was disturbed beyond salvaging. I look back now
seeing a child who was perfectly intact and only in need of a few rigid sutures.
Yes, I was born into a shitty, abusive family and suffered through an unvarying
succession of false “friendships” and I was justified in wishing to withdraw from it
all for a time, with or without a rational cause with which to support my decision;
but I’ll be the first to say “So what?”
It hurts—of course it does—but it does so to a far lesser degree than does
losing my ability to go out and try again.
I harbor no regrets for how I have handled my life, and I say that much with
pride in my tone, although deep down I must wonder to what extent my
acceptance is given its breath by nescience? After all, I don’t know what it is like
to live without suffering minute by minute. Could only I catch a vivid glimpse of
myself at forty, wading through the pools at a water theme park with my beautiful
wife and curious, albeit unruly children (adopted, no doubt) I very well might have
a bit more antipathy to show for the fate the I’ve accepted as my own.
As for misanthropy as a justification for seclusion... (which came up in some
of the messages I received)
I‘ll see if I can get my point across without lapsing into a lecture and I‘ll just
share my own personal experience.
It’s probably pretty easy to paint me as a misanthrope who simply had all that
he could stand, but my misanthropy is wholly unrelated to my innate isolative
tendencies.

Regardless of whatever critical/negative views I may hold on the state of

humanity, I wish for my audience to understand that I am not the sort to react in
that way. I am more proactive and confrontational.

These so-called misanthropes who withdraw and lob spit from their
polystyrene fortresses are precisely the type of individual I most detest and by no
means do they resemble the type of proactive, “philanthropic misanthropy” that I
uphold in my own day-to-day life.

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 I am fortunate to possess the perspicacity to recognize and the strength to
respect the caring roots from which my hatred grows, and while there is nothing
inauthentic or flimsy about the hatred that colors my every thought and action in
life, I have done well to subvert its hold.

When I encounter a problem, be it internally or externally, I confront it rather

than evading/avoiding it. Regardless of where the fault may lie, I refuse to be
discouraged from action and will continue doing all that I can to mend and
overcome the cognitive and communicative barriers in effect.

My isolation was rather the result of poor judgment and psychological fragility.

I did well to frost that cake with a thick and appeasing layer of intellectual and
romantic causes and/or justifications but beneath it all was just an unwanted child
depilated and decorticated to the point of amortality.

So please, please do not dress me up as some arrogant, worldweary

misanthrope who up and shrugged off the world with his cool and unforgiving
glare. These notions are just not true of my self, nor are they in themselves
anything to exalt or entertain, being it all just weakness expressed through
defeatist tendencies and unrealistic expectations.

I know I recently just made a big deal out of withdrawing once more from
social communications, but let me just say that if I felt I had any other (propitious)
options available to me I would not be doing as much.

My decision to return to this state of being was not based entirely on my

grievances with a certain difficult mammal, although I will admit that my standing
relationship therewith had more of a hand in shaping this decision than it did in
shaping my previous stint, which was less decision-based and more “oopsy”. But
it’s not about frustration or friction. My health situation has created for far too
much vulnerability and this gives everyone I encounter far too much power to
affect me. Otherwise, were I in better physical health, there would be no problem

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(or rather, much less of one). Even were I somehow able to manage, the last
thing I wish to be in this life is a liability, a beggar, a burden, and that’s all I would
feel like in my condition. And that’s only part of my reason.

Everycarcass aside, I have observed noticeable alterations in my thought

process over these past three years of attempted social reintegration and they
are surely not benefiting my development in any way.

I therefore believe it is prudent (and reasonably urgent) that I give this matter
my full, focused attention, in the knowledge that it will only worsen with time.

Something changed within me and I lost the sense that I was in control of my
own fate, and that’s more my fault than anything. My expectations had been
disrupted, and the disruption was sadly deliberate. After all, I wouldn’t have
sought help from medical professionals and from other avenues had I not put in
careful efforts to convince myself that I required them. This little bit of self-
programming backfired somewhat, and this is the result.

As one’s self-reliance dwindles so does their performance, and by “self-

reliance” I am referring not simply to the degree of one’s physical autonomy but
also to the expectations that exist in bind with one’s core self-evaluations.

And it pains me to say so, but I believe that after experiencing firsthand the
healing somatic effects of interpersonal (primarily romantic) relationships I began
expending even less of an effort in my attempt to overcome my burdens. It’s not
that I had given up, but my mental attitude was very different than it was in my
years of aloneness, and instead of focusing on health I made it about finding for
myself a vector, as it were.

My changing intensity is justifiable since it was (and still is) doing my body
great harm to expend so much constant energy in what are essentially my
attempts to act as my own caregiver in a time where I really should be lying belly
up somewhere stuffed with tubes and fluids and surrounded by caring intimates.

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My body is overtaxed and it is a vicious cycle.

My ethic has undoubtedly lessened from a lack of reliance. I am also fighting

to eliminate a certain attitude of “I shouldn’t have to do it all on my own” which
formed at the tail-end of my failed engagement and leads to unnecessary
obstinacy and bitterness in my behavior. This attitude is pretty much quashed by
now but 2017 was a different story. And I absolutely must redevelop my ethic to
survive this long and never-ending night on my own strength.

Another highly unfortunate matter that I am wishing to correct is my

relationship with my creations. It pains me to admit that this past year has
markedly sullied the relationship I have with my music, in particular.

The holy sanctuary that once provided my only security now teems with critics
and mercenaries and sportsmen and all the bacterium from which I hid my soul
since the start.

It was surgery. And I conceded thereto in the idealistic notion that it would
somehow “save my life”.

And when my senses went numb to what was being done, I didn’t seek to
overcome it, knowing it as surgical anesthesia, numbing me to the pain of what
was being done to my body. I preferred to think that it was helping me.

I felt it was my only way of communicating with society; my final remaining

resort in my mission to survive these diseases born by insularity. And that wasn’t
exactly wrong. It just wasn’t as easy as I perhaps expected. I had used my most
precious possession in life to bait a hook... It’s hard to imagine what I was really
expecting.
And so I had to continue reassuring myself that it was necessary and that in
the end, after all was stitched up and ready to go, that there would be no
regretting my decision.

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 I feel I’m only now—since returning to the Tendon appendage—coming out
of the anesthesia and acknowledging the pain for what it is, and I am very angry.

I loved that music more than anything in this life and to be saying all of this is
none shy of a tragedy in my world.

It’s as though my beloved partner has been caught cheating and, despite their
sincerely apologetic attitude, and despite the knowledge that I’ll eventually end
up finding a way to “forgive them” and move forward with the relationship, these
matters require time and I am not yet prepared to look them in the eye. Although,
on second thought, I realize it may be more appropriate to align myself with the
role of the guilty partner?

I haven’t been able to really sit down and listen to my music in the same way
since “putting myself out there”, whereas I listened almost nonstop to those
seventy albums for a whole decade of my life. I estimate that I’ve listened
through each individual album upwards of 800 times from start to finish and all
along I continued to enjoy it all as would an obsessive fan. Whether or not it is
my greatest, most profound achievement in this life, it is undoubtedly my favorite,
being the only creation in my name which manages to express what I would
consider my true, nuclear self, or essence.

Yet in this very moment I feel I would much rather stomp a white bird beneath
my bare, calloused soles and feel it crumble apart than press play on any one of
those intimately-crafted records, and it’s really not the type of sentiment I ever
expected to be expressing. I care for them no less. It’s just hard to face them.

I’ll solve it. Sure I will. And I’ll do it without pruning limbs or filing incisors. In
fact I’ll make an event of it and this event will take place once I have officially
moved back into the basement (which is currently being painted and carpeted). I
have these huge speakers awaiting me down there and I really can’t wait to get
them booming with some poorly equalized misanthropop.

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 I don’t know what will become of my story after I am gone, and I don’t know
what sort of “legacy” might develop, if any, but I feel strongly on this topic, and I
simply don’t trust the lot of you to extract the proper aesops from my life and its
unlovely outcome.

I am all too aware of the human tendency towards self-destruction and death-
worship and have to expect that there will be those of you who will somehow find
a way to glorify the ill-considered decisions that led to my premature destruction.
How you plan to justify your romance, that’s another matter.

And it isn’t just about “setting the record straight” but in the interest of my
readers that I explain my stance, because no one should ever have to
experience even five minutes in this cage of a carcass. It sure goes against the
self-styled “traumaturgist” in me to be saying that, but I just... I don’t wish to see
anyone making the same errors of judgment. Sure, I had honest, rational
intentions, but since when has that spared us from the drunk drivers and
secondhand smoke of fate’s non-algorithmic judgments.

Isolationist tendencies are increasing amongst all ages of individuals as

technology reduces the obligation to interact with others and introverted types
especially are failing to fully consider the scope of ramifications (which is also the
fault of researchers not putting enough into exploring this subject). And I hate to
sound like a news headline, haha, but as someone whose very name has, to
some, become synonymous with the concept of isolation/hermitry I just want to
provide this little bit of insight into my circumstances. Most of it falls under
common sense and lacks revelatory depth, and I even feel embarrassed to be
going on and on like this, but it should hopefully encourage relevant parties to do
their research and be aware of prospective pitfalls.

I don’t feel I’ve actually provided any useful information apart from simply
stressing the importance of conscientiousness in lifestyle. I think my intent is
clear, though, and that is often enough.

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 So for those looking to solitude as an answer to their desires and grievances
alike, know what you are welcoming by choosing to isolate and accommodate
accordingly. This may not answer the specific questions that I was asked by
some of you, but I hope it aids you in your planning all the same.

Additionally, I would just like to add a little extra bit of caution to anyone
suffering from preexisting psychological conditions, even when these types may
benefit the most from some time to themselves to sort things out (speaking as
someone in support of the idea that much of our mental illness relates to
psychospiritual crises, and crises as such almost always require a period of
prolonged and undisturbed reflection to mend, though of course that all depends
on their cause). In fact, I may consider writing up a text wherein I focus on how
solitude has benefited my life.

“Observe due measure; moderation is best in all things.” – Hesiod

Spread that caveat on a cracker and give it a good lick for me.

A Selection of Photographs
February 28, 2018

A month ago I mentioned that I would be sharing some photographs. It’s taken
some time to get back to, but here I have gathered together a selection of
photographs arranged in chronological order and offering a more diverse look at
my person throughout years. This should do away with any remaining blot of
mystique perceived by the public in regards to my presence. That would be
great, I think! I’ve had virtually no witnesses to my life, and so it is my hope that
through a combination of guileless music, writings and photographs that I may
create in you the sense that you knew me on a personal level, as a peer, and

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perhaps even as a friend, experiencing this strange, uncertain and
inextinguishably passionate existence in my company.
To hell with mystery and obscurity. It can seem an attractive idea in some
regard, sure it can, and it can serve some well—given that their silence is of
greater interest than their actuality—but in my case, regardless of how it may add
to or subtract from my supposed “appeal”, it would oppose my stated intent,
which is to foster a sense of intimacy through my offering, and it is a glaring fact
that mystery exists in opposition to intimacy.
However, I would just like to ask that these are not treated as main/
promotional photos by anyone who may be sharing my work. I don’t mind that
they are shown to you, but it would frustrate me considerably if a Google search
for my name turned up these photos in the top results, haha. It can be explained
with the same reasons that my blog, which is my most active and informative
site, is kept somewhat low-key in comparison to my main domain: I want it
available for anyone who comes looking... but only those who genuinely care, as
opposed to the more casual clicker.
Also note that there are multiple appendages/extremities at play herein and
many of them aren’t even Tendon (since the Tendon appendage is the focus of
my main site). Oh, and the Imposter subfolder focuses solely on the so-called
Caligiuri (black metal) extremity. The sub folders are publicly visible, right?
More will be added as I get around to it. I definitely would like to show off my
growing music collection (mostly vinyl).

Yes
March 2, 2018
You are what you allow.

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 Progressing
March 2, 2018

My current transition (involving the shifting of identical paradigms) is coming

along exceptionally well and I am feeling myself very, very motivated by the
experience.
I’ve been excavating old journals wherein was documented my self-study and
self-development during the second phase of Entity Tendon—a period smeared
with the term “purityrannical psychosis” and interred like a dog neath my plea for
self-preservation.

I’ll be continuing to look these over and hopefully find something worth
sharing. I’m seeing a lot of quotable one-liners—sensical and not, ha ha.
There’re also a lot of intolerant and single-minded rants so I’ll probably have to
introduce it with a bit of a disclaimer. It’s not so wildly unlike what you might
expect from me, but it comes from a time in which I was at peak isolation from
human contact and, good intentions notwithstanding, I didn’t always quite seem
to know who or what my target was but persisted in firing off nevertheless. I
wouldn’t say it was wildly off the mark in terms of content—or rather, the points
that I was then making are not in conflict with my present-day and slightly-less-
feral self—but the blaring “me vs. the world” overtones can be a bit
embarrassing.
Anyway, I’ll be continuing on this topic of identical/paradigmatic shifts for a bit
since I am very heavily involved in this process at the moment and have much
more to say.

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 Typology
March 3, 2018

I am greatly interested in the subject of typology, such as the popular Myers-

Briggs Type Indicator. I discovered said system about eight years back back and
devoted a bit of time to really plumbing its depths and learning all I could about
the types, functions and interactions. It’s served me well in my journey of self-
development, especially early on, allowing me greater insight into the areas of
my personality in need of attention, as well as helping me to build tolerance and
understanding for those who do not share my same preferences (which, if I’m
being transparent, does NOT come naturally to me).
I’ve lately been exploring the Enneagram system during meal-breaks and it
amazes me that I’ve never done so before, considering just how much I benefited
from the MBTI in the past. I simply assumed at the time that it was redundant as
a system, but I’m now realizing I misjudged its value.
Anyway, my core Enneagram typing is 4w5 sx/sp, my tritype is 415 (4w5, 1w2,
5w4) and—as ever—my MBTI type is INTJ.
To most that may appear as just a bunch of obnoxious jargon, and I anticipate
as much of a reaction, but if you haven’t already given these systems a probing
by now then I would most certainly encourage it.
I’ve got a bit of a renewed interest in typology at the moment, so I’m likely to
be incorporating typological terminology into some of my upcoming posts as they
relate to my self-analyses. I was at first going to resist the urge, lest I be written
off as the type to accept it all as infallible and holy, but I’m going to go for it
anyway.

Edit: Hierarchy of cognitive function preference as obtained via this survey.

Notice the overdeveloped Fi, ha ha.

Ni (51.8) > Fi (48.5) > Te (39.4) > Ne (35.6) > Se (28.2) > Ti (27.3) > Fe (10.1)
> Si (6.7)

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 Edit: I’m not as interested in the Big Five, but my results are as follows (in
respect to score percentile):

Extraversion 22, Emotional Stability 91, Agreeableness 60,

Conscientiousness 96, Intellect/Imagination 96.

Growth
March 9, 2018

Since my last update I’ve continued looking over these old journals of mine.
I was honestly hoping (and even anticipating) to find that there was a lot here
that could be revived and repurposed for this “new chapter of my identity”, but all
I’m finding is just a bunch of phrenetic tangents about purity, perversity, and truth.
It’s not without its merits, and the fundamental outlook which informed those
opinions is still very much present in me, but I have changed so much in my
approach since writing these texts and it uplifts me to realize the degree to which
I have humbled and matured. It’s not what I would call arrogant, but the very
nature of my focus carried conspicuous undertones of self-justification—ergo,
defensiveness—and that is not something that I will knowingly accept as part of
my philosophies. An overwhelming number of philosophies are, at their core, just
that: the glorified justifications of guilty minds.
What would require justification in my case, exactly? Given the focus of my
entries, it could be my failure to integrate with society and lead a normal, stable
existence by the standards set by that society. It could also have something to do
with my misanthropic outlook. It can be hard to tell just what is going on, and
really, what I am referring to as justifications are far more likely to be a sincere,
albeit tortured, attempt to resolve potential misconceptions. I struggled more

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visibly with my articulative ability at the time of these writings, and it was very
obviously creating for a highly unstable situation. My battle was almost so
abstract as to be nonsensical, and there is no doubting, when seeing the degree
of fixation, that my isolation had put a dent in my way of thinking. All was about
as black and white as could be. I dare posit that there is no alternative for
someone living in such an extreme state of isolation from society, being that
humanity, which comprises billions of individuals, has been reduced to a faceless
classification. I have that tendency in me anyway, having lived with various
degrees of insularity all my life, but I have since grown to where it bears no
noticeable effect on my final judgments.
In anyway, reviewing these journals has helped me to appreciate what I have
become and how I have managed to integrate my passion and conviction and
moral sense into a more humble and digestible form. I’ve lately had a lot of
negative comments to make about the role I’ve taken on in the past two or three
years of my life as I seriously attempted to integrate with humanity. It’s no secret
that I’ve been feeling dulled and repressed, and so I’ve been idealizing the
certain vigilant, “militarized” mindset that characterized previous years. And I
approached all of this at first thinking I wanted that back. But I really, truly don’t.
Not in full, anyway. Sure, I was outflowing with tremendous and aggressive
passion of the sort that this world needs more of, and such great passion, when
properly expressed, is a beautiful and indomitable force, but all productive
application was being contested (and in most cases choked) by a phrensical and
ultimately misplaced sense of urgency. It’s so disoriented in places as to seem
that I was purposely avoiding direct contact with my target, dancing around it,
and I wonder to what degree that is true. I was more blunt in my ability to express
my anger and disappointment, which is something I would like to regain, but
there’s far more to the act of being honest and forthright than simply “saying
what’s on your mind” and I would have expected myself to know that better than
anyone.
The ideal, as I know it now, is not to revert, but to conjugate the better
components of the previous two extremities.
So as for my updated take on my most recent incarnation, unaffectionately
referred to as Everycarcass: I have lately come to accept the necessity of it all,

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recognizing it as a valuable piece of the tangram that is my core self. This
requires me to confront the fact that many of my harsher judgments of this
chapter of my life were more arbitrary than objective, being formed in reaction to
the hurt that I experienced.
It can be quite difficult to accept that you’ve made the correct decision/”done a
good job” when your efforts were met with very unfortunate (and legitimately
undeserved) results. Fortunately I’ve been making progress in my ability to get
over this perspective and celebrate my achievements. And I’ve achieved quite a
lot! I’ve gained coherency, cooperative skills and an even greater handle on my
place in this world, among other things.
Given my nature, it wouldn’t take much to convince myself that this is
somehow a compromise of identity/integrity, as if I have willfully dulled myself, but
after my pulse slows and I manage to get past those very formidable words I am
able to truly reflect on what I’ve become and how these changes, though differing
from what I may have once imagined of my self, or what I may have once thought
of as “the correct approach”, are in fact an improvement upon all that I once was.
What I’ve done is learn to focus my passion; to stop fighting the clouds in the sky
and to expend my frustration more wisely. Because I am more than another
fanatic powered by fear and false urgency. I am someone with much to express
and with much that I would like to contribute to the current state of humanity, and
it would be a waste of my abilities to get myself hung up on the obvious and
unalterable pestilence in effect since the dawn and until the end of our species.

As for these entries, in addition to being less adept in focusing my passion, I

think the obvious disorder primarily stems from my being less acquainted with—
as well as less accepting of—mine own empathetic nature. This goes beyond
being a simple matter of maturity. I was highly uncomfortable admitting to the fact
that I cared deeply for a world which, in my mind, had disowned me. It still
causes me discomfort on some levels, reminding me of the thought I must
always try to put out of mind: the supposed “fairness” of my circumstance.
And here you see it beginning to seep out into my perspective. Yet it wasn’t as
easy as simply admitting to it. As a young adult I was deeply averse to seeing
myself as anything but an austere and somewhat sociopathic individual,

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perceiving people as game pieces. So when confronted with something that
challenges that perception, I first attempted to rationalize its existence/worth by
forcing myself to understand it through impersonal and utilitarian filters, and when
that alone could not justify my feelings I filtered it all through callous,
Machiavellian judgments, eagerly taking every opportunity to deny that beneath
my workbench and behind an ostentatious display of knives and handsaws there
exists a deeply idealistic and empathetic spirit overwhelmed by the desire to
share with others the treasures I have obtained in my odd adventure.
Just as it took me almost a decade to accept that I was not a “wicked villain”
deserving of cruel punishment (which, I should clarify, did not stem from a place
of self-loathing, instead having its origins as a coping mechanism), it is no simple
task to confess that I so deeply value a world which has invariably refused to look
me in the eyes and see me as I am. It is among the most painful admissions I
can make to my self.
Even now, while being far more open to admitting to my empathetic and
idealistic capacity, I must consciously suppress these parts of myself to some
degree in my day to day life for the good of my own stability, realizing it would be
both unwise and potentially unsafe to acknowledge them before they are
specifically requested/permitted by circumstance. Such intensity without a “host”
or “target” is pure frustration and can be very damaging. I would know! It’s like
going around a cul-de-sac at 90 mph. In fact, I expect that this has contributed
significantly to my social woes, for in my eagerness to express my thoughts and
ideals, I have failed to adequately consider my company and consequently find
myself pouring out to an audience that is blatantly unsuited for my “doctrines”
only to be rejected and/or ignored and consequently spiraling downwards in a
free fall of defensive/retaliative adaptations (as if I instinctively assume that that
which doesn’t suit all will not suit any...)
That’s something that really made singing and composing into the beautiful
ceremony that it was, since it exercised a part of myself that wouldn’t normally
show itself outside of the context of intimate romantic relationships.
But I digress! This was only supposed to be a brief update. All this self-
analysis may be a bit useless to you, especially since I haven’t exactly provided
any valid reference points. Typing allows me to organize and understand my

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inner structure, so I am doing this primarily to suit my own personal needs rather
than in an attempt to relay any particular message to my readers, although I’m
happy to share with you the process and its results.
I do still intend to share a portion of these old journal entries publicly as I get
around to sorting them, though my reason for choosing to share will be more in
the interest of highlighting my personal progress, as opposed to presenting a
meaningful disquisition.
And though I meant all that I said in this post, I just want to point out that
some of these self-criticisms are bordering on being unnecessarily harsh. All
things considered, my sensibility was still very much in tact and I never claimed
at any point to have everything (or anything, for that matter) figured out for
myself. I was merely attempting to sort things out as I am now. But this tendency
towards merciless, “no-exceptions-made” self-analysis can paint a very different
picture for onlookers. It is in fact quite pleasurable for me to sit here and dissect
and juxtapose as I am, and I really don’t mind doing so publicly as it contributes
an added layer of accountability to my ability to properly implement these
extractions.

Virgin Vertigo
March 9, 2018

There is a concept in my world which once held quite some weight. I’m not
sure it’s been alluded to in anything I would have said on my site, but you may
find it interesting to know. “Virgin vertigo” is what I will be talking about. This
refers to a pattern of brief and fundamentally neurotic lapses in sensation and
self-government resulting from incompatibility between the parasite Vzdutpondo
and… essentially the modern world.

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 I’ve come up with a dozen reasons to explain it throughout the years, but I’m
not actually sure that I can separate the sensible explanations from the
senseless justifications in this case. So instead of focusing on a cause or
explanation I’ll just attempt to describe it for you.

It was never a random occurrence, always being set off by a very specific—
albeit widespread—trigger: symbolic perversity. That seems like quite an arbitrary
and ill-defined term, and… it is.

It was a matter I treated very seriously. I would have to warn others (such as
“family”) of my state by drawing black circles upon my inner wrists—an allusion to
the crucifixion of Christ. This was meant as an outward indication that one ought
to avoid all interactions with me; not a word, not a wave, and especially nothing
of the sort that would cause me to feel threatened or undermined. I felt I would
lash out unprovoked to anyone within proximity, and this left me fearing
interaction to some extent. I managed to maintain control over myself in every
such case and never actually lashed out, but it was a deeply disturbing situation
in which to find myself.

It wasn’t like psychosis. I hadn’t lost touch of my sense or rational faculties. I

had overloaded myself to the point where all care, concern and impetus I
maintained in my everyday life would become suddenly inverted, taking on a
noxious mix of apathy, hostility and dissociation from my core desires. But it was
not a normal apathy. It was the strangest state of detachment, like I myself had
become the perversion which disturbed me so.

And whereas a layer of intent normally stands separating instinct and action, I
felt it had suddenly dissolved.

I can’t say for sure when these incidents first began in my life, since I faintly
remember them as occurring as early as fifteen following the candelabrum
experience, albeit in somewhat of a more subdued and prototypical form, but
they really picked up after being introduced to the Thummim and reached a peak

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of prominence between 2012 and 2015 before dying off, presumably in tandem
with the enlargement of the so-called parasite (not a literal parasite).

I experience a sensation throughout my entire being that I would compare to

that which is experienced in restless leg syndrome, however it is focused
prominently in my central region/torso. I most typically described the sensation as
“full-body weeping” and it is absolutely horrendous. There is no pain present, but
the discomfort alone is enough to drive one to madness.

I would develop a very strange and exaggerated style of movement to counter

the physical and psychological manifestations. It was as if my very skin was
some ill-fitting tracksuit and no matter how I slithered and flexed I just couldn’t get
it to sit right.

Imagine when a sudden cold chill ascends your spine and you shiver and this
causes you to sometimes roll your shoulders, tilt your head back and shudder
slowly. Now imagine this affecting the entire physical body. I might also compare
it to a cat slowly and dramatically circling the base of a Christmas tree with its
back arched as it relieves its skin against the needles.

In the event of virgin vertigo, all slows down and I begin to pace without
thought, sometimes for the entirety of a day, and almost always in a highly
strange and disturbing manner with eyes rolling and fluttering into the back of my
head.

In early 2017, when at work on developing that fighting platform video game, I
had incorporated Virgin Vertigo as the so-called “special move” of my character,
The Mad Virgin, and what this would do is initiate fifteen seconds wherein all
stats were maximized (though speed was meant to fluctuate dramatically, slowing
down and speeding up without perceivable pattern) and all control was
essentially lost, damage was done indiscriminately and therefore carried a high
risk of causing harm to myself as well to any nearby allies.

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 It’s been observed by many a spiritual seeker that the demoniac houses
strength and resilience beyond his biological means. And whether is our
demoniac in fact a demon hotelier or but a man with abnormal perceptual
chemistry, who’s to wager.

Vzdutpondo was a bedside respirator given its authority by the Thummim,

wherefore the secondary Tendon extremity was named thereafter in what refers
to an obscure practice of assuming the name of the star whereby the individual is
bound with an extraneous symbolic force, in which case it is colloquially known
as a “scarname”. This is adopted for multiple reasons, but mostly as a… well, it’s
rather complicated.

It was in 2015, while weeping hysterically at the denouement of an ageless

love, that I made an impromptu alteration to my core identical structure, and I’ve
attempted to come up with a metaphor to accurately explain the mechanics while
also accounting for the effects but nothing is coming to me.

This act came with dramatic and far-reaching consequences for my immune
system and overall physical health, which had come to depend on my bond with
the Thummim entity who was now preserving my mortal body at the cost of my
moral stability.

I had written up some detailed explanations on this topic [virgin vertigo] years
ago, in 2013, but it was very difficult to read due to being written during peak
years, creating for a frantic and slightly incoherent interpretation, as well as being
peppered with disturbing, Tourette’s-like outbursts in which I angrily appeared to
be pleading for help.

I may eventually share the abovementioned text as well since it paints a more
thorough, colorful and dramatic portrait of these experiences, whereas this post
seems somewhat stifled.

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Hey Hypnos
March 9, 2018

Movement
March 9, 2018

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 After a month of preparations, I should finally be moving into my old cellar
bedroom within the week. I’ll post some photographs after the art is hung and the
bed is in place. I’ve purchased a new bed for the first time in... forever. I have
been sleeping on the same threadbare twin since around the age of twelve—
possibly younger—which is just a six inch mattress lain on the floor. I wake up
most days with scrapes on my back and pinholes in my shirt due to unbound
springs. So I’ve upgraded to a 12′′ memory foam Queen, and though I doubt
anyone really cares, I’m certainly excited about it, ha ha ha. I’m also musing over
what musical genre/atmosphere to associate with this new chapter, and so far I’m
leaning toward exploring Gregorian, medieval and choral styles/atmospheres,
likely with an electronic/modern bent. I mean to associate with this extremity a
noticeably monastic aesthetic.

Hkk
March 10, 2018
The start of a beautiful relationship.

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117
 Y
March 14, 2018

Kiosks
March 16, 2018

I am especially scatterbrained at the moment and finding it difficult to focus on

the task of writing. I’ve tried, but the homogeneity just isn’t there. This may result
in a more erratic post schedule/format for an undetermined amount of time,
though I doubt anyone cares. To offer a very brief update on my situation: I
moved on the tenth of the month and have been caught up in the process of
settling in. On a psychological level, I am feeling very much refreshed and have
no doubt that this is just what my circumstances demanded.

Ihchc
March 18, 2018

TAAAAA! I feel as a full bottle of aspirin, safety seal intact, riding away in the

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back of a garbage truck. Ha ha ha ha ha aw aw aw aw aw.

Nonfulfillment...
March 18, 2018

I wish I contained a better understanding of what types of questions people

are asking and the very specific nature of the problems that society is facing in
modernity. Of course I make all of that sound so much more simple than it really
is. I’m just so sealed off that I can’t even conjure a guess on what requires
attention.

I struggle intensely with the task of finding practical, universal application for
all that I’ve acquired in my years of unorthodox study and I am loath to think of
myself as ultimately failing to actualize my greatest prospective worth as it
pertains to society. I dare say I am doing all that my circumstances permit, and
on most days I can accept that notion as I continue on with my daily labors, but is
that so? And since when is it in my nature to respect my own limitations?

I’ve never struggled for even a moment to see the meaning in existence. In
fact, I find it strange that people should be so inattentive. Have you not looked
around? Is this somehow not enough? Do these sights not justify themselves?
Usefulness, on the other hand, is something that burdens me to a significant
degree. I refer, of course, to usefulness on a grand scale; usefulness in a manner
of relative universality. I desire to contribute to our maps of reality, if you will, and
desire is made desperate by the acknowledgement of mine own capability. I am
justifiably tormented by the sight of riches undistributed! And I do not say that
with conceit as I have not once claimed to possess anything that others do not. I
merely understand my own potential to where I can see that it is far from being

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met, and there is nothing I have known that disturbs me more.

Normally I would regard this as inspiration rather than as a burden, but I

suppose the fatalism in my outlook as of late has prevented me from seeing it as
a fruitful force. Even on the days where I am thinking positively about my self and
my ability to withstand what comes my way there is just nothing that can
convince me that this is not the end.

All can admit I’ve done quite well for myself as someone with minimal extrinsic
input throughout my lifetime in the sense that my mind remains ever fertile and
my hands remain ever grasping, never deprived of their cause. But there are
nights when even my purest, most philanthropic of intentions are failing to
disguise their innate impersonality (impersonality not as the product of emotional
distance but physical distance) and without this extrinsic human input I can
sometimes feel so unproductive in my productivity.

And because I am philosophically ignorant, I know not the widespread value

of my chosen path and realize I may very well be occupying my time with a
substance for which the world has no use; riddles resolved in the time of Plato!
Well, that really ties into why I opted to live my life in this manner in the first
place: that I may have full rule over my estimation of the worth of all things.

I’ve thought a lot lately about my self-imposed “educational” restrictions,

especially in regards to how long my experimental stance should continue on,
and I really have no answer for that that isn’t riding on several other unmet (and
perhaps unmeetable) conditions. I won’t be getting into that topic now, though,
although the basic fact of my insularity is the cause of this frustration (at least in
part).

But when I begin to analyze my potential for contribution I can not help but
feel upset. So though I’ve lived a very satisfying inner existence with a mind more
wonderful than anything I could have asked for, I am coming to a point where the
starvation in me is growing without regards for the usual elixir, and I’m wondering

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how I am to interpret this response.

I stave off the hungry agony of this perceived nonfulfillment by sharing all that
I can about my self with a world of strangers, figuring that if I lack the vitality to
stand at the vanguard with a knife between my teeth and a pen behind my ear, I
can at least aim to make of myself a valued reference point, and such, as I see it,
may be accomplished through the thorough and forthright publication of my
queer and insular existence. Honesty is a revolutionary feat in its own right, I’ve
learned! And I don’t doubt that my fellows in the psychological discipline can find
some use for that which I impart.

Moreover, it is my hope that my readers can take something of worth away

from my words. To provide you with a sense of encouragement, and perhaps
even a newfound sense of excitement and curiosity, is my great aim; although I
question the ability of my audience to see the universality in my words, and I
hope that you will not wait until I have stopped speaking to realize that I was
speaking directly to you.

My self-centered and arguably impersonal tone is merely a veneer instated to

preserve my openness and honesty while I share with you these very vulnerating
insights into my psyche, and the price I pay is disconnection as such that I am
currently combatting.

I take it that most of you view me foremostly as a musician/artist since the

majority of my past clients and SOH colleagues do not know me as Tendon
Levey, but I contest the portrayal of “Tendon as an artist”. I am not an artist. I said
so ten years ago at the age of eighteen and I am saying it again. The arts—
especially music—are of course woven into my being in such a way as to be
inextricable from my very self-concept, but this frantic song which reaches you
late is not the song of an artist but that of a child in a crisis; and I have the grand
pleasure of informing you that that child was relieved of his demon many years
ago (referring specifically to my inner madness and disorder).

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 But the story has continued on—much of it untold due only to the basic
constraints of time and articulation—and that self-same child has discovered his
element in the discipline of psychology, which is where I see myself as being
most useful, both to myself and others, regardless of where else my passion may
lie.
I’m positively proud of all I’ve accomplished in this life and I am proud to be
able to claim that not a moment of this opportunity was idled away; but still... still I
struggle to accept that this could be the extent of my contribution. And then when
I fall into this mindset I begin to peer around my space with glares of undue
criticality, and that’s hardly fair to a soul of my ethic.

I know that my pain and frustration are shared by many, and I’m sorry that I
couldn’t somehow extend my hand to those in a similar position. It’s
tremendously disquieting to imagine the History curriculum that never was! I also
don’t feel that it is futile or unreasonable to frustrate oneself over such thoughts,
silly as they may seem to outliers. This frustration exists to prompt action, placing
frustration among our most invaluable tools. The problem, in my case, is that I
exist within a position where my determinations exceed my liberties. It’s precious
to think that modern technology has eliminated all such excuses but that’s just
not the case in that it fails to properly account for the introduction of a whole new
set of issues to disrupt the human signal all the same. I really got a mouthful of
this in 2017.

Again, I think it would help (or temporarily pacify) me to have a better concept
of human need on a less generic level, even if that’s just because it would allow
me to feel just slightly more connected (while at the same time I would be
retaining the purported purity of my vision). It’s not as though it’s an impossible
task. Not at all. But I’m having to consider my circumstances as they are. Let’s
put it this way: I have created a beautiful home for myself where I live in the
comfort of my own, and as an explorer I am happy to venture out and explore the
forests beyond my home property. And yet I am very ill, and it concerns me that
my death could take place in a time when I am out in the wild, as it were, beyond
the warmness of the home that I built and the self-reference that I’ve known. To

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die without sight of my purpose is maybe my greatest fear. And I’ll tell you right
now, I don’t even know if that’s possible! But I can say that it truly frightens me.
For a while it felt that the Everycarcass experiment would result in precisely this
turnout. I was horror-stricken. And I speak not of the distant past. Just one month
ago I was in this tragic place! So having finally found my way out of the proverbial
forests and back to my home after two and a half years, I am in no hurry to head
out so soon! I may be rather experienced in the department of id-entity
transmutation and similarly psychological/parapsychological experimentation,
however it rarely occurs without devastation in some form.

This is such a complicated topic, and though I could go on and on, I would
rather hold my tongue until I can offer up a more comprehensive look at the
nature of my fundamental stance on ignorance and insularity, which I see as the
stance at issue. Or is it? Wait... n... the oth... I told you I was a bit scatterbrained
at the moment. Isn’t it becoming obvious? I’ve sort of mixed two, possibly three
topics together to where they are indistinguishable. I’m going to leave off here
since I don’t appear to be working towards any specific conclusion. I’m just a
frustrated individual attempting to articulate that frustration.

The recluse as a misanthrope is a known trope, but the recluse as a

philanthropist... now that is a ridiculous design. There’s a reason that it comes
across as strange. Because it’s just not meant to be!

I.H.C.C.
March 18, 2018

I’m taking the edge off by imagining that a bag of candy sits in front of me and
mapping out my inbuilt hierarchy of candy color (IHCC).

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 1. white (unless it is piña colada, in which case its whiteness has been
undermined)
2. brown
3. red
4. black
5. pink
6. a tie between yellow and green (banana>lime>lemon>green apple)
7. blue
8. orange (distant last, in most cases, although it beats out green apple, piña
colada and THE DEAD DOG)

The Cross: Update

March 18, 2018

A few months ago I shared with you a certain dream dating back to last June
that appeared to predict ten months of unabating agony (symbolized by the
crucifixion) while providing me with a few very specific warnings at the outset—
each of which related to basic self-maintenance, i.e., proper diet, proper sleep
and proper oral hygiene.

Nine months in the wake of said dream, I would like to reflect on these
insights as I compare them with my present-day reality (mostly to give my
readers an idea of how these “warnings” and/or “predictions” tend to manifest in
my life).

First, I will offer some background information:

The most debilitating issue I face at the moment is caused by tears in the

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muscles and ligaments in my upper leg/pelvic/lower abdominal area (lower-right
quadrant). The specific cause of this pain is known as athletic pubalgia—a
severely debilitating muscular tear caused (in my case) by the rapid and
repetitive twisting of the torso. This injury, which I first sustained at the close of
2013 during a phrenetic dance routine, has become increasingly devastating
over the years, leaving me almost entirely unable to walk (due to pain), and was
most recently exacerbated on the night of Thanksgiving by an ill-considered
stomp of my foot. The pain and symptoms are offset by eating large meals, and I
presume this is due to the location of the injury, which lies adjacent to the lower
colonic region. Therefore, the fuller the colon, the more it will press against the
injured muscle/ligaments. As a result I’ve been forced to limit my meals (in
quantity as well as variety... meaning no more sushi for the time being...) and I
have shed perhaps as much as twenty pounds since the fall season. The loss
would have been more significant had I not taken up a regimen of nutritional and
protein supplements in the early winter.

As for the matter of oral health, I found this warning especially peculiar since it
was so specifically referencing oral hygiene (instead of hygiene as a whole). I
realize now why that is. It’s simple, really, as the act of brushing my teeth
depends more on my arm strength than other basic hygienic activities, e.g.,
showering. This has made it somewhat difficult for me to be as thorough, and I
notice that my mollers have recently begun to ache as a result. (In case it isn’t
clear, I refer to injuries to the tendons in my arms/wrists which have become a
major problem in my life since summer 2017)

And as for sleep: I’ve been plagued by recurrent periods of insomnia over
these past six months which peaked at the end of 2017 but continue on until this
day. I have been sleeping with my feet elevated on some specialty pillow since
Decumbere to offset problems of pain and circulation, but its not the most
comfortable setup and can contribute to sleeplessness, although an overactive
mind may still be the primary offender. On a more general level, not only do I
depend upon sleep and dreams as my primary source of obtaining certain
regenerative chemicals but the loss of sleep, on its own, results in an elevation of

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cortisol levels (associated with anxiety), reduced immunological function and thus
further diminishes my healing ability, so “insomnia” should really speak for itself!

All of that is a very simple attempt to explain to you the presumed connection
existing between these occurrences and the specific warnings I received in my
dream. I might be completely off base in my understanding, and the real
message of my dream may still be unknown to me, but I still like to muse about it.
The phenomena of veridical and so-called precognitive dreaming are very
common within my life, after all. I can’t make any blanket statements regarding
the rate of occurrence over my lifetime since I rely on my dream log to affirm
these connections and my log only dates back so far, although I can honestly say
that most illnesses and injuries of the past decade have been foreshadowed in
dreams (and in ways that are often very, very conspicuous without excess
analogic shading).

For example, I once remember a dream in which, shortly before waking, I was
being introduced to some type of commander who approached me to shake my
hand but quickly retracted it as I extended mine, saying “whoaa!” in a tone of
caution before he instructed me to wash my hands and drink plenty of water over
the next twenty-four hours. I did not heed the warning with the sufficient urgency
and within thirty hours from the time of this dream I broke out with a nasty cold/flu
virus.

While fascinating, one may argue on the behalf of the unconscious mind that
it is capable of recognizing the presence of quiet, underdeveloped pathogens in
my system prior to the outbreak of consciously discernible symptoms. So even
though I had no idea I was about to (or particularly prone to) fall ill, there is the
possibility that my unconscious mind recognized the physiological signs, and
although that would be amazing if that’s the case, it may not actually transcend
the bounds of realism in any way. However, I have had countless dreams of the
variety which can not be explained by biological processes. This category spans
injuries and illnesses and that which resulted from unpredictable occurrences.

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 The ocular/lachrymal injury and subsequent dysfunction I suffered in 2013
was foreshadowed by a dream in which a woman to whom I was speaking
interrupted our conversation and exclaimed “oh my god! Your eye!” as she
gasped in shock. This particular issue resolved itself after a while, or seemed to,
but a similar instance occurred roughly a year later, and it occurred within 24
hours of a dream in which I was watching my eye deform in the bathroom mirror
to ghastly, Quasimodean proportions.

These are only but a few very simplistic examples coming to mind, while I’m
sure I have upwards of a hundred on file. All in all, I tend to take health-related
dreams with the utmost gravity. As far as I am aware, my dreams almost never
seem to reference health outside of the context of warnings, which is an
incredible detail given just how much of a part health has to play in my daily life/
focus.

Again, I don’t know if any of this actually has to do with the “cross”. But if my
musings are somehow correct, then this period of ten months is presumed to
conclude in mid-to-late April. I’m actually very surprised to have made it to this
point. You wouldn’t know it from looking at me, but this has been, without a
doubt, the most excruciatingly painful year of my existence; and though I don’t
know what to expect going forward, I eagerly await the possibility of a conclusion
to this long, dark night, if should it come.

Door
March 18, 2018
Hahahahah.

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128
 The Symbolic Underpinning of
Reality
March 19, 2018

I mentioned in my previous post that I am actively dealing with a horrid case

of tendonitis. I did mention that, right? It’s not exactly a new development, having
been with me since 2015, but it took me several years to figure out the cause,
and by now it affects both of my hands/arms as well as one of my legs. I laughed
a lot at the realization... hearing that name. And I knew without a doubt that this
issue had started up almost straightaway following the adoption of the
Everycarcass paradigm in the bitter autumn of 2015 which, as you may already
know, was in the midst of a difficult and emotionally overwhelming situation in
which I took to abnegating or at least smothering what was essentially my
psychospiritual autonomy in the name of surviving my illness and seeing my
integration through.
In other words, it was the first time since 2007 (the origins of the Tendon
appendage) that I consciously and forcefully suppressed my “truth”, my “pride”,
my “purpose” for any reason. Maybe you can see what I am hinting at.
It is no surprise to me that the most prevalent and devastating issues in my
life involve the throat, the voice and now the tendons. Yes, there can be found
physiological explanations for these ailments, ultimately meaning that I can trace
their origins to specific actions on my part, such as the ostensible overuse of
certain muscles, but I’m not entirely convinced that that is all there is to the
matter—which is to say, it’s obvious when a threshold has been crossed, but
what determines the sensitivity of the threshold within a given individual? You
see, I perceive symbolic principles in a highly “spiritualized” manner and

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wholeheartedly believe that what we may regard as “symbolism” is in fact the
fundamental structure which supports all life. That’s a pretty generic and almost
silly way of summing up my views, but it’s not going to be simple to try and
explain these thoughts to a world which does not experience life in the manner
that I do, for I am not referring solely to a philosophical dimension of perception
but a worldveil which was forced upon me on the night of my first mutation as a
child of fifteen. I did also mention in a previous post that I perceive life as being
structured in the way of an allegory.
If you’ve not read the story of my origins I would suggest that you do so. It
was one of the first pages added to this site, but it’s also rather incomplete in that
it fails to account for the ongoing ramifications of the Visva within my life.
It’s time I return to describe for you the fantastic psychomythologic ovum on
which my world is structured, focusing for now on some of the more surreal
elements of my existence which I’ve heretofore excluded/glossed over for one
reason or another (usually because I am lacking confidence in my ability to
properly articulate such abstract ideas). I will probably start by posting the rest of
the “Childhood” chapter of my biography, which will provide a fair, albeit basic
account of the mess I made of my insides as a child in the care of the
Steulugalnemraiant; but since I am fundamentally unhappy with these writings
(which were written maybe six years ago) I will most likely follow that up with
more thoroughly fleshed-out write-ups on topics such as the the

Also, a previously-unposted section relating to the Thummim was recently

added to the end of the “2011” chapter of my biography and I soon hope to get
around to posting the chapter which describes the first evocation of the
Thummim in March 2007.
I believe that providing you with a background on my belief in a sort of “sacred
symbology” will help to shed much light on the nature of my misanthropic bent
and why I tend to lose my goddamn mind over topics such as purity and
perversity and sacrosanctity. I will also be explaining how these beliefs formed in
relation to the “visionary experience” of my youth and the so-called “virgin
vertigo” I described in a recent post. It is a topic so dauntingly vast...
I could also go more into how my views on the symbolic underpinning of

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reality interact with my psychological and physiological health, addressing my
theories on why the dextral hemisphere of my body is almost entirely healthy
while the sinistral hemisphere contains almost no parts without disease or injury.

Experiments in Packaging
March 22, 2018
Experimenting with chipboard.

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132
 The Symmetrical Pregnant
Uterus
March 23, 2018

2004 | 2005 | 2006 | 2007 | 2008 | 2009 | 2010 | 2011

2019 | 2018 | 2017 | 2016 | 2015 | 2014 | 2013 | 2012

Tektite Principle
March 25, 2018

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 Divinity of the Idem
March 25, 2018

I am currently hacking through a folder of documents authored between

2004-2006 and trying to get a good perspective on what I’ve got ahead of me
here. This is already turning out to be an immensely rewarding exercise for me
and I couldn’t be more excited by the task. It’s been years since I’ve read through
this material and I’ve never yet attempted a thorough psycho-symbolic analysis.
The most significant work of this time is my old-world opus, Divinity of the
Idem, which constitutes a series of five epistles and inspired a portion of my
earliest compositions, as was detailed here.
Written at a time of significant transition in my life, or “a crossroads”, the
epistles are purported to be written from Hell, or an eternal punishment of
comparable magnitude known as the Deep Seal Maxilla, and are addressed to
five individuals (or characteristics which have been allegorically rendered as
individuals) seen as having influenced me in my decision to walk such an
inadvisable path in life—a path which led to an inevitable demise.
I’ve long held the view that these epistles are representative of a future that
had not yet come to pass in the time of my writing. That’s a sensible assessment,
being that I was not actually writing from within a literal inferno. However, having
reviewed it all now, through the lens of psychological and symbolic analysis, I
have gained an entirely new take on the story.
Moreover, my choice of metaphor brings forward some concerning images
which actually appear to foreshadow future events and personal insights that I
would not discover until much later on. It’s not impossible that I unconsciously
enacted the narrative in my material existence. That could easily be the case. But
I wouldn’t want to be hasty in my deducements.

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 I have never considered sharing Divinity of the Idem with the public for
multiple reasons. It is so densely packed with symbolic and allegorical imagery
that it frequently tends to look as some meaningless ejaculation and my criticality
has sadly led me to pushing it out of view, ultimately preventing (or delaying) me
from really grasping what was being portrayed in these texts. In any way, I’ll be
offering my readers more insight into these writings, as well as my
understanding/analysis thereof, in the coming days! I feel like this is precisely
what I must do at this time. This is expected to resolve certain matters in my life
concerning identity and, moreover, Idempotence.
On another note, I realize I posted that recent chapter (detailing my
Childhood) prematurely, failing to include a rather significant section around the
middle which joins the two phases together and contains some crucial
information. This will be added as soon as I get around to it! I’ve got somewhere
around thirty texts sitting on the burner in simultaneous time.

2012/2013 Journal Excerpts

March 25, 2018

A couple of excerpts from my personal journal dating back to 2013. I’m not
sure I’ve adequately expressed my attitude to the public so I wanted to share
this. It pertains primarily to my attitude towards the experience of suffering. It’s
nothing profound, but seeing as the facts can often overwhelm, and feelings
frequently fail to take the whole into account, I want to offer a look at a more
reasoned understanding.

How far beyond my limited comprehension would it be to discover that I’ve

years still ahead of me! How shocked would I be to learn that this so-called “life

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story” is not my “life story” but merely my “Book of Genesis”!
I have only one wish in this world, and it is to be proven wrong.
I’ve said it already, but it is a sentiment deserving of emphasis: if all were to
suddenly change for the better and tomorrow I awoke to a clean slate . . . to a
“new body” . . . I would look back on my years of agony with a sort of gratitude. I
would carry with me not wounds, not trauma, but a sense of accomplishment, for
I have known such a defining experience and I claimed from it all it had to offer
me.
Everything that occurred in my life was and is necessary to the ongoing
development of my entity, and as much as my world has been upturned and
devastated by ongoing suffering, I possess the lucidity to admit that the beauty
and necessity of the experience exists without regard for any healing which may
or may not take place in my life.
I am a future-oriented individual, and my outlook has preserved my focus
throughout these years of struggle. This explains my work ethic, as well as my
refusal to make exceptions based on my condition. It’s true that I have not once
‘put my feet up’ since 2009, and in the end I can say that I have made the most
advantageous use of the time and the conditions within which I have existed,
because I understood long ago that if ever I graduated from my hellish torment
that it would not be a victorious occasion if, when I was freed, I looked back on
wasted years. There would be no warrant to celebrate.
Because strength is not so much determined by the survival of the body but
by the perdurability of the spirit. The act of outlasting your turmoil is without
significancy unless it is utilized as the tool that it is, and this should manifest to
some degree on the level of emotionality, behavior, and mental fortitude. This is
how we determine the veritable strength of an individual; because everyone in
life must endure their share of circumstances that are beyond their control—
beyond their notion of comfort and pleasure—but those who whined, kicked and
cried the whole way through have wasted the opportunity utterly.

Agony is precisely that: an opportunity. It is a ground to develop the

nondepreciable worth of one’s being. The real tragedy is that many will refuse the
challenge, discarding their call to become “someone worth being”. It is horrible to

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me, because these words . . . they seem so obvious, and I expect that most
people would agree by instinct with what I am saying, though how seldom I see it
enacted in our modern mythless world! How seldom I catch a flash of the
archetypal sword!
Anyone can find contentment when the conditions are agreeable. Anybody
can live their life with ‘faith’ and ‘purpose’ when those attitudes go perpetually
uncontested.
At an earlier point within my autobiography, around the time that I was
discussing the Pilcrow Man, I admitted myself to be an uncourageous individual
who, by the will to protect, was capable of acting as I was . The same still stands.
I am empowered only by a cause, by a meaningful desire, and without it I am just
another weed unable to withstand even a change in windspeed!
I try to keep in mind the nature of my originary dreams in life . . . the person I
wanted to be . . . and then I have to note what it would require to become
something so great . . . and the answer with which I am left is: this—all of this. As
often as I can, I think back to my fifteen-year-old self who dreamed grand dreams
of a heroic “Idem”. As often as I can, I remind myself that age and experience, in
themselves, do not guarantee wisdom. They, too, are but opportunities, and in
the instance that they are treated as a given we deprive ourselves of their
transformative power.
I am deeply grateful for my lucidity. I haven’t always gotten the balance right,
and that much is self-evident, but I’ve rarely had to veer more than a little bit over
the yellow line before correcting my orientation. I would say I’ve got the
psychological equivalent of rumble strips firmly instated and at every stretch of
the course! At least this has been the case since 2012. The veritable pride of
Being can not possibly develop until it is guaranteed that all that you are and all
that you’ve built can be maintained in the face of unstable and calamitous
conditions. How can such ever be guaranteed! There does come a point when
these suppositions take on a dimension of reliability that exceeds a standard of
ignorance and overestimation, and I can personally attest to as much!

On a weekly basis I will ask myself, “Would all of this suffering be viewed as
worthwhile if I knew that it would soon end, allowing me a chance at a

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comparitively normal life?” and, though I may sometimes hesitate to answer, the
answer is invariably an emphatic “Yes!”
Would I return to life with traumas and lacerations? Grief in my eyes? Snot in
my beard? Ha ha! Surely not! I would return to the plains with satisfaction in
abundance and humility in the highest degree. Nay not a grudge in the garden!
I would not simply be accepting of all that happened, but count myself among
the blest. And this is not all just some “Please, God—I promise to go to church if
you heal me!” brand of ridiculousness. We only insult ourselves with such
barters. I am speaking from the depths of my extant gratitude—a wonderful
quality which has found the means to develop here even in the depths of my
disillusionment.
But when I am being honest with myself, I anticipate an unfavorable outcome
to my struggle, at least where mortality is concerned. It is not something I am
comfortable admitting to since such a claim appears to suppurate with mortal
resignation, as if I have relinquished my hopes or my ambitions; but sometimes it
is none of the above, being the result of a logical deduction. Yet to omit my
thought processes herefrom would be to promulgate a gross misrepresentation
of my hourly experience.
Even if my disorderly conditions did miraculously “heal over” on this day, the
years and years of perpetual tension have likely taken a significant toll on my
mortality. The distinction between tension and anxiety is all-important, in this
case, as it is not anxiety with which I struggle. I am neither nervous, worried, nor
fretful. Tension, unlike anxiety, does not require (and thrives independently of)
one’s conscious attention. My muscles are ever taut, and there’s no getting past
that, but it is not a reflection of my attitude, unless in the case that you would call
it a reflection of my ever-vigilant determination.
This is not but a simple story of a soul in despair. I’m not saying that that term
doesn’t apply, but it’s sure not the first word that comes to mind. ‘Despairing’
conjures up images of an individual brooding in their turmoil. It conjures up
images of spiritual and existential inertness caused by an inability to adapt to
circumstance. With all that I must do, I just don’t have the time to act with such
maladaptive behavior. With as much drama as I’ve got stewing in my heart, the
life I lead at present unfolds not like a drama tale, but one of horror and war. And

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I don’t have the time to stop and tally up the number of friends who have died,
the limbs I’ve lost, and how much blood I’ve spilt. I don’t have time. I’m busy
running. I’m racing to reach shelter, or rather, racing to erect my own. And I try to
avoid pausing to ponder it all, because then I would have to confront the fact that
the hopes which sustain me are rationally unsound.

I have lived my life with a stake in my heart and a choke in my throat, aware
of my fragility with every swallow. Yet above my corpse stands a headstone, and
upon that headstone is written “The Chastest”. I acknowledge my black horizons
not with acceptance but respect. I don’t want to go. I don’t. There is so much I
want to do and I can not even begin to express how adamantly I wish to see it all
take form. I currently have about seventy-some creative projects in queue for
when I conclude my autobiography...! Thereto is owed the work ethic I possess!
Because my grinding teeth do taste a grinding halt; because in my every sense is
foretold the cessation of human experience. It is my constant awareness of death
that has allowed me to accomplish what I have. To death do I owe the sum of my
life! And I say as much without a displaced sense of worship, for I am (evidently)
no nihilistic, death-worshipping patzer and contain zero respect for those who
befoul my periphery with an attitude of the sort.

The First-Second-Zeroth-First
April 1, 2018

I’ve lately been observing some patterns in the symbols that are manifesting
in my dreams and waking life. The common theme is one of returning to ‘the
point of origin’. This theme has shown itself in multiple significant areas
throughout my life over the past two years, both in the form of random
happenings and inexplicable attractions, and has become ineluctably apparent in

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this past month.

First, I thought I would share with you this little detail. In my youth I was given
an insight into the Idempotent Water Pourer by way of a detailed hypnagogic
vision, and among other details I was given a numeral and told to take note. That
numeral was 1201, and the Idem was so called The First-Second-Zeroth-First.
I’ve held my interpretations but I was never entirely sure on its meaning. Well, I
believe I’ve finally begun to make sense of it. I understand it as a formula of my
personal development, and I believe I’ve offered enough bits of info to my
readers in recent months to where you can see what I am noticing—yes? This
doesn’t really reveal anything unknown to me, except to confirm that I am
precisely where I should be, and that much seems indisputable at this point.
The revisiting (and revisioning) of Divinity of the Idem, as was recently
disclosed to you, is a significant undertaking, though not exactly evidential of any
fateful happening.
On the other hand, there’s the fact that I’ve just returned to my old cellar
abode after several years away. This was a significant move on my part as it has
allowed me to mend some serious issues in my life. The details of how this move
came about are semi-complex, involving a rather ridiculous chain of events. The
cellar was actually called to be done away with and the place was going to be
rented out to a couple. I was very disturbed by the news. All I kept envisioning
was the sight of Entity Tendon sitting broken and abandoned in the darkness of
this cell, and I admitted to myself for the first time that my departure was
premature and that there is more work to be done of a sort that will require this
place, being that it is so firmly interlaced with this leg of my personal
development. The fact that all turned out as it did is highly fortunate. This move
served as an effective kicker for a new and intensely cerebral period. This setting
has had a tremendous impact on my situation thus far, with it constantly
reaffirming my motive and supporting my sense of identity. I can’t say this enough
to my audience: in all your undertakings, pay considerable respect to your
immediate environment, making sure that it reflects your stated aims/needs in
ways that are conspicuous and exhortative. Our spaces, like temples, should
reflect the gods they serve.

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 On that note, one very unexpected area in which this theme of ‘recycling’ has
manifested is in the area of religion and spirituality. I say it is ‘unexpected’ but
that only goes to expose my own foolish avoidance, seeing as the clouds have
been forming in the distance for at least a year at this point and I fundamentally
believe that this is precisely the confrontation for which I am due at this point in
my personal narrative.
Though I ask that you do not mistake what I am saying: I am approaching the
matter purely from a psycho-symbolic angle. Despite my occult leanings, which
may, in your mind point to a belief in the spiritual, I am an agnostic who rejects
the dogma and traditional trappings of religious belief while openly advocating
symbolism (psychology) over spiritualism (although that is NOT a denunciation of
an objective psychospiritual current). I was raised as a Protestant Christian,
which I denounced in my formative years in favor of a more proactive, rational
and esoteric mysticality; and though I’ve lived my life seeking after moral and
righteous ends, I feel I’ve amends to make and hands to shake, as it were.

This does not suggest a return to my former faith but an attempt at

reconciliation, whereby I mean to acknowledge the pragmatic and value-based
merits inherent in religious and mystical tradition, especially in the character of
the Christ who continues to stand as an exemplar of the righteous individual in
our world.
And I would say that explanation is appropriate for all my current undertakings
(‘reconciliation’ over ‘returning’). I’ve taken the hostile, desperate heart of a
vagrant child and erected a wonderful, quasi-heroic empire thereon. While I’ve
every cause to be proud of my ability to create something as such within these
highly disconducive conditions... I wouldn’t ever wish to settle on such conditions
if I find it is within my ability to mend them.
I’ll cover this specific avenue with more attention in a future post. This current
post is only meant to provide a generic overview.
There are more events and indications that appear to be signifying the
importance of reconciling with and/or reclaiming certain elements from the time of
my formative years—in addition to the few I’ve shared—though I don’t feel the
need to elaborate on them. This is very, very intriguing to me since this

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represents the age in which I was first made aware of the Idem, and so it really
does seem as though some peculiar multidimensional intersection of sorts is
taking place, ha ha. I’m not so credulous as to claim that that is what is
happening, but then again I’ve also been known to disregard Occam’s Razor on
more than a few occasions in my pursuit of truth... *itches at nose with middle
finger*
In any case, all of this is adding up to form quite the scene. There’s now the
sense that I’ve returned, as a matured and percipient Imago, to my point of origin
with the discernment to disentangle cause from effect and poison from
medicament.
Consider, if you will, that in most sporting settings, mindset alone
distinguishes the starting line from the finish line.
Why is all of this occurring? I can’t answer that just yet, though I can assure
you that it’s not a regressive act. As someone who, in the past, showed
heightened proneness to regressive behaviors, I am confident in my ability to
discern the difference. So what seems to be the end goal of this leg? I can’t
answer that one either, though I’ve no deficit of hope. I am simply following the
scent of a wounded truth. What care it takes to bleed a perfect trail!
It’s been a momentous start to the year. The month of March often seems to
bring with it a sense of paradigmatic renascence, and this that I’ve got going on
at the moment is of considerably greater scale than anything I was expecting. It
truly looks to me that this is the threshold of all that I have sought for fourteen
long years. That doesn’t sound like such a long time within the context of history,
but that’s half of my own human existence. I hardly remember anything before
then! And now it’s as if I can sense myself standing before a large, gold-gilt door
on which I find embossings of all the seals and names that comprise my
hysterical existence. It is exciting beyond what I can express, though at the same
time I remorse to think that what I am describing bears no luster in the eyes of a
people so woefully detached from its own inherent legend.
In 2015, when making his final appearance, the Steulugalnemraiant assured
me that I would know when I’ve arrived at my objective. (If you aren’t aware of
that which I describe, he abandoned my sleep in 2015 following ten years of
‘guidance’, claiming that I had reached a point in my development whereat his

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presence was undermined by my nearness to my objective.) I feared he was
mistaken. I feared the fate of uncertainty: being forever unable to acknowledge
the form my victory takes.
My doubts have diminished in this month, for now I can plainly hear the
nearby whirs of a familiar presence. I mean that figuratively, of course, but at the
same time, the thrill is so strong as to add a sense of tangibility to the
experience.
All these recent dreams and intimations have led me to look deeper into the
symbolism of the crucifixion (not realizing until only a few hours ago that we’re
amid Easter weekend). Nearly all symbols are multipartite if by the sheer
principle of context. So, in seeking to better my understanding of this symbol, I’ve
undertaken something of a scriptural excavation (with prominent focus on the
gospels). I’m still in the process of review and analysis, but several details have
caught my eye so far and I’m likely to be sharing these shortly. That being said,
upcoming posts are expected to continue this Judeo-Christian/divine theme since
this is just where I am at in my process of personal psycho-symbolic
development, so please bear with me should I start slobbering on about symbols
and meaningful coincidences (which is highly likely).
I believe that my reconciliation with my childhood spiritual belief structures will
play a significant role in the realization of my grand objective. It makes absolute
sense in that the very nature of Idempotence reflects the ‘divine human’, as I can
not exist in alignment with my purported ‘divine nature’ unless in the case that
I’ve repaired and reassessed my understanding of ‘divinity’ which, in some
manner, remains entangled with a youth of abuse and a culture of cyclopic fools.
This isn’t meant as just some modernistic repurposing or satirization of
religious intention, a la Discordianism, but an attempt to dissever the Symbol
from its thrice-raped corpse and then apply this distilled essence to my own life in
a pragmatic manner.
This isn’t about God. This isn’t about eternity. I am not disposed to believe in
either of these constructs. Although I do believe in the potential of being, and I’ve
devoted my life in earnest to learning what that means for me. There may be
elements to my methodology that strike you as overly fantastic or offbeat, and I
know it’s tempting to judge a dish by its constituent ingredients, but I would

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encourage you to hold tight and wait for the airplane before scoring my skills, ha
ha!
My aim centers on understanding the so-called ‘transcendental’ capacity of
our species. That doesn’t have to mean something spiritual or cosmic or pick-a-
new-age-cliché. And for me it’s not about achieving some cartoonized ends of,
say, “ultimate power” or “universal acceptance”. For me it’s just about making this
life as rich and meaningful and ideal as I can make it, for my sake as well as for
the sake of everyone around me.
I’ll certainly have more to say about this and Idempotence in general (my
concept of it), lest I be accused of treading the malarial water of innumerable idiot
fantasists and narcissistic charlatans before me.

The Water Pourer

April 2, 2018

I’ll preface my point by saying that I’ve always felt somewhat embarrassed by
the title associated with the Idem. That title is ‘The Water Pourer’, as in an entity
bearing water in a pitcher. First of all, it doesn’t sound even remotely formidable,
least of all ‘cool’. If I had it my way it would contain at least one x and six or more
v’s! Instead it sounds like a Walmart summer clearance item. As a teenager, my
bandmates didn’t even think it cool enough for our band name! On top of that, I
have zero concept of what this icon is meant to represent symbolically. Water
seems just too generic as a symbol, which shouldn’t discount its prospective
meaning, but it’s just so difficult to discern the appropriate context in which this
title comes to me.
That’s why I tend to just refer to this entity as The Idem, which is actually a
generic term used in line with Imago—all basically referencing an “absolute/

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transcendent/irreducible self” (in my own little lexicon).
Every few years I will do a quick keyword search in the hopes of finally
resolving this riddle and I get no further than silly astrological glitter graphics,
being that the sign of Aquarius is represented by the water pourer. That just
doesn’t seem substantial or pertinent in any way to my life so I eventually give up
the search, hoping that sooner or later it will make itself known to me.
I’ve lately been reading the Biblical accounts of the crucifixion (for reasons
addressed in my previous post) and noticed a peculiar detail which appears in
two discrete gospels. I won’t say that it has any bearing on my understanding of
this symbol, but I do find it interesting that I never noticed this reference before
now.
I refer to the following passage, appearing in Luke chapter 22 in which it
describes a man carrying a water pitcher.

7Then came the day of unleavened bread, when the passover must be
killed. 8And he sent Peter and John, saying, Go and prepare us the passover,
that we may eat. 9And they said unto him, Where wilt thou that we prepare?
10And he said unto them, Behold, when ye are entered into the city, there shall a
man meet you, bearing a pitcher of water; follow him into the house where he
entereth in. 11And ye shall say unto the goodman of the house, The Master saith
unto thee, Where is the guestchamber, where I shall eat the passover with my
disciples? 12And he shall shew you a large upper room furnished: there make
ready. 13And they went, and found as he had said unto them: and they made
ready the passover.

It seems to be such an insignificant detail, yet a quick online search will bring
up all sorts of attempts by others to explain the rich symbolic significancy of this
figure to the story—some of which seem very curious and may require further
analysis. I’m not saying that there exists a connection, but it intrigues me
nonetheless to see a symbol so dear to me mentioned within such an equivocal
context. As a note, the same man is also mentioned in the gospel of Mark in a
near-identical manner.
After resuming my research on this symbol I eventually came upon this

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passage by psychologist C.G. Jung in which he addresses “the water-pourer”.
It’s a very strange symbol. I don’t dare interpret it. So far as one can tell, it is
the image of a great man approaching. One finds, besides, a lot of things about
this in the Bible itself: there are more things in the Bible than the theologians can
admit.

There isn’t much being said, but I am wont to consider the insights of this
man. Admittedly I don’t know very much about Jung, although I do contain a
vague concept of the scope of his contributions to the field of psychology.
Over the years I’ve been keeping this list of authors I would be curious to read
in the chance that I should one day rescind my personal rule that disallows the
exploration of outside philosophies. His name often seems to come up when
searching out terms of interest online and it’s hard to not be curious in this case,
so I usually have him near the very top of this list. (I do actually recall reading a
little bit of Man and His Symbols around 2010 since someone I knew had
recommended it but I ended up giving it away before I got too deep into it.)
Anyway, I found it interesting that he would emphasize the significancy of the
abovecited scriptural passage (and perhaps others I am yet to discover) and then
conclude his comments as he did, as if to say “You’ve found the coordinates,
Tendon. Now it’s for you to keep digging!”
With more browsing I was reminded that a water pourer is represented among
the major arcana of the Tarot as The Star. This realization opened me up to a
new and interesting perspective on the symbol. What’s more intriguing to me
than the actual card is its placement among the major arcana and how it
responds to the card which precedes it: the dreaded Blasted Tower.

If you aren’t aware, I have a peculiar history with the Tower card, which is
known to represent tragedy, trauma and chaos. In the summer of 2008 I was
utilizing the Tarot as a tool of psychological self-analysis, drawing a single card at
the start of each day and treating it as a sort of filter through which to analyze my
actions and circumstance. In other words, I was using it not as a divinatory
means but as an exercise in perspective. This is where you get certain songs like
those on The Gredients, i.e., “Indolence of Cups”, “Improvement”. I eventually

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stopped using the Tarot because I was pulling the Tower in what seemed like
every draw and it started affecting me negatively in terms of perception,
considering I had just recently suffered my public breakdown and was particularly
sensitive to the insinuation that life was no longer as it used to be.
There is a wealth of mythopoetic interpretations of this card online, and I am
only yet to read a couple (which is probably as far as I’ll get on this bypath lest I
come away smelling of patchouli), but you can gain an understanding of its
assigned value here.
Anyway, that’s all I have to say on the topic as of yet; and again, nothing that I
am saying here is intended to be taken as meaningful in its own right. We get
nowhere by being credulous little gulpers of horoscopic equivocality; yet at the
same time, we get just as far by closing ourselves off to the unknown frontiers of
thought.
I am admittedly excited and even inspired by these little bits of information I’ve
discovered, but all in all I’m just investigating...! Investigate along with me, if
you’re so inclined! Or better yet, investigate your own intrinsic symbol set.

Physiognope
April 3, 2018

Whereas most (if not all) previous identical extremities placed high focus upon
physical forme as a tool in manipulating my self-understanding, I have decided to
undertake an experiment that will involve going for an extended period of time
without seeing (or showing) my own face. It’s sort of a non-aggressive means of
attempting to transcend my materialistic self-understanding. I’ve gone upwards of
thirty days now wearing a black latex mask and I may choose to continue on
indefinitely in this manner. I have reasons for doing this beyond the
abovementioned reason but that’s a story for another time, though it involves

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receptiveness to pain and how it is altered by the degree to which I “sympathize”
or identify with my body. While ten years ago I would have opted to dissociate
entirely (not healthy, not advisable), I’m now going for something a bit more
creative.

I’ve lately contemplated several psychosomatic experiments relating to

interpretation and transference of pain. I do really need to be cautious since this
is much like what got me into this mess in the first place—creating monsters so
strong and capable that they endanger my life. A few weeks ago, after hurting my
left hand, I experimented with “transferring” the pain to different parts of my body.
I’ve attempted this previously, but I have become far more adept over time. It’s
startling to experience. I was able to ‘throw’ the pain between hands as though it
were a rubber ball.
Anyway, here is a photo showing my current rotation of outfits (pictured with
mannequin). It was unintentional that they polarized each other, but I quite like
the contrast (my most comfortable winter garb just happens to be black). Couple
this with the fact that I don’t speak and I suppose I can understand the postal
worker’s alarm when I recently emerged from the doorway as so to sign for my
package.

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 Apokálypsi!
April 4, 2018

I’m having a magnificent breakthrough . . . and my mind is working at 688

wpm trying to piece this together. And absolutely all of these pieces were already
within my possession . . . it’s all but a matter of arrangement. It’s no mere
metaphor to regard it as a puzzle!

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 Triunity of Self
April 4, 2018

The ‘puzzle’ has seen complete assembly. In the simplest of language, I have
come to understand the Self as a tripartite self-concept, whereof the Biblical
trinity acts as an immaculate template. The greater self, corresponding to Deus
(God) in the belowgiven illustration, shall manifest in line with mutual
acknowledgement of the triunity.
There’s far more to be said on the topic, but I will want to take my time and
digest these findings thoroughly before even attempting to explicate the meaning
of what I am saying to a public audience. There is much to sort out in my mind,
and I am not even sure just how much of this should be made public. It’s not that
I am seeking secrecy but I worry that I could devalue the experience. There are
lessons in this life which can not be taught.
As for now, I am utterly exhausted. This discovery has left me emotionally
depleted and in the most meaningful way possible.

Thummim
April 8, 2018

I’ve typed out a general overview of my interactive history with the Thummim,
who I consider to be the most influential figure in my life on the whole. It was
hastily prepared (for reasons that will soon be explained) and lacks a lot of
details that I would eventually like to include. I will soon have more to add on my

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own personal system of occult work which deals prominently with the reshaping
of identical capacity via the transmutation of sub-symbolic properties. In addition,
I penned a long-winded dissertation on my stance on the pragmatic/
psychological utility of spirituality and the occult, titled Mnemonic Possession,
way back in 2007 around the time I first developed my interest in ritual magick. I
wish I could make that available to the public, even as some of the information
may be a bit outdated, but I haven’t seen it in years now, so I can only assume
that it’s trapped on my fried hard-drive; but I may soon attempt to rewrite it for the
purpose of clarifying my position once and for all.

The World On Its Own Terms

April 9, 2018

Last night I experienced something truly phenomenal. I was having some

difficulty falling asleep due to overactive thoughts (of a mildly distressing nature)
and as I attempted to invoke the strength and intent to set it all aside, my senses
shifted in an instant to one of the most phenomenal mindsets I’ve ever before
experienced. I don’t know if it’s more appropriate to say that my mind had been
emptied of its contents or if I experienced a sort of ‘absolute focus’. There were
no distractions. There was no anger, no anxiety. It wasn’t merely absent. I had
entered into a state wherein it no longer appeared possible. At least that’s how I
perceived it at the time. When I would manage a reaction in my mind, such as
“wow”, I would perceive that reaction in my mind in a most vivid manner (in visual
form, I mean to say).
It was simultaneously wonderful and unsettling, which is not to say that it was
in any way a negative experience but I was just so unaccustomed to this sort of
mindframe. My mind is a realm of unquellable intensity and I’ve learned to make
use of that and to not see it as a negative thing, despite the battles I’ve faced in

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the past with intrusive thoughts and dangerous psychosomatic conversions. I
adore my mind, really I do, and I’ve known more satisfaction than I can ever
prove, but I wouldn’t know ‘peace’ if it smothered my mother with a side of beef.
I don’t expect any of this to appear as remarkable to my readers since it really
doesn’t translate well into text, but I can assure you that it was something truly
incredible. Moreover, I was able to fall asleep within minutes despite my
excitement.
As clueless as I sound on the cause of this phenomenon, there is really no
mystery.
I experienced a similar sense of clarity earlier in the week when I reconvened
with the Thummim and recognized him for who he was. That, too, was an
overwhelming experience for me. It came on me with such intensity that I thought
for a moment that I was finally dying; as if I was dissolving into the ether. I felt my
body vibrating intensely and I lost feeling in both arms and hands. It was not
nervousness. There was no anxiety. At one point I was even laughing
uncontrollably as I went down on my knees, unable to stand up straight due to
muscle weakness.
The mindset in this instance was slightly different in how it was experienced
(compared to the previously described experience) but that is likely due to the
difference of setting, whereas in the original instance I was active and walking
about.
The only thought in my mind was a question that kept on repeating itself:
“How could I ever be angry?” For in that moment I could clearly perceive the
ways in which everything within my surroundings was connected to and
deformed by my touch, by my taste, by my presence, and for a moment I caught
a glimpse into “the world on its own terms”; a world without witness, without
inhabitants; an objective world not measured by “how it effects us” but by “what it
is”.

I wish I could tell you about that perspective in more descriptive detail but it’s
yet to be perfectly understood by me and unfortunately there’s probably nothing
that I could say at this point that wouldn’t just sound like fauxlosophical stoner
spewage.

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 So when I say that I “invoked the strength and intent to set it all aside” I refer
to a volitional ‘channeling’ of the Thummim’s highest principle, for this is the
concentrated nature of the Thummim and it’s been an absolute pleasure to
behold and experience.
What’s remarkable is how effortlessly it came about. I was not in trance. I was
not within an environment devoid of distracting elements. Quite the contrary. I
can’t tell you how encouraged I am to find that it was not a one-time occurrence
but a state to which I have acquired access through my development. I’ll be
seeking to test the limits and uses of this state in the upcoming weeks (I speak
as if I acquired a new ‘superpower’ . . . and that’s really what it feels like, in some
sense).
I still haven’t arrived at a satisfactory means of describing it, but I just don’t
feel it would be right to regard this experience as a vacancy of thought or
awareness, but perhaps as, say, ‘clarity’ in conjunction with an unforced sense of
‘acceptance’.
It also seems to reflect what I recently had to say on the pomander.
I’ve since been reflecting on the ‘true nature of acceptance’ and I had a bit
written out on the topic but it was becoming more and more tangential and I
thought it would be better to just give it its own post once I get my thoughts
sorted out. I’m seeing this as an important consideration in this time, and I
believe that once I follow this thought to the end of the road I will arrive at the
Father, the foremost triumvir who is represented by the water bearer.
Each aspect of the Idem, of which there are three, are representative of Purity
in its different states.
Purity of Capacity, also called Purity of Childliness or Omoudnpam (“the
unimpressed one”), which is portrayed as a pitcher or vessel and is embodied by
The Pour. (The name, or title, “The Pour” was originally conferred upon me by
the Steulugalnemraiant in 2004 and is most commonly associated with the final
extremity of the Korneli appendage although I’ve recently begun using it to refer
to my whole entity, having come to understand its meaningfulness in relation to
the Idem Triunity.)
Purity of Substance, also called Purity of Wisdom, which is portrayed as water
within the vessel and is embodied by the Thummim.

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 Purity of Transaction, also called Purity of Representation, which is portrayed
as the water bearer and is embodied by the triumvir hereinbefore referred to as
Father due to a lack of intimate knowledge of his identity (and since he
corresponds to the figure of God the Father within the biblical trinity).

I am currently involved in the process of understanding the so-called father

and I am so excited to reflect on this further. I’ll be posting on this shortly, along
with more information on how the Idem Triunity interacts with itself (or the
relationship between parts).
It is also very fascinating to see how Vzdutpondo fits into this picture.
Vzdutpondo, expressed as ‘paradoxical perversion’, is representative of purity in
its corrupt state. In a sense, it is the ‘sin’ of the Idem Triunity. The ‘virgin vertigo’,
or madness of the saints, from which I previously suffered was the most alarming
and devastating manifestation thereof.
To understand ‘purity’ and ‘immaculacy’ (as they relate to humankind) I was
not only called to experience and outmaneuver its absence in Impurity (the
‘irrational madness’ of 2007-2011) but its excess in Perversion (or Abuse/Misuse)
(the ‘rational madness’ of 2012-2015).
I am truly relieved to know that that is now many years behind me. I am
relieved to know that I ascended the abysm with my blood still warm and my hair
still pigmented.
Given how everything unfolded, I’m now seeing how the elimination of
Vzdutpondo was at the heart of my ‘objective’ in those years and it’s unusual to
me since that was never made clear. I’m understanding it as I’ve never
understood it before. It’s quite interesting... especially as I was once utterly
convinced that it would detract from the attainment of Idempotence, yet now I’m
finding that it was an indispensable flagstone along the way. I’m going to have to
reanalyze that whole situation and see what I can ascertain from it (I’ve already
got some ideas). Some marvelous metaphors can be seen in retrospect...! And
you can count on me to uncover them. What an exceptional Allegory we all live!
This past week has been just one big piñata-bashing party for me on the self-
analysis front. Metaphysical licorice allsorts flying everywhichway.

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 Parashurna, Everycass and
Mrtagrha
April 10, 2018

As it currently stands, accounts of Parashurna, Everycarcass and Mrtagrha

have been consolidated into this brief overview. Expect more thorough,
individuated accounts at a later point. Note that the following information contains
some baseless speculation.

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 “We are defined as much or more by the contents of our waste bin than by
that which we allow to represent us.”

My readers should be at least partly familiar with Everycarcass, the fifth limb
of my identity structure.

Well, then I think it is time I expound upon this most loathsome limb and that
will involve going into details regarding the fourth such limb from which
Everycarcass comes: Mrtagrha, or House of the Dead—a most unique element
of my identity construction, being not a limb but the belly or colon. Unlike the rest,
it contains no personal paradigm, being not modeled after model personhood but
after a location, and therein dwells the Parashurna, the corpse-weaver, in
constructive phase.

You may have come across this name (Parashurna) when reading my works,
though never with any sort of elaboration… Just a hunk of verboten metaphors.
Entity Parashurna has been involved in my life since the age of fourteen, and yet
despite being aware of its presence it has remained the mystery of mysteries! A
coarse black hair suspended in the chalaza! It is the dipa disowned by all other
dipas–presumably for his association with the thaumaturgical forces. Incorrect! I
have learned my presumptions to be wrong. I was wrong all along—though not
on all counts.

The Thummim spoke to me in a cautioning tone, appearing to suggest that the

Parashurna represents an entity not belonging to my person. Yea, this
Parashurna who I all along believed to be some asomatous semiotic wraith, or
dipa, may in fact be something more sinister. And so I was warned to take heed:
it is not an aspect of my self and to interpret it as such would pose a threat to my
accumulated self-understanding for it is an outlier in all aspects and its heart
beats apart.

I know very little on its nature at this point, and whether all is as he

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(Thummim) says, I am yet to feel satisfied with my understanding. I simply can’t
tell if this is to be taken literally or as an exercise.

The name Parashurna is most certainly not its true name. I think it came from
Jeiezza some years ago. In any case, I won’t be revealing all of my findings to a
public audience. The details I have acquired on this entity in these months (and
the speculation it has prompted) are a bit outlandish, even for me, and I’m still
attempting to sort it all out within myself.

One thing I will say is that the famed “vision of the candelabrum” appears to
have been associated with Parashurna in some regard, although without
seeming to cancel out the participation of the Steulugalnemraiant in said event.

Regarding the Parashurna and its myth: its presence comes into being only
as my ego-awareness switches off and sleep overtakes me. The surgeon then
enters into the House of Mrtagrha where he sifts through the refused contents of
my psyche, reassembles them, and later attempts to sell them back to me within
a recurring dream. This appears to be a bit mythopoeic and not like something to
be taken seriously, but it is all I have to work with.

Well… about that…

I still recall the dream(s) with an astounding vividity, though I have not had
them in a while now. I am standing in what resembles a gated apartment
community after nightfall. The scene resembles something seen in a film noir
flick. The air bellows with opera (a woman within the complex is rehearsing). I
make my way to a dumpster in the shadows where I will meet a trader. We strike
up a deal–a deal promised to benefit me. It is such an ominous scene–more so
than I know how to portray. It feels otherworldly despite a lack of observable
peculiarities.

I have had this dream on precisely nine occasions since my formative years:
the construction of the Mahanava. Only recently (2018) did I discover the trader

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to be Parashurna and I have not observed its presence since—not in a form that
I recognize.

Mrtagrha has been hypothesized as being something of an intrapsychic

workshop to which the Parashurna has access. The much-reviled fourth
appendage known as Everycarcass was formed from a covenant between
Tendon and Parashurna (via Mrtagrha) and thereby comprises a group of
numerous reanimated so-called carcasses whereamong exists a core set of nine
carcasses collectively known as Mahanava. (More than nine exist in total;
however, all but nine are considered inessential to my personal completion).

The prime objective regarding Everycarcass is to reintegrate the Mahanava

into the Ego Self and only then will they resume their ability to function as
originally intended and the self can be termed complete. I have made some
progress in recent years when working with the Mahanava yet I am far from
having succeeded in this endeavor.

In their default state, these trait characteristics contribute to a normal, sensible

degree of self-preservation, but because they have been exorcised like vomit
from the system, it is no simple task to reintroduce them into that system. For a
while they will exist in a state of suspension where they appear overactive and
highly exaggerated when in use. The cognitive dissonance invoked by this
process is liable to come as excruciating. Worst of all, from my own perspective,
is the feeling of inauthenticity… The inauthenticity that is viability…

It is a process. Everlasting, no, but a process nevertheless. The key to their

reintegration lies in continued, uninterrupted use. I find this somewhat funny in
light of recent realizations: the realization that sustentation/maintenance in some
form is almost invariably the final step of any abstract process. It’s not that that
surprises me at all. It’s only brought me to respect the concept of sustentation all
the more—how difficult it can be in this society.

Everycarcass has often been called my most hated appendage and you

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should now understand why. It represents my failure to both respect and discern
the multifarious moral structures of human blooms.

As per the surgeon’s fingerprint, each individual sub-entity associated with the
Mahanava has been given a descriptive sobriquet in addition to the Sanskrit title
with which they were first introduced to me. Otherwise, it is not common for the
remaining, non-Mahanava ‘carcasses’ to have a name.

Among the Mahanava there also exists multiple subgroupings, most notably
The Four Whipsmen, but I will go into that some other time when attempting to
give a more detailed presentation of Everycarcass. At that point I will be
discussing MHMT, who I consider to be the most “dangerous” of my internal
compartmentalizations at present, although in some sense he is ultimately that
which I aspire to the most…

There exists a certain quantity of appropriately called building blocks within

the body. The body ceases functioning properly in their absence. The system of
personal identity breaks down in a similar fashion. The total number of said
essentials is liable to differ from one individual to the next by dint of constitutional
and contextual variables. In my case, I contained nine such rejected necessities
(building blocks). It’s no wonder I landed so hard on my ass. So I have been told
that I have created impossible ideals–ideals that can not be maintained in our
world. It’s hard for me to hear that. It’s difficult to say I’ve chosen to wear the
great heaume at the expense of good sense.

Not long ago I experienced some minor health issues resulting from a high
sodium intake. Me being a fool that I am, I cut it out of my life entirely and for five
or more months my diet consisted of no sodium. I was consuming less than 5%
of the DV and, you know, it eventually takes its toll, and as I was just saying, the
body ceases proper functioning. To continue the analogy, let’s say that my body
continues to waste away and the doctor comes along claiming that my low
sodium levels are unsustainable and that I must receive a sodium shot. He warns
me saying that my body will react negatively thereto, given that it is not used to it,

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but it is necessary to save myself and in time it will stabilize as my body becomes
re-accustomed to sodium.

If that’s saying anything, I went and made things a lot harder on myself than
they needed to be by failing to consider moderation and proper usage guidelines.

That is essentially the Everycarcass: it is the systemic reintroduction of

abandoned/rejected necessities.

Guilty necessities...

So what is the purpose of all of this? How does this aid me? How can this be
anything more than just a bunch of seemingly lunatical mythopoeia?

As was aforesaid, the Mahanava must be reintegrated into the greater self.
Only then can I be perfected. Note: it bears no effect on Idempotence despite
being in many ways disagreeable, for it is called the product of concentrated
efforts, albeit misguided efforts, as opposed to products of lacking effort and
therefore it is deemed neutral, if not well and good, by the laws governing the
arcane superstratum.

And what of Parashurna? Oh I don’t know. I must ultimately supplant the

surgeon without integrating and/or identifying with it and its essential conceptual
construct. It has me a little nervous, to be honest. Thummim has overtly stressed
the dangers of overidentification (with Parashurna) on several instances now and
it has created for a bit of anxiety within me. I have been attempting various
catoptromantic exercises in recent months as part of a… hmm.. no... I have been
working to ordain a new priestly paradigm known by the name Ardhachandra (a
Sanskrit term meaning “Half-moon”). The name comes from the defining physical
characteristics of…hmmm… No…..for which I’ve been doing myself up with
vibhooti and obnoxious fixatives. Hmm….

I have come away with many a profound insight from my experience dealing

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with Parashurna. Most notable is the principle that exists as the basis of
Everycarcass, which is to say that we are defined as much or more by the
contents of our waste bin than by that which we allow to represent us. Consider
the implications of such a concept… The accountability is incredible. I mean–
goddamn! The entire concept of Mrtgrha and Everycarcass is beyond impressive
from a philosophical standpoint.

The obvious Eastern overtones on this entity are a point of confusion but I
intend to conduct some studies in the hopes of coming to some understanding. I
presume, at this point, that this has something to say for the Sanskrit and Hindu
concepts which have been threading in and out of my psychomythic system in a
most mysterious fashion since the outset of my mystical practice (2004/2005).

In addition to all that has been shared previously, countless individuals over
the years have claimed to having dreamt strange dreams in which I was in some
way symbolically associated with Lord Shiva. The frequency with which I was
hearing about these dreams has always struck me as bizarre–the pattern was so
obvious, unmistakable. I can remember them as far back as 2006/2007.
The most recent such dream was relayed to me in three years past by a
childhood friend. In this dream the image of Lord Shiva was imprinted on my
belly and she was compelled to kiss it. There is no known reason for these
associations. They (the person having the dream) are neither associated in any
way with Hindu/Indian lore (or interests) nor would they have any reason to
associate such with me.

It is a mysterious connection which has confounded me for quite some time,

though it is now presumed that this can be somehow explained by the presence
and preoccupation of Parashurna. The abovementioned dream also interests me
in how it relates Lord Shiva to the belly, being that Mrtagrha, host to Parashurna’s
influence, corresponds to the belly, or colon.

There is more to say, but a lot of it is still just speculation at this point so I will
bow out for now.

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 Hisses
April 11, 2018
Those of you who come from loving, exhortative families: cherish your fortune.
I have known great darkness in my life, and nothing compares to that which
comes from a depraved family structure.

F111
April 13, 2018

My father failed me in every possible way he could have. The only thing I want
more than to watch him die is to see him come alive.

Purity of Transaction
April 14, 2018

I essentially massacred this diary post and sucked out a lot of its marrow but
I’ve got a lot going on in my head and I want to move on to the next study, ha ha.

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There are no real conclusions here. I am just attempting to figure out what is
required of me at this phase in my self-development that I may move on to the
next. Everything feels very frantic at this time and my articulation is dipping
noticeably. Breakthroughs and breakdowns share a common ancestor, hoom.

Though I’ve come to a new understanding in recent days on what I must do to

achieve my most worthy goal, there remains one important part of the process
ahead: that is, the Acknowledgement of Son by Father, to put it into spiritualistic
terms. I’ll attempt to explain for you what that means to me, although you should
know that I’m not perfectly sure of my own interpretation.

So here’s what I’ve worked out in my mind, adding together all the little clues
and intuited bits of information that I’ve come to and to me it sounds quite
plausible (in line with what I know with certainty).

First of all, as I already explained, the Foremost represents Purity of

Transaction, or Purity of Representation, and this aspect appears as ‘the water
bearer’.

NOTE: I’m honestly not certain, at this point, about application of the term. I
am yet to determine if The Water Pourer is solely, in itself, a formula or if it is also
a name/title associated with the Idem. I still haven’t finished adapting my
understanding to the idea of the Idem as a triumvirate of unified essence. So for
now I’m distinguishing between the Foremost and the Idem by this minor
difference in title: water bearer and Water Pourer—the latter of which connotes a
fulfillment of purpose.

Transaction refers to an exchange or interaction between entities. So

altogether this entity can be seen as representing the ability to reflect the greater
essence and complex inner process through visible actions and interactions with
society.

It is about how to act properly on the wisdom of my experience. How and how

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not to present myself (and my understanding) to the world. Just as ‘good’ is not
simply ‘an absence of evil’, that doesn’t simply refer to acts of over-assertion, i.e.,
arrogance and force-feeding, but under-assertion as well, which can occur for
reasons such as laziness, apprehension, and a variety of other causes.
It’s about getting the balance right: recognizing the time and place for any
given face—and I have many.
Let me tell you, I’m struggling quite a bit to overcome my fear of
misconstruction, and it manifests itself all throughout my pattern of speech. Have
you noticed just how often my attempts at explaining my understanding are
followed up with paragraph after paragraph of borderline defensive clarifications?
It gets exhausting, doesn’t it? I’ll break out of these spokes eventually. I’ve got to
give myself at least a tiny bit of room for maladaptive fixations occurring as a
result of my malformed/potentially misinformed social experience.
It’s not ununderstandable that I feel inclined to say as much. My words are
constantly being misconstrued, twisted and used against me, and on top of that, I
have not known encouraging conditions throughout my life.
I have the utmost confidence in my self and my abilities, yet I struggle
perpetually with my relationship with society and lack confidence in the idea that
my words will be received as intended. More than anything this comes down to a
fractured opinion of humanity which leaves me believing that no matter what I
say, no matter what I do, no matter my intentions, I will be disregarded, opposed
or punished. My experience confirms as much and, as rational-minded as I may
be, my experience can not be discarded entirely from my estimation.
But this goes deeper than a desire to be accepted or respected. That’s not it
at all.
It’s the maddening awareness of in what ways my ability to make use of my
gifts/exercise my self-defined purpose rests on the ability of a delicate society to
perceive my offering as meaningful and my understanding as sound, and so to
be allowed into their “home”, if you will, I must “dress appropriately”. It’s not about
fame or prestige. I want to use my experiences to uplift. Wisdom and knowledge
and self-realization, as immaculate as they can be, are not ends in themselves.
At least not for someone like myself who desires to contribute to the lives and
wellbeing of others in as many ways as I am capable. All of this can present a

165
monstrous challenge to someone who doesn’t naturally care what others think
(within reason). Naturally, I hardly care if you think I’m a bag of peanut brittle. But
I must show that I am capable of playing by the rules before my criticisms of said
rules will ever be considered. So when it appears I’m hung up on what others
think about me, it comes down these factors in nearly all cases. I’m still trying to
get the balance right.
I say all of this to point out that I’m still facing a few significant issues when it
comes to how to speak and behave and it seems that the overcoming of these
longstanding issues may play in somehow with my current task.
Anyway, my main responsibility within the Idem Triunity relates to my primary
attribute, Purity of Capacity, which deals prominently with attitude and the
manner whereby I manage knowledge (receptiveness, discernment, discipline,
dezinezinet).
It’s very interesting to dissect the relationships and positioning within the
Idem.
As important as it is to the overall process, Transaction is not required for a
fulfilling existence but for a fulfillment of purpose.
As you can see from just one look at the symbolism resounding within my
works and personal identity structure, the concept of Purity sits at the core of all
that is Choir; of all that is Idem.
My desired epitaph, The Chastest, refers, of course, to the virtue of chastity,
which, in my world, is defined along the lines of ‘the will and discipline to remain
Pure’. It adds a dimension of volitional intent to the concept of Purity.
It can be posited that we all begin this life in a state of purity. So then what
does it matter in its own right? What does anything matter in its own right—
without the assurance of consistency and perdurability? I firmly subscribe to the
idea that one can not identify themselves as something unless in the case that it
can be maintained (perhaps allowing the tiniest margin of error, depending on the
claim). This is something I deal with quite a lot in my old journals within the
context of moral uprightness and psychological stability. In fact, this had a lot to
say on my reasons for isolating in the first place: to truly confront the villain within
myself who threatened my ideal of security. Unfortunately I was naïve to expect
that it wouldn’t lead to the extensive damage of my body.

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 The term Chastity also acknowledges opposition in its definition. A
commitment to the refusal of unprosperous propositions. It all sounds rather
dainty, doesn’t it, especially since a lot of people tend to associate the term with
sexual abstinence (despite the etymological origins of the term referring to a
more general purity, if not leaning towards moral purity) while for me it simply
refers to a meaningful and practiced form of self-restriction, encompassing
concepts as diverse as my autodidactic philosophies and my purposeful refrain
from violent retribution.
Anyhow——
How daunting it is...
The most difficult step in the attainment of higher wisdom is the challenge of
integrating it with the sphere of the mundane. I have an unfinished text in which I
attempted to explain my trouble, and I’m not sure why I never finished it.
I recently explained the difficulty I’ve had in finding practical application for all
that I’ve acquired in my times of tribulation and triumph. These riches whereof I
speak (Having eliminated a couple paragraphs of text, the allusions to ‘riches’ no
longer makes sense) are, in my case, aptly embodied by the Steulugalnemraiant,
who represents Purity of Wisdom—and as you should know, we’ve known each
other a very long time (half my life, to be precise) and it was our meeting that
changed my life: the vision of the candelabrum.
It’s the knowledge I accept, approve and represent before the world.
It’s consoling to think of these ‘treasures’ as being innately valuable if to say
that a life lived in remoteness can achieve the same level of meaning as one
lived in the company of others, but so much of what these riches represent to us
is contingent on that which they represent to society at large. The worth of virtue
and vice alike are determined by the manner in which they contribute to or
detract from the world fabric. Yes, these values are so strongly associated by
now with their presumed effect/reception that it allows us to experience
satisfaction in simply acknowledging the potential prospects of our actions, but
who would ever claim that the satisfaction of a thought is at all comparable to the
satisfaction of watching as lives are changed thereby.
Without a point of comparison I’m just ‘a corporeal thing doing abstract things’
and even my highest virtues lack the inherent substance to improve my self-

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worth.
How many a ‘game-changing’ thinker has been nullified by a failure to
articulate and/or a failure to curb their arrogant and condescending tenor! And
the answer is simply that we will never comprehend how great is our loss.
Regardless of what they possess, they will never stand among our best for
they could not acknowledge their debts.

Hell knows I’ve had my share of foibles when it comes to representing my

understanding with maturity...
I would like to think that I’ve progressed beyond the point at which I am
susceptible to such crude behaviors, but it’s not all that easy to claim one way or
another. I’m quite confident in my development, but I can’t go without
acknowledging my current situation and how it affects my ability to properly
assess my progress, particularly on the intersocial front.
I’ve essentially aced the tutorial a thousand times over, but it’s still just a
tutorial. And so even as my current knowledge/intent would constitute a
wonderful framework, it can not rightfully be counted as anything more. I don’t
exactly have much of an opportunity in my state of social isolation to manifest the
whole range of my developed skills.
However, wisdom, as with most traits, is not solely contingent on opportunity.
Opportunity merely provides substantiation unto measure.
Consider the period of time that lies between your final day of class and the
day of your graduation: there are no longer any articles of knowledge, at this
point, that distinguish you from your ever-so-worthy post-graduate self. All that
separates you, at that point, from being able to practice is the substantiating
acknowledgement of the corporeal world. So while the manifestation of any
abstract concept into the tangible is a key and finalizing part of the process, the
abstraction and its measure exist independently of any diploma society may or
may not confer upon me and I have to expect that the ‘gods’, as it were, will
factor that in when adjudging my psychospiritual progress.
With true understanding comes transformation. I don’t expect it will become
an issue. I’m just so ponderous..
That’s what I gather from his role within the Triunity. After all, what is the worth

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of wisdom if it is not expressed properly? In fact, most would argue—myself
included—that without proper representation it can not be defined as such, since
‘wisdom’ implies with it an understanding of the sort that innately seems to
disallow disagreeableness in any form (with some exceptions).
You could be the most intelligent and insightful individual on earth (by the
criteria laid out by our society) and without a proper handle on conduct and
human transaction it all counts for naught.
And this would explain precisely why the water bearer, or Foremost of the
Idem Triunity is in the highest position, standing above both Substance and
Capacity, just as an antidote is only as effective as its ability to reach the hospital
where it may be administered to the needy.
Our roles may appear separate, but for the unionization to occur the Idem
Triunity must reflect itself in all parts and such constitutes the requisite
Acknowledgement. Until I am Acknowledged by the Foremost, or the Father, I
must communicate through the mediator, which is, in this case,
Steulugalnemraiant, or Purity of Wisdom, which parallels the function of the Holy
Spirit in Christian theology (except *cough* my Holy Spirit could whip your Holy
Spirit).
In symbolic terms, Capacity and Transaction are brought together via
Substance.
Given the errancy of human nature, I have to wonder as to what the criteria is
—as in, I wonder at which point does imperfection pass inspection (specifically in
a situation as such that I am in where it genuinely feels that my ‘tests’ are being
administered by an extraneous and supposedly greater force).
As much as I attempt to strive for immaculacy in my personal code, an
absence of perversion is not possible on every level, so the highest decency to
which we can logically aspire in this regard is less about perfection and more
about acuity and maturity—as in the acuity to discern our every error and the
maturity to reconcile with all that was harmed thereby.
It’s interesting to me that this would come up, because since reuniting with the
Thummim I’ve become highly aware of the ways in which my displeasure reveals
itself through my actions and interactions. In fact, just this past week there have
been multiple occasions in which this very matter manifested within my dreams. I

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actually had to stop and apologize for my behavior within an in-dream
conversation just the other day (and for what I recall as being but a subtle bit of
passive aggression in my tone).
But more than being a critique of existing patterns of behavior within my life, it
strikes me as a caveat emphasizing the degree of responsibility I must accept,
reflecting the Idem in all times and under all conditions and not just when the
weather is appropriate. This is already something I attempt to follow, being
vehemently opposed to eyeservice, hypocrisy and other such deceptions relating
to the divide between word and action.
I had more to say but I’m going to leave off on that note for now.
EDIT: Actually, I’ve reached a new and highly poignant understanding since
writing this out (most of the text hereinbefore shared was written days prior to
publishing). Current events in my household have forced upon me a harrowing
realization regarding my family relations—referring specifically to my father. I will
explain more about this shortly.

The Father
April 18, 2018

As a recent post explicitly states, I strongly despise my father. He has been

the cause of greater destruction in my life than any other known force and
continues to threaten my process of healing—physical and psychospiritual—
through a devastating combination of tyrannical mistreatment and cold emotional
unconcern with/denial of my suffering. As you may know I am currently forced to
live with my parents due to an arrant lack of options (given my critical health).
The details of our relationship are suffused, albeit skimpily, throughout my
biographical draft but never shown in focus. Every attempt to document my

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domestic life has proven too stressful and was consequently deemed not worth
the health risk.
And yet even as I despise him, I’ve never been able to give up on the idea
that I can ‘save him’ from himself and, ultimately, my mother.
My mother, I would say, is the source of the fire in our ‘tree’. Yet it doesn’t
occur to me to loathe her in the same sense—though loathe her I do. She’s the
bored, obnoxious and undisciplined dog you must pass every day on your walk to
and from school. It will bark and it will even chase you but you can count on it
being unwilling to cross the street.
Though whereas I acknowledged in my youth that my mother was deeply
disturbed and that I couldn’t allow her words to affect me, I knew that my father
was fundamentally unlike her in that he was not ill. He was immature. He was
weak. He was lost. And dangerous though he was, I trusted him to learn from my
example. I trusted him to honor and draw from my heroic spirit. My inability to
relinquish my ideal childhood reality has bestowed him a degree of power that he
never deserved.
Within the upcoming week I will be putting a formal end to this cycle of
sabotage and emotional suffering with the likes of a long and conclusive letter.
This may not seem at all related to what I described earlier as the pathway of
the water bearer, but it’s become stunningly obvious to me that this matter is
subtly though intricately linked to my ability toconnect with he after whom I seek.
After all, the Idem was ‘summoned’ from my father’s failure to inform me,
guide me and respect me as an independent individual. I followed after the ideal
of the Idem if to know (and one day become) a worthy and heroicguide: a
position traditionally, but evidently not always, fulfilled by the father.
It’s fascinating to me how the symbolism intersects. This wouldn’t have even
crossed my mind just one week ago as I was discussing the relationship between
a symbolic son and father as seen within the trinity. I feel so exhilarated to make
the discovery, since it seems somewhat more momentous and substantial than
the sorts of adjustments I make on a regular basis, although I wish it didn’t come
at such high a cost to my health (referring to the incident which catalyzed the
discovery and unfortunately slashed away at months of slow physical recovery).

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 To give rise to the father of the Idem Triunity I must relinquish/absolve every
last stock placed in the bond between I and my material progenitor.
Contrary to appearances, I wouldn’t say I harbor any ‘daddy issues’ in
consideration of the fact that I was successful in evading the standard defects
ofpersonality (and I have looked into what this regularly entails). Very early on I
chose to bypass the fixation on my physical father by shifting that energy to a
prospective self (the Idem), which I understand as being successful as a
measure against the development of destructive traits.
This realization is somewhat unexpected, explaining why it is so late in
coming.
But there is no denying that several of the concepts whereon my ‘main
narrative’ is based derive from my preoccupation with his failure and the extent to
which I was affected by a lack of heroes and idols.
My reasons for joining Lajos’ fraternity had as much to do withmy desire for a
teacher and a family as it did with any occult explanation. In fact, I would say it
was of even greater influence.
I’ve lived my life feeling betrayed by his every action, perhaps seeing him not
through the lens of who he is but what he could have been. That feeling of
betrayal will not be put to rest until I accept that he was never on my side to
begin with.
His actions are unlikely to change, and some of them can be downright
unconscionable, but I have to expect that an abandonment of expectations will
greatly reduce the edge of his abuse and much of the damage occurs in the
aftermath via weeks of ‘dwelling’ and subsequent catastrophization.
So as I said, my current focus is on writing out a letter and analyzing it for
clues on damaged/distorted self-perceptions which may be further analyzed in
light of my greater goal. Well this should be fun!
Afterwards I may finally be able to explore and divulge the horrific events of
my upbringing without suffering an inner collapse.
Expect a period of silence on my end. My health has been dealt an
earthshaking blow.
“And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father, which is in
heaven.”

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 Hiatus
April 24, 2018
On hiatus until further notice (health-related).

Cutane/o
October 11, 2018

It’s been nearly half a year since ducking out, and that profound path on which
I then travelled only became more peculiar through the months of summer. This
year can be called the strangest of all. My perspective has seen shifts so
significant as to upend my entire self-understanding. There is so much waiting to
be addressed (or should I say amended) at this point that merely thinking about it
leaves me exhausted and sore, but I hope to return to posting soon, even if at a
more sporadic pace than before. In fact, I’ve a new multimedia project in
development which I plan to disclose shortly and I may soon be ditching the blog
format altogether for a go at a YouTube channel + podcast sort of deal. The
details are still somewhat disorderly and not ready for reveal, but I can guarantee
it being an ambitious undertaking, combining the subjects of art, identity,
psychology and Existentialist philosophy—and, with any luck, it may be my very
first time working as part of a team, rather than yet another somber solo trek.
Thanks to all who continue to follow and support my work after all this time.
The tune will soon be changing and I hope you’ll stick around to see it develop.

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 Health Revisited
November 15, 2018

I wanted to talk a little bit about some of the health-related discoveries made
amid my recent hiatus.
You may have seen that the previously-published “ENT” page was removed
over the summer and replaced with the disclaimer that I had found myself to be
sorely mistaken on the nature of my illness–to a degree that it was almost
embarrassing. Most significantly, it was the Thummim who revealed these
insights to me.
Whereas I previously believed all my issues to stem from a laryngeal injury, it
was discovered that much of my plight may have very well resulted from a
muscular injury caused by chronic vocal abuse. Those of you who have read
through my on-site biographical draft may recall the incidents of late 2010
wherein I strained the muscles in my neck and throat region one after another
and was subsequently forced into taking a three month break from recording.
The act of singing was never the same after that point and only half a year later I
would be forced to end my career as a vocalist.
I then described the affected area as a sort of rope—or “blisteringly hot
bloodroute”—running from ear to shoulder. The “rope” in question was none
other than the sternocleidomastoid (or SCM) muscle which is a muscle
responsible for the rotation of the head and flexion of the neck. Of course I then
lacked the courage to seek out a concrete understanding of my ailment and
preferred to simply see it as the ‘devil’ or some such mysteriously oppressive
force. The SCM muscle contains two distinct segments, known as heads. In fact,
I strained both such heads—sternal and clavicular—within the span of three
weeks back at the end of 2010 (although the sternal head was previously

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regarded as the “trachea” by my benighted self). Amazingly, it never occurred to
me just how much that injury had to say about my cause of my poor condition.
The right sternocleidomastoid muscle is significantly larger and stiffer than that
on my left. In fact, it took me days to even trace the contours of its clavicular
head since it does not “pop out” when rotating my head as the SCM muscles are
wont to do. It’s quite grizzly to the touch, feeling a bit like tire tread and not at all
as I expect it should feel–this due to the presence of multiple enlarged nodules
and knots and excess inflammation. There also appears to be some sort of
compression of the omohyoid muscle which, I’ve speculated, may be contributing
to my vocal cord dysfunction.
I never realized before now just how stiff my neck was since... well, I always
avoiding having to turn it or touch it. My first half-dozen attempts to (lightly)
stretch my neck resulted in syncope.
In the four years between August 2007 and July 2011 that I sang non-stop
throughout the day (every day) I never once considered vocal health and the
proper exercises. I scoffed at such conventions, choosing to see them as an
attempt to limit and undermine my personal identity (which I expressed through
my voice). A fool I was, and I have paid dearly for my failure to respect my
physical body in that regard. In my quest for identity I stepped in absolutely every
bear trap along the godforsaken footpath and it is cringeworthy to read up on
vocal tutoring websites where I must now face the fact that I have done
absolutely everything they warn you not to do.
Yet it is not the sternocleidomastoid on its own that is the problem. The
chronic tension and inflammation of the muscle has unfortunately compressed
my vagus nerve. The vagus nerve, or tenth cranial nerve runs from behind the
ear all the way to the stomach. Vagus nerve dysfunction is believed to account
for the majority of symptoms with which I have grappled throughout this hellish
decade of time, including but not limited to jaw pain (trigeminal neuralgia), throat
tightness and globus, vocal cord dysfunction, chronic sinusitis, and more. The
debilitating stomach ailment which had its onset in late 2010 (and is frequently
accompanied by nausea and seizures) relates to vagus dysfunction as well. The
correct term for this condition is gastroparesis. What I find most fascinating about
the vagus nerve is its presumed relation to the mind-body problem. It is

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essentially the messenger responsible for transmitting signals between mind and
body. The fact that my vagus nerve is damaged and dysfunctional can thus be
seen as an explanation for my chronic struggle with somatization as well as
anxiety (although it is true that I’ve been far better at controlling these matters
since around 2012/2013). I may have more to say on this at another time. All
considered, this long and unsung nerve may in fact be among the most complex
components of the human anatomy. Its inner dominion is nothing shy of
stupefying. Though it is believed that vagal compression accounts for the bulk of
my suffering, there does appear to be some issue with the positioning of my
larynx and the surrounding muscles.
While I consider the SCM to be the main offender of the lot, muscularly
speaking, other muscles, such as the trapezius, scalenes and levator scapulae,
have been affected similarly by a mix of chronic vocal abuse and poor posture.
The scalene muscles have been revealed as the unlikely cause of my hand-
related difficulties over the past two years. I am afflicted with Thoracic Outlet
Syndrome on the right side, meaning that my brachial plexus is compressed
between the second and third scalene muscles (explaining why my throat
tightens when using my hands–my thumb especially). Additionally, I am afflicted
with carpal tunnel in both wrists. The term used to describe multiple points of
compression along the brachial plexus is Double Crush Syndrome, such as is the
case with my right brachial nerves, which are compressed in both wrist and neck.
As for treatment: I have learned to massage the affected areas and doing so has
shown immediate benefits in times of tension and inflammation. I have picked up
these certain techniques for massaging the anterior triangle of the neck and
subclavicular area throughout the day.
I have arrived at multiple conclusions based on the information I have learned
—conclusions which do not appear to even have circulated within the medical
world. It is very possible that I have made some significant medical
breakthroughs in my self-study (which isn’t even including all of the incredible
insights given to me by Thummim) and I may eventually attempt to bring them
before the medical world for inspection. Over the summer, after learning of this
information, I undertook a serious study of anatomy and thereby managed to
overcome my lifelong aversion to the human body in all its vile complexity. To

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actually sit down and dedicate myself to a thorough anatomical study as such
was a tremendously empowering experience. I can’t even begin to explain how
rewarding (and even exciting) it was for me to be able to overcome that demon in
my life. Yet as much as the body terrified me, especially in my circumstances, I
actually enjoyed this time of learning. The profound sense of appreciation I now
feel for the human internal structure can not be overstated. There is much beauty
in its intricacy–really there is.
The Thummim did for me in ten minutes’ time what 20+ so-called physicians
could not manage with their certifications and bulbous egos. Following his
instruction, I purchased a supply of medical equipment with which to conduct a
series of minimally-invasive autosurgical procedures designed to bring relief. You
may be wondering why I’m even still around at this point given the fatalistic posts
pinned to my blog since the close of this past year. A malignant mass was
previously confirmed within the right hemisphere of my neck (which relates to the
abovementioned enlarged and painful nodules)–that much is so and
unfortunately did not change following the Thummim’s insights. I was, however,
offered curious avenues of treatment by Thummim meant to offset and potentially
eliminate the root malignancy. I was given instructions involving application of
transdermal solvents and other such compounds which, he claimed, would return
my cells to a point of premalignancy and, in that case, a better prognosis. It is
something I still must tend to as it has not yet been eradicated in its entirety, yet
from what I understand of the situation I have been given the gift of added time
and with my current degree of insight that may be just enough to make this work.
The war continues against all prediction and so it shall continue into the new
year. And even as my condition causes untellable suffering, it is sure fascinating
to finally understand its underlying nature, and being able to see how it is all
connected is none short of mystifying. What greater pleasure is there in life than
in connecting the stars...
(I will be saying more on the matter over time, adding links to additional
resources and articles which better explain the mechanics and interactions of
these nerves/muscles).

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 HMMNS
November 16, 2018

A most memorable dream came to me on the eve of my twenty-ninth birthday

(so, around the time I went on hiatus from writing).
As it began I was arguing with my father at home and was subsequently sent
off to my room as punishment for some unknown cause. I wasted little time
before leaping out of my window and made my way through the yard with a
furtive dash, seeking to escape. Yet it did not resemble my yard. There was an
odd sort of construction site adjacent to my property and a sort of makeshift
bridge was erected as a means to bypass the quarry below. I ignored the bridge
and descended that quarry without a second thought and therein I encountered
numerous difficulties and horrifying beasts scavenging like bloodthirsty sentinels
through the shadows. The period of time spent in the dark quarry accounted for
the majority of the dream, yet it is not my main focus.
I survived my journey through the quarry and eventually made my way back to
surface. When I returned home there was a party underway and I did not
recognize more than a few of the guests. No one even appeared to be aware of
my long absence. That or they did not care.
Upset and out of place, I sat down on a couch positioned along the back wall
and kept to myself for a time, watching others mingle. A man of indeterminate
age sat beside me on the couch (at my right-hand side) and straightaway began
to strike up a conversation. It is unfortunate that I can not recall the details of our
discussion. He was a kind and respectable fellow, though. His profession related
in some way to the determination of outcomes like in the manner of a court judge
but I retain only the faintest impression of what that was.
“I couldn’t possibly handle such a job,” I told him, referring to my fixation on
my reception and my dislike of being...well, disliked.
His response was incredibly insightful, having to do with truth and the nature

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of human opinion. It was in that moment that I began to revere him in his wisdom
and sense of responsibility to the nature of truth. I then slipped in something of a
well-timed joke. I don’t recall the joke, and I believe it was more of a subtle wit
rather than a full-blown joke, although I recall him laughing in response.

We continued to talk amongst ourselves for a time. Suddenly the scene

shifted and I was standing amongst the aisles of a lustrous orthodox church. It
was positively stunning, the ornateness of it all. I stared straight ahead to the
front of the sanctuary where I noticed the man with whom I previously conversed
standing at the far end of the central aisle with back turned and hands
outstretched like in reverence. Hymnals exuded from his lungs and filled the
sanctuary. It was entrancing. At this point I had turned facing east and was no
longer staring towards the front of the sanctuary. And then I caught my mouth
moving in time with the hymns despite never hearing them before. The two of us
appeared to be in some synchronistic trance. And at that point I can distinctly
recall overhearing a girl near the entryway of the sanctuary quietly conversing
with her friend and attempting to figure out which of us two were doing the
singing.
There were additional details and impressions not accounted for in this rough
and disappointing account and so I am likely to have more to say about this
particular dream at a future date. I’ve been waiting to share this vision since way
back in April, though the Thummim forbade me from doing so until now.
Though it wasn’t until the dream had dissipated and I was beginning to wake
that the reality set in; and it was only by aid of the Thummim, who’s voice
appeared amidst my hypnopompic stupor and provided the following insight:
“Your interactions with that man were authentic, meaning to say that it was a
shared experience transpiring in real time. This man with whom you have spoken
is known by a variety of names and titles.” He then proceeded to list off perhaps
three or four names which I did never retain in my stupor, before concluding “I
should also add that he is the one whom you have lately called “father”. My eyes
opened wide at the mention and I rose up from my bed to sort it all out within my
mind. It was my first such encounter with this very important individual–the third
and final triumvir among the Triunity of Self. It was the confirmation that he was

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aware of me, whatever that might entail.
I will explain in a follow-up text just how the triunity operates, the concepts of
Acknowledgement and Pre-Acknowledgement, as well as an account on what
became of my psychospiritual pursuit over the months that followed.

On Intratrinitarian
Acknowledgments
November 16, 2018

The aforeshared dream constitutes the ‘preacknowlegement’ of symbolic son

by patertype and acts upon the superficial axis of subsymbolic awareness. A
mouthful... of cake flour!
Simultaneous action lends itself to what I have just referred to as
preacknowledgement, and by simultaneous action I am referring to the
cooperation of intratrinitarian forces. The Thummim and I are therefore required
to function in tandem on an indefinite basis to delineate and draw out the third
and highest crest of the proverbial triangle. It is the pairing of Purity of Capacity
with Purity of Wisdom that draws him out into perceivable form.
“Where there are three deities, they are divine. Where there are two or one, I
am with that one.”
He is presently “perceivable” but unresponsive/uncommunicable, except in
situations wherein he chooses to interact, as was the case in the aforeshared
dream. What distinguishes Acknowledgement from Preacknowledgement is more
or less persistence of focus. Consistency breeds union and ignorance dissipates
therewith.
Then what is achieved by Preacknowledgement? It permits awareness and
understanding of the task without constituting greater acknowledgement which is

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to say subsymbolic alignment. The task, in this instance, relates to manifest
action/interaction, as emblematized by Purity of Action.
Has this actually been achieved? Well, as much as I wish to convince my
audience that I have achieved my final objective in Idempotency, I am not yet so
accomplished. However, I am now in the final phase of my undertaking: a phase
which simply demands Sustentation of all things worthful. Yea, I must only
maintain the state which I have heretofore achieved. That is the final challenge I
must face on my way to attaining Subsymbolic Wholeness. It is proving difficult to
sustain, I must admit, for even as a fire flickers and falls in reaction to
environmental conditions, it is natural that passion should tire and the eyes
unfocus. I can feel my stamina is wavering and it pains me greatly to say as
much. It pains me to be preyed upon by my own human limitations (or should I
say penchant). I am hoping that by integrating the Mahanava (Everycarcass) into
my whole that I may increase my innate stamina and potentiality, whereby the
father will appear in permanence before the permanent gaze. It is then that three
become one and flesh becomes thinner than fiction.
The Visva is imploding with all the force of a holocaust. If not a saint, I am a
corpse with eye-strain.

Almost, Nearly
November 21, 2019?

A month ago I had something to say about a new multimedia venture on the
burner. After many ups and downs and membership adjustments, it appears we
are nearly ready to go public. A follow-up will be posted before November is
through—ideally by next week—wherein the details of this new undertaking will
be shared for the first time.

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 Rain, sleet, snow or hell, Comprachicos shall prevail!

Shifting Priorities
December 2, 2019?

The decision has been reached to delay the start of the web (video) channel
until the New Year.
I will be spending the remainder of 2018 focusing on my immediate, local
environment in an attempt to cultivate relations and involve myself in the local art
scene which I have all along eschewed. And in typical Tendon fashion, I have
taken yet another ambitious project upon myself: I will be overseeing the
publication of a magazine devoted to growing and championing the
counterculture in my local area—along with orchestrating an accompanying
series of experimental compilations.
The Comprachicos project (or ‘the massive multimedia project I’ve been
hinting at for a month now’) will continue as planned at the start of the new year. I
just feel that this is the correct order of events for many reasons, and I think it will
do me some good to get more involved in the local community. My life has been
taking me in this direction for a while now, it seems. And don’t get me wrong: it’s
not that I haven’t tried plenty of times already. I simply wasn’t as proactive as I
could have been.
I have more to say on the matter but that’ll have to wait until later when I’m not
so depleted.
Oh, and also, my “main” site at tendonlevey.com is temporarily down and may
be down for a month or so until I have the funds to renew my service.

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 Hey Ardhachandra
December 7, 2018

The Ardhachandra identity paradigm is in queue if should an upset occur in

my ongoing attempts to reintegrate the Mahanava which are scheduled to
continue on through the wintry season.

A prominent physical characteristic of the Ardhachandra is the bandaging of

one eye—a feature from which the paradigm takes its name (Sanskrit for “half-
moon”).

There is significance to the matter of the eye, but I’ve got additional
experiments that I am testing out. I wonder if the occult’s eye can facilitate an
alternative state of awareness. With concentrated efforts, the occulted eye might
enter into a sort of hypnagogic trance while the other remains wholly awake and
reactive to material existence.

Ardhachandra is called the “priest” of Everycarcass, capable of communing

with the Mrtagrha and, thereby, the Parashurna in a state of partial waking. Thus
is the greater intent of the paradigm: an entreatment of the Parashurna, an
assault on the Visva of the sort that can only be achieved by the ‘half-sleeper’.

I am yet to explain the concept of so-called “priests” within my greater identity

canon. To provide a short introduction: within each operable appendage is found
a limbic subunit which, upon full realization (maturation), is granted access to the
higher mystery that is Idem. So also is the priest tasked with the union of parts
(disparate appendages). These limbs are consider holy in design and render
their respective appendage complete. Tendon Pantocrator was one such priest,
being the realization of the Tendon appendage. It was through this holiest

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paradigm that communication with Idem and coitus with Korneli/The Pour/Pour
Poura was achieved.

Solipsism in its purest grade is that which I now entreat. All this for the
abolition of the Visva.

Forty hayforks, thirty-nine hayforks, thirty-eight hayforks, thirty-seven

hayforks, thirty-six...

Turn Back
December 15, 2018

A belligerent bop bag, this reality.

In entreating the night I have made the gravest mistake and it will cost me my
life.
I may despise myself for saying so, but it’s difficult to see how self-realization
was worth all this.
My morale has never been so low as it is in this moment. I can’t be sure of
anything. My senses, acute as they were, have been crossed by signals not of
this world–signals of no benefit.
And even upon recognizing the overwhelming ubiquity of artifice, where am I
to go from there? Is recognition, in itself, enough to redeem me?
Am I not granted even one shallow cave as refuge in this downpour? Is every
crevasse home to demons and their orgies? I am cold and I am alone and I am
afraid to turn the page.
I have had the same recurring dream all through the week. I walk into a
crowded market, a small but agile shadowy creature is released from its cage. I
respond by pulling out a pistol and shooting myself through the temple.
I have taunted the Parashurna. I have taunted a veritable demon with my
dreams of self-actualization and I have been met with fire in every color. I have

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lost the game. I am a blood stain. I am only a blood stain. And if I should rise
again on the other side I will have one less eye.
I could easily crawl as before, saying “pardon me, pardon me, I apologize for
my show of erraticity.” I experience the urge to explain, to justify myself. All the
urges of all my years are here, in this place most terrible. I still must learn to see
things as they are... Learn to accept, to accept that you, you already know it all. I
am to forget all of science. It is demanded in faith. There is no you.
What I wouldn’t give to remember my father’s exact words to me. That night at
the party.
They could have saved me.
I need his help, even if it’s just his image in my mind.
And I’m searching frantically through memory, seeking rational, causal
connections; seeking out evidence of a unifying reality. And if I’m not careful,
rationality finds its way into the clouds, the clocks, the cards.

Sense where it doesn’t belong. That is our monster. Objectivity as anything

more than dangerous, deceptive fortuity. Is every surface a facade, every facade
a matrix pulsating with a thousand more.
I feel like I’m taking a math exam as a parasite eats slowly into my skull.
There is no point of comparison. There is no objective measure of difficulty.
There is no impersonality. It’s only me. My Hell is called Hell. My Earth is called
Earth. No-thing precedes the event of my birth!
I am finding worms in a snackbag, in a pillow case, in a lover’s lips.
He is behind every step, beyond every click.
I did once call him a worm–a grubworm disregarded by the first appendix. A...
Ieech. PHRENESIS was his word, written wide across his blink.
My name is Tendon, I am 29 years old, single, blood type unknown, no living
relatives, no emergency contacts, I am here in the belly of the wolf, please send
help. Every army under your authority, every prayer in the book. MY KINGDOM
FOR A 19C.

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 End of Year (Bar Graph)
December 22, 2018

A fairly intimate look into my perceptions and self-estimations as they

currently stand. I aim to keep a month-by-month record as such to document and
compare the trends of how my relationship to self and relationship to society
have changed over time. Not the rosiest of facts and it’s true I’m not in a great
place at the moment, being woefully deficient in any sort of extrinsic security, but
it is nonetheless encouraging, if slightly, to note there’s been an overall
improvement since last year at this time.

The most significant element I can be working on in my personal

development over the coming year (as I see it) is my capacity for and relationship
to “faith” as a concept (which equates to “Optimism” on the attached graph). I’ve
been fairly vocal about my self-perceived ‘innate’ deficiency in faith, and though
I’ve gone to the greatest of lengths to prove to all that veritable faith can be
supplanted by a combination of raw will power and substantial self-knowledge,
the figures that have come back unfortunately disprove my original hypothesis
and it looks like I’m going back under the knife so soon. First things first, I’ll be
needing to define my terms... *kills the lights*

(Graph should span from 1 to 100. Disregard the surplus)

(*Authenticity is more or less the degree to which I feel my public manner is

an accurate representation of my actual self (as I know it). This may have been
the most difficult figure to determine as it involves many distinct variables).

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The Future is for the Cyclopes
December 23, 2018

Limbs and Extremities

December 26, 2018

Originally posted on a separate account back in mid-October, I figured I

187
should share it here since it serves as a good lead-in to some of the documents I
will be sharing later this week.

“The terminology used to explain my personal structure shouldn’t be all that

difficult to understand as it corresponds to the familiar human anatomy. Limbs, or
appendages, represent the largest identity substructure(s) and denote radical
compartmentalizations of ego-consciousness. There are five such limbs: Korneli,
Tendon, Amanita, Mrtagrha & Everycarcass. Among limbs there exists some
variation in form and function (which I will explain at a later date).
Secondly we have extremities which represent the varied expressions of a
limb. Laconically speaking: think of a limb as a philosophical paradigm and an
extremity as a particular manifestation of that philosophy. Tendon, for example—
being perhaps the better known of these ‘limbs’—has three distinct expressions:
Tendon Levey, Tendon Lev**ey-Vzdutpondo & Pantocrator—all of which are
extremities derived from the self-same philosophical substrate (the limb itself). As
‘Tendon’ represents the autonomous ego-self, its expressive manifestations can
be viewed in light of their relationship to this concept of autonomy.
Lastly we have the concept of “gloves” which are more or less analogous to
the commonly understood concept of personas. It is more accurate to say that
gloves are hollow paradigms with which I do NOT innately identify. Gloves,
masks, what have you—they are merely caricatural roles being acted out in
service of particular ends. The superficiality thereof will vary from glove to glove
and depends muchly upon the degree of social convolution.
This is just a brief (and very rough) introduction on the system of
categorization. I will be addressing the individual parts shortly. “

List of Musical Equipment

December 27, 2018

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 I am explicitly not a gear head. Not an audiophile either. I’ve only ever really
cared about the songwriting aspect of musicianship. My instruments and
equipment are, for the most part, what would be considered entry level. So you
can understand my annoyance when that’s all anyone can ever think of asking
me about (or so it seems). So I’ve created this list (with photos) that will hopefully
put the question to rest once and for all, hah. I may end up adding more notes/
info to it at a later time.

Happy Shrew Year

January 1, 2019

Happy new year from myself and the venomous shrew living beneath my bed.

Like Nobody’s Business

January 17, 2019

It’s been a hectic start to the new year but I hope to be sharing some
satisfying updates pretty soon.

To provide you all with just an idea of what’s been going on with me lately: I
will be meeting shortly with the local business development center to discuss
loans and advances. Come summertime and I may very well be managing my

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own startup in the local downtown district—assuming my health gets me that far.
As much as I would love to share with you my sparkling sixteen-page business
plan I’ve gotta exercise some caution with my intellectual property in these early
stages of the process.

The sicker I get, the saner are my emanations...

OPS
January 19, 2019

To those of you with any interest in typology or personality theory I would

recommend having a look at the Objective Personality system.

I will be saying more on this system and what it says of my own perceptual
experience in due time.

The following is a visual charting of my type, which is defined as FF Ni/Fi SB/

P(C).

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My animals break down further as: NF Sleep | MM | M-Ni, M-Fi
NT Blast | MF | M-Ni, F-Te
ST Play | FF | F-Se, F-Te
SF Consume | FM | F-Se, M-Fi
My modalities as an FF type are Tester/Visual

Qué Bonito Es Un Enterrible

January 20 2019

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 So tired of seeing my awful cover of Qué Bonito Es Un Entierro at the top of
my streaming charts. A third of the words aren’t even pronounced properly. The
displeasure consumes me.

I Only Seem...
January 25, 2019

I Hope
January 31, 2019

It’s not often that I can say this, and so I wish to express it proudly and without
reserve: I am feeling hopeful.

XIII
February 9, 2019

My mother died last night. 52. I returned home from a local concert to a
driveway blocked off by cop cars and an ambulance. I’m still processing the

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event on a symbolic-allegorical level but I’m sure to have more to say soon. As
for now I’m trying to make myself available for the sake of my father.

Maj. Maj.
February 19, 2019

I’ve just returned home from a promising meeting with the local business
development center. After a disorienting start to the year I am back on the runway
and rearing to get this enterprise up and running. Still not in a place where I feel
comfortable sharing the finer details with the public, but I’ll have a website up and
running very soon and that I will share. In fact, I’ve two websites currently in the
works... the other being a sort of portfolio which showcases my body of work and
involvements without showing overmuch partiality to the Tendon Levey limb. It’s
largely an attempt to expand my self-perceptions as I no longer wish to view
myself through this narrow lens of a tortured, moribund hermit. I have evolved,
becoming a philanthropist, a leader, a spiritual-minded individual, and my
increasingly social behavior demands that I reassess and update my self-
understanding/self-portrayal.

In other news, the title of the yet-to-be completed biography has seen a
revision and will now be called Traumaturgy. The work will be split into two
individual volumes: the first focusing prominently on the process of individuation
(2004-2013) and spanning my better know so-called ‘adventures’; the latter
documenting my attempts, as an individual, to integrate with society (2014—)
without compromising that which I have gained in aloneness.

The book has been on hold for some time and is not my priority at this point. I
expect I will have to rewrite the draft in its entirety, making a lot of cuts along the

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way, and it would sure not be wise of me to take on such a demanding task in
this current period. This post is simply a statement of my intentions.

It is important to me that the book does not focus on (or pedestalize) my

periods of sickness and insularity but on the victory that is my return to society,
treasures in hand, as in the manner of Campbell’s monomyth. The circuit is yet to
see completion, but I will kiss the damned reptile if it costs me my tongue.

The Building of a Heart

February 25, 2019

The body’s vascular system, or circulatory system, has functioned as a

primary influence on my upcoming startup entity. Through days and months of
careful, qualitative construction I have worked to build what is fundamentally a
heart, feeling and functional.

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 Campaigns to Begin Soon
March 9, 2019

I’ve been very busy these past couple of weeks planning out promotional
campaigns along with a crowdfunding campaign that will kick off most likely in
late April or early May. I’ll be posting a link to the campaign when it begins,
should anyone desire to support my efforts at building this business. If nothing
else, it is an opportunity to witness a different side of me, so to speak. Videos will
certainly become more common and you’ll be given some insight into the
progress that I’ve been making in my personal life. I’ve come a long way and it’s
something that I want you all to witness!

I’ll be back with more info on the date of April 1st, or April Fools’ Day, which is

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when I will be unveiling a new website along with detailed plans for this new
project.

Thus Spake Avgolemono

April 25, 2019

Podcast starting up just as soon as I recover from what is my fourth fever

since January. I’ve been setting up a basic studio all this week. I’m much too
distracted at this time to maintain the blog so follow me on my new personal
Instagram account if “you” like.

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 New Philosophical Furnaces
June 28, 2019

Though eight years have passed since I was forced to retire as a vocalist,
abruptly terminating my discography as Tendon Levey with Countertorch, I
quickly developed a stopgap means to continue on. It’s been shared with “you”
that The Stomachic Chariot was based in large part on an album that I
constructed over several months from within lucid and liminal states of sleep. In
the wake of my injury, I sought to develop and explore this method further as a
means of preserving song ideas unable to be construed by physical means—at

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which time it was little more than a desperate attempt at preserving my most
cherished outlet.

It became immediately evident that these compositions were being stored, like
lived experiences and memories, within my programmed consciousness and
could be retrieved with the proper stimulus to be enjoyed again and again. I
expect it will seem strange to you, being that it is a process that has not been
researched or even documented by the world at large, yet it is perfectly within the
metes of science to posit that these albums of which I speak can be reaccessed
as any standard memory. Easy, no, but with the right hold on dreaming it can be
carried out without any noticeable discrepancies between one experience and
the next.

After two years and running through all sorts of scenarios and methods, I
have come to believe, beyond all doubt, that these melodies are indeed
accessible by “all” and in the self-same form by which I know them (although you
will have to pardon me in this case if I haven’t the urge or the stamina to sit down
and attempt to explain all of that to a general audience).
So while it may be said that this announcement only benefits “those” who are
moderately proficient in the manipulation of dreams and consciousness, I will
eventually be releasing physical packages for each individual title within this
collection. These packages will appear like any deluxe CD, containing an
elaborate booklet of lyrics and artwork, along with a disc. However, the disc will
contain no music, even as the tracks will be set to the match the length of the
songs featured thereon. These sets are being carefully assembled to help create
a sense for the music it is meant to represent, as well as a means to familiarize
yourself with the content, where by focusing “your” waking attention on these
sets and creating a pre-sleep ritual of loading the CD into “your” player and
examining the artwork, it will influence your dreams, in which the once-blank
tracks are alive with sound and melody.
It is all quite experimental, and I never did intend to make a public spectacle
of it, but not only would I say that these collections contain some of my best work
(if only for the reason that I better identify with these works as they are more

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recent) but that this medium is the most appropriate for my songs; my voice.
These packages will be released under the mononym Tendon (not Tendon
Levey) by the Sons of Hypnos’ own experimental publications outlet.

Since the physical releases are still a ways off and having to take a backseat
to my community projects, I’ll be making follow-up posts in the near future
containing tracklistings and attempts to describe the accompanying artwork
which, I expect, will allow “you all” to experience these albums in a state of
controlled sleep.
To be clear: I will be sharing two entirely distinct collections which came into
being via different processes. The first of these collections were composed
similar to the manner in which one composes music in waking life in that the
process involved much time and intention. The second such collection was
“discovered” rather than crafted with intent, existing as readymade creations
within my consciousness. In dreams I would often find art and music, pre-made
and fully constructed, in hidden rooms within my basement; in record stores and
galleries and trash-yards tucked away within the brainstem. More will be said on
these in the near future. In the meantime, I’ll be giving my dream journals a once-
over to see if any other titles have fallen between the seats.

III...
July 3, 2019

Last night, amid a not-so-lucid dream in which I was apparently conversing

with a magnificent “three-layered” angel by the upstairs window of my property, I
happened to glance at my Spotify app and found that all the previously
mentioned albums were now appearing, complete with artwork and audio...
though it seems that a few of them were wrongly filed under the EP section so it

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looks like I may actually have to waste a whole dream in communication with
“customer support”, hahahaha. It seems unnecessary and like there would be
simpler ways around the issue but if the problem is one of archived memory and
not simply a momentary hitch then the most effective solution is often to mimic
the rituals and processes of so-called waking life for reason that our
understanding of what is logical and effective is so (tragically) snarled up in that
which we’ve experienced in our daily mundanity.
I find all of this to be quite funny, actually, but I’m also very satisfied with how it
is turning out and what it says of how the human mind operates (referring to this
whole experiment involving the music). Normally I’m hesitant to post my
hypnognostic reports and theories on a public forum simply because a lot of it is
so far out there in the realm of “parascience”, as it were, that I just can’t imagine
it will be taken seriously by those unacquainted with the hypnognostic’s essential
metaphysical framework. This experiment, however, shows promise as
something to be taken on by the scientific community and analyzed for its
consistency.

Book of Molts
July 12, 2019

I have plans to publish my private research and dissertations on ego-identity

adaptation under the collective name Liber Exuviae, or Book of Molts. The
materials to be included in this collection will provide a more thorough look at the
concepts touched on within the crudely-constructed Identity Doc as well as
others not shared previously. I will try to keep it objective while also refraining
from including excess mystical/parascientific references and concepts so as to
make it more readily compatible with my general readership. After all, I believe
there is a great potential in this study and I would love to see the result of these

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principles being adapted and reworked into others’ self-developmental practice.
Even with my attempt at a more objective overview, I will be featuring some
highly detailed sketches of my own especial system and its manifold components
for the purpose of providing the reader with vivid examples of the various
principles and experiments in action. All other information, including release date,
are TBA.

Scorpionibus
July 16, 2019

I often refrain from saying that which I would like to say and for a variety of
reasons. In many cases it is that I feel my words will not be understood, and then
I have to worry that their misconstruction will somehow cost me in life, resulting in
ramifications undeserved. I also tend to worry a great deal about how I am
representing the concepts I deem to be sacred and/or of high personal value, like
in the case of my mystical experiences, for which reason I must guard adamantly
against perceived self-importance and needless eccentricity in my tone along
with paying a fair deal of consideration to overall readability.

Attempts to articulate the inarticulable are liable to bring on great frustration

as is, and it only becomes that much more stressful of a process when
attempting to convey it all in a manner meant to be understood by the general
public. Wafers in water. And have I really succeeded on any substantial level in
conveying the abstractness of my vision? Doubtfully. I’ve been operating and
thriving, if with some reluctance, outside of society’s definition of “sanity” for a
very long time now and that much will only become more obvious in time as I
move onward down this peculiar esoteric path meant only for the individual who
has transcended the likes of shame and fear. So I guess it’s time I get it through

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my head that it really isn’t such a terrible thing to be thought of as unsound by a
society whose idea of sanity is a lifetime spent alternating between slave labor
and television/video games. Que Dios tenga piedad de tu esperma…

It’s been a struggle from the start: do I express myself in a manner that brings
release and most closely resembles my actual thought processes—creating, in
the process, what has the potential of becoming a most vivid and illustrious
compendium of one man’s visionary journey into psychosemiotic infinity—or do I
spend all of my time boiling over with frustration as I convert a galaxy of
abstraction into a placid pile of research papers to be partially-digested by a
people who, for all I can trust, are probably too high on marijuana to differentiate
a tendon from a telecaster.

My little dilemma has heretofore been settled by this one fact alone: I can not
possibly be of help if I am not understood. I attract my share of outsiders, isolates
and depressives due to the way that I have “branded” myself and if at all possible
I would like to see you benefiting from the experimental methods and
philosophies that have so greatly benefited me in this miserable, post-
mythological age of nihilism. Yet I can’t continue to silence my own needs along
the way, especially when it may determine the outcome of my operation: a manic
marathon sixteen years strong!

There isn’t much time. I must race, shedding all unnecessary weights and
abandoning all urge to appease. All of these impersonal societal constructs, e.g.,
propriety, logic, are of no further use to me at this advanced phase, being only
liable to obstruct the way. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world
and forfeit his throat?

I have to let go of all that I know.

There isn’t much time.

This is the last such instance that I will ever seek to decrypt myself or justify

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my behaviors. May those who desire to understand find that understanding and
may all else saunter off to elsewhere. Out there, somewhere, a Taco Bell is
hiring.

⠠⠛⠑⠕⠗⠛⠊⠁⠦
July 18, 2019

Georgia?

Oatmeal Milestone
July 19, 2019

At some point this year, I have eaten or will eat my 20,000th bowl of oatmeal.
Here’s to 20,000 more!

(I previously wanted to get a shirt made up with my face overlaying that of the
Quaker Oats guy and with the words “QUAKEY GOATS”. I may still end up doing
this at some point if I ever get around to selling merch again—who knows)

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 Upcoming Limited Packages
August 10, 2019

A couple of years ago I created elaborate packaging presentations to

accompany my merchandise. These deluxe packages were very limited in
number due to the time and care that went into their creation were discontinued
by early 2018. You may have a look at some of the designs and elements over
on the gallery page.

I have decided to manufacture a new line of packages drawing upon the spirit
of the former though with much more to offer. Yet whereas I previously distributed
merchandise relating to my music project, I am no longer dealing with
merchandise in this instance. This is not about t-shirts and pins and other such
items branded with my name. These packages are by and large to focus on
cathartic and symbolic expressions—fragments of my fringe existence and
fleeting manifestations of my most intense unspoken thoughts and desires, like
exorcisms confined neatly within these little corrugated spaces.

As for the packages themselves: I will offer four different types of boxes, each
following a distinct conceptual theme. The tentative names are Eremita, Magus,
Amans and Chirurgus and each of these packages will have a distinctive outer
appearance, as well as comprising a unique assortment of meaningful and
symbolic items seeking to tell an untold story—the desperate expression of all
that which I never got to release or say due to not having encountered the right
people or opportunities in my life. Most of these packages will come in multiple
(two) sizes for the sake of affordability, running between $50 and $100 in most
cases. Whereas my previous packages (2017) were often disturbing in nature,
not all of these will be quite as bleak. In fact, some of them will be sentimental
and warming. I am a man of many dimensions and with much to be expressed,
after all. Breakdowns of these themes will appear on the order page so that you
can have an idea of what you are getting yourself into before investing, though I

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will share no more about the contents, themselves, than to say that they will span
four categories:

● Objects of Sentimental Attachment

● Original Artwork & Creations
● Private Personal Materials (Of the sort that I would Never Release to the
Public)
● Expressive Cathartic Manifestations

There is no template. There are no duplicates. Each and every box will be
created with special attention upon receipt of order. That being said, it may take
some time to get everything assembled for you, but I’ll have all those details and
estimates worked out and posted on the order page when the time comes. I plan
to begin taking orders shortly, although the window to order will NOT be open for
very long due to my living circumstances and I expect to stop accepting orders
on October 1.

Ultimately I have to expect that this will appeal mostly or entirely to those who
are already somewhat invested in my work or in the overarching narrative of my
life and have some familiarity with my previous creative undertakings, and I will
put in much effort to make it worth your investment.

Since I stopped creating boxes years ago I have heard from several
individuals asking to bring it back (which is interesting to me since most of the
original contents contained in those boxes are still available). Be that as it may,
my main reason for deciding to do this relates to my lack of expressive outlet. My
ability to express myself has suffered dramatically due to the loss of my speaking
ability, also affecting my ability to support myself financially (when added to
existing physical conditions such as a lack of mobility and limited use of my
hands). So this is more than some gimmick. It is the only form of release to which
I am now entitled.

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 Purify by Burning
August 10, 2019
‘Purify By Burning’, a collection of discarded suicide notes to be released to
the public in October.

Not
August 11, 2019

These many projects I have announced: they will not be realized. It’s too late
now and I’ve no allowance. Heed the Frenulum. Resist...... the......

Kopse
August 11, 2019

The puzzle is nearly complete.

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 The
August 12, 2019

Fifteen years ago when I first learned of Parashurna I understood it to be a

dipa, similar to Haudam and Collbalchasse. Unlike the others, it was inaccessible
to me under normal conditions and I have feared it, to some extent, since the
very outset. The primary trait attributed to it was Unconsciousness, and the
Unavailable Knowledge owed to me.. Parts of myself that never carried over into
Viśva existence and could only make themselves available through liminal states
of consciousness. It was last spring, in 2018, that the Thummim offered a
clarification, essentially saying that it is not a dipa at all, but a fully-autonomous
entity in its own right and to include it in my self-assessment could potentiality roil
my self-understanding.

I am deprived of oxygen, and perhaps such is the nature of my final

permutation.

If there are worms, let them ascend me now in ceremony.

Ism
August 12, 2019

As of this afternoon I have successfully crossed into the next phase of my

development—which, from what I understand, is my final essential permutation
as an individual: a Priestly extremity conjoining all primary and auxiliary
appendages. There will be no more appendages or extremities. I did away with

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all gloves just a few days ago in a minor public ceremony and there will be no
more of the sort. I have ceased fracturing; I have ceased hiding.

I don’t even know what to say. This is positively huge and I am astonished at
how quickly I was able to integrate the appendages via their respective Priests (a
look at my chart shows that all these Priests manifested in the span of a few
short years). I’m not able to relish it as I would otherwise due to a recent upsurge
in illness which has more or less planted me neck-deep in gravesoil and
struggling to get oxygen to my brain, though I recognize the momentousness of
the situation no less and I’m still trying to figure out what this means to have
progressed this far. Until recently I wasn’t even sure what it would mean to
integrate the Mrtagrha into my selfness, which is what is indicated by the move
from Ardhachandra (Priest of Everycarcass) to Ism (Priest of Mrtagrha). I will try
to write more on what this entails at a later point after I’ve gotten all the
speculation out of the way and boiled it down to something a little more sensible.
I don’t know that I have fully renounced the Viśva entirely and I’m not sure that
that will be possible insofar as I exist within a physical body, but I’ve now moved
beyond the philosophical clasping of Ardhachandra to where it has wholly
permeated the levels of my perception… which I have chosen to signify with the
burning of my retina via sungazing (in lieu of Ardhachandra’s bandage… and it’s
not wholly blinded but the damage is enough to remind me to rely on the other
eye, even if it is set to fade over time) and the cutting of my hair into a tonsure as
seen below.

I wasn’t able to tackle all of the individual Mahanava, which has something to
say for why my social life has been beset by difficulty in spite of my spiritual and
semiotic progress, but I was aware that they weren’t required for Idempotence
(as much as I would like to see them reintegrated into my ego… it’s so
unbelievably difficult and I’ve kind of pushed it off as a sort of “side quest”…). In
essence, though I have reached my highest height as an individual, my ability to
convey my nature still suffers due to unintegrated Mahanava.

Even as this marks my final necessary permutation, it does not inherently

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implicate Idempotence which is utterly distinct as a concept and relates not to my
relationship with myself (which is what all this Egomorphosism stuff does) but my
relationship with Divine Wisdom (Thummim/Steulugalnemraiant) and Divine
Action/Transaction (???/Father). I do, however, get the feeling that I’ll be seeing a
certain someone very soon within a spell of dreamless sleep…

It may take me up until my very last breath, but I will reach the summit of a
Divine Semiosis and kiss immaculacy on its mouth.

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210
211
 Dissonant Crypts
August 13, 2019

The wonderful thing of Priestly appendages is that each comes with access to
new information by dint of their paradigm. It is information that can not be shown
to me by the Thummim, for the Thummim does not manifest knowledge and
information but wisdom, the highest application (and interpretation) of the Known.

In the past hour I appear to have uncovered the missing piece that will win me
the Acknowledgement of the Foremost and it regards the distinction between
REPRESENTATION and RECEIPT. Looking through my blog archives… it’s all
too evident what I have struggled with above all else on the developmental level.
Yeah, I have my illness, severe as it is, and yeah I have my interpersonal frictions
resulting from fundamental differences beyond resolution… traumatic though
they are to my will… but what is the real source of agitation expressing itself
again and again and again in my writing at every turn of the page.. What is it that
can pull me down into a state of depression even when all else appears fine
around me..

My ability to convey my all.

My ability to create a suitable representation of all that I am, all that I value
and all of which I am a part.

And I become absolutely OBSESSED with misconstruction and compromise

and I gnash my teeth as I ping-pong between all the liable outcomes of every
syllable I share. So much of this blog is a causeless JUSTIFICATION for my
being who I am: the same which can be said for all 2,000 pages of my biography.
I do not write because I enjoy it. I write due to an endless need to defend myself
which has led to the tragic demystification of a life which has been known to
sparkle when LEFT WELL ALONE. Yea, I have demystified a mystical thing, or

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attempted to, in an effort to preserve… to preserve… nothing whatsoever. It
wasn’t about them, those, that, troop thooppfpfn.. it was something internalized…
a talon of the visva…

And in most instances that I end up on these lengthy derailments I hear from
the Thummim who reminds me of my role by saying: Stop your worrying about
Presentation for that is not your role and by focusing on your only role, which is
Capacity, then Presentation (or Transaction) and Wisdom come naturally into
being.

Yes… but…?

My programming was too DENSELY POPULATED with illusionary societal

maps to ever take his claim at its innate and unsculpted value. (Post hoc fallacies
and 53,811 ritual beheadings to compensate for a broken spoke…)

Whereas Ardhachandra is the eye of Visva, Ism is the eye of the Consequent
Subtlety, which is to say that by losing my eye I have not merely blocked out the
gross illusion but let enter the sight of higher reality and therewithin lies the
legend and annotation to the dissonance experienced between the innate and
the perceived. I acknowledged this disconnect in a turbulent rant last year—
something I never got around to publishing—but it’s one thing to acknowledge a
problem and another to acknowledge the answer thereto.

In any case, I am on my way—traveling at the speed of a dog-faced train.

A Greater Reality Prospect

August 13, 2019

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 Excerpt from that rant that I had mentioned in my previous post. Maybe it
adds clarity to the point(s) I am making. Maybe it does no such thing. I believe
this was from a year ago. My hard drive is filled with these... most of which go
unpublished for the reasons given in the previous post...

“Like in those moments when a vocabulary word we’ve been using for all our
lives suddenly appears strange and wrong.
If fairness is only an ideal why do we insist that it is standard... natural...
actual... If objectivity is so scarce then from where do we glean our wrongful
expectations.
If kind treatment is deserved... if existence is the rule... if reciprocality is our
end... if replication is our measure... what are we then measuring if not our
inclination towards the illusion.
And an adherence to these rational proportions, even in the face of
senselessness, incivility and emotional coldness, reveals an umbilical cord still
intact after an infinitude of hostile phenomenological swipes. Our internal maps—
they may not be without flaw, but they are certainly not without cause, and it
comes as a joyous reunion to be beholding the implications of our human brain in
its most natural and most guileless state. This comes not like groundless
theorization but as a realization: a realization of hostile unreality; an unhallowed
illusion sent to disorient and misdirect.
“Sure, it’s unfair but that’s just how it is.” “That’s the way the world works.”
And me, I believe we’ve accepted too much in our human accustomedness:
happenings, attitudes, beliefs, things never purposed for our acceptance. And our
realities have suffered thus. I declare ‘accustomedness’ as the arrogant flounce
of a sick brain.
I’m not referring to matters of propriety, fairness, correctness, ethicality. They
are as ornaments without function herein.
Rather I’m referring to the fact that the equation doesn’t add up beyond a
certain point. The logic is pervious and the skies, so to speak, are now cracking
away like an eggshell, revealing a greater reality in prospect, and this egg, in any
case, will be our last.”

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 Thirty / Olah
August 14, 2019

It was fifteen years ago that the count began. I was only fifteen myself and my
mystical practice was all so fresh and young. A most unnerving portent was given
to me in a liminal state of consciousness by what I assume to have been
Steulugalnemraiant. I was told that in fifteen years more I would return to “where
I came from”. It wasn’t just once that I heard this said. The same message was
echoed repeatedly throughout the coming years across multiple states and
mediums.
At various points I interpreted that to mean the womb, the grave, and other
such moribund constructs, and so this year has been an ominous one since
before it even began, understanding that it was very likely to be my last in this
life. Even as I have kept all of this to myself, not sharing it freely with my
environment, its influence was surely evident in all my actions, from my tone of
voice to the speed of my walk to the degree to which I’ve been pushing myself. It
is not such a strange feeling in and of itself and I’ve entered into several years
believing as much about my terminus based on a combination of declining health
and suicidal ideation, but no other premonition was backed by portent. I’ve been
counting down to this year in silence for half of my known life. I even brought this
up a year or so ago on my blog and referred to the fact that this portent is
addressed in multiple songs recorded between 2007 and 2011 (particularly The
Burial Womb and Thirty).
My understanding of what this could mean has taken on an altogether new
shape following recent realizations. It is not yet fully lucid... but clearer, certainly.
Mrtagrha... the most peculiar component of my ego construct, literally appears to
deal with a location at the intersecting point between two ‘realities’, so to speak;
one that is supreme and one that is diminutive and illusory. By integrating it

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(Mrtagrha) into my identity I have just done a most curious thing: I have begun to
form a connection with another “body”, which is now accounted for within my
identity as well as my narrative. The body to which I refer is by all means distinct
from the body that I know as my own, though I am not sure that I can call it a
body at all. It’s such a difficult sensation to describe and I must openly admit that
my understanding is still half-baked... half-stirred... too much sugar... but I’ll get it
worked out soon enough. I’ve been given several new pieces to work with in
these past few days... well, not wholly new... but I’m having to rearrange the
entirety of my understanding once more... and the picture that is appearing is
somewhat shocking to me (and possibly a bit too sci-fi for my tastes... but then
again my only problem with that is that it comes across as less believable... but
to WHOM?!)
Another thing I wanted to bring up:

I’m not sure to what extent I’ve discussed this phenomenon in my available
biographical texts, but since the time of the original candelabrum vision I’ve
continued to experience periodic manifestations of the aforementioned vision in
the waking plane (assuming them to be fundamentally distinct). The first instance
wherein it occurred in waking life was an unforgettable and life-altering
experience for me which I discuss in my biography (occurring at church camp, of
all places, and set around a bonfire). The second instance of note may have
actually been my concert experience on February 16, 2008 which I have all along
categorized as a social breakdown, though it was likely but another instance of
the vision manifesting itself in waking reality and pushing me over the edge.
Sometimes the gaps between occurrences would go on for years (The Festival of
Long Pauses) and I’m not sure I experienced the third such occurrence until
2012.
They have occurred at a much higher rate than ever before, with the most
recent such incident transpiring two days ago while riding around the local area:
a sight straight out of my most sacred vision. They are often, in themselves,
unremarkable sights and it wouldn’t mean much for me to go on describing them
—a perspective more than an event—yet there was no doubting their origin and
that which was implicated by their occurrence.

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 It’s not something that I have been able to chock up to flashbacks, deja vu,
pareidolia or any type of seizure. I’ve come out with few theories over the years
regarding what this could indicate and why it occurs when and as it does,
although I really don’t know for sure. All I can say is that they are becoming ever
more frequent and intense. Truly the vision is recreating itself around me and its
enough to fill me with both fear and excitement, believing that it reaffirms the
abovementioned portent; reaffirming finality via its circular course. And even the
fact that it took me up until now—fifteen years following the originary event—to
finally acknowledge these very obvious truths about the scenario seems, in itself,
to be a calculated occurrence.

FUMO
August 14, 2019

The roles and semiotic latitudes of Steulugalnemraiant and Parashurna are

becoming slightly tangled in places and I will have to pay this much attention. I
had previously written off the possibility that the two could have any relation, if
based on the warnings given to me by the Steulugalnemraiant who stressed
again and again that Parashurna is exosystemic and NOT to be integrated into
my ego as that would disrupt the ongoing process of Idempotence were I to
become so confused. Yet I’m beginning to spot flaws in the tegument, cracks in
the marble, and I may just pick at them with whatever fingernails I have left.
I’m finding strange relevancy in old lyrics and epistles from the period of The
Pour/Agrapha. And while most of them are worthless and cringeworthy on a
literary/poetic level, these writings are proving useful to the ongoing process. I’ve
still more research to conduct and preparations to make, but I will continue
digging into old records, giving a once-over to any cold cases left over from my
past. While I’ve solved and/or satisfied most puzzles along the way, integrating

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their solutions into my narrative, there remains those few which have yet to
crack. The return and sudden relevance of that most ominous facility, an
erstwhile vision, only reiterates the extent to which every component, large and
small, finds its home in the puzzle and it would be a crying shame to neglect or
otherwise misplace any one detail, howso minuscule it may appear to me. The
absence of even a single piece demolishes all efforts at wholeness.
One of the most confounding mysteries to remain unsolved throughout the
years is that of ‘Luo Ordic Vie’. To recap: in the months of February through April
2008, in the wake of my traumatic episode, I underwent a period of dissociation,
depersonalization and intermittent catatonia, and in that time I was apparently
signing all drawings and writings with the words “Luo Ordic Vie”, followed by the
numbers “1-6-6-9-10”. I have tried again and again and again to decipher their
meaning and have known no fortune. Nothing that I have tried (anagrams,
gematria, notariquon, a variety of ciphers) has produced any notable results. The
numbers are especially strange since there’s just no way that I would write these
out if they did not actually mean something. I have no clue, but I know with
certainty that it is personal, for I can discern its warmth; not necessarily the
warmth of a sentimental connection but the warmth of relevancy.
I will have more to say of the strange facility and its manifold implications in a
follow-up post. At this time I can not offer much more than speculation, but if after
I open thirty shells I manage to uncover just one pearl it will have not been
without purpose.
I have often described the aforementioned facility with medical terminology,
though that is likely to mislead. It may in fact be better described as somewhat
alchemical (or maybe that’s just what I’m wishing for!). And just maybe the
connection between traditional alchemy and modern psychotransformative
alchemy is nearer than I might have ever guessed. They seem to us like
separate disciplines in essence, and that may just be because we are incapable
of discerning that which links the mind to the mineral.
I will leave off there for now, but let me just say: I am in my bliss. Even as my
body lays like a twisted branch in queue for the furnace, every element of my
design delights in these spells of intensive, world-spurning self-exploration and
discovery as such that I am now conducting. Oh an absolute bliss in the

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brainstem. Viśva Reality can smolder and choke on the spring of my semiotic
ascendancy.
Tomorrow in the evening I hope to carry out a series of ritualistic exercises
involving a candelabrum and hypnagogic suspension. It may be a long shot, but I
will be attempting to further my understanding of the so-called second body
which exists in Mrtagrha under the apparent supervision of Parashurna and any
connection that exists between myself and... it.
A unique mandala forms in the center as all five limbs of Ego convulse in
unison like freshly-crushed crickets awaiting their Lord.

Visva Device (2005)

August 14, 2019

I previously mentioned a lyric from 2005 (age 15) which bore this name. It’s
not my best work from the period but reading through old files has me desiring to
write (with that structure) once more.There may be derived a higher benefit from
doing as much...
In any case, these lyrics happen to feel relevant at points...

Can we handle a wrong operation?

His eyes left staring wide
A pier upon the calm of death
Its rachides pushing out
There is no longer a hint of envy
A shift, price shift
Speak puzzles while the sand is fast
Did we tell him that the Messiah was this man?

Who waved his hands like a raving blade

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So he cut the egg deep ...
Viśva Device, the sighting line
Remove the iron handle
Now we have our first handle
We cannot connect this view
We can’t save the jaws (From Viśva)

Head taken into hands

Choosing to break
He spits on himself
He causes a riot in the temple
When your sweat meets your sweet hair
Call on him to take you
To the land where he was last rescued
Do you have a street key?
When our Lord returns to his native branch
A shift, price shift
Did we decide that the Messiah was this man?
Who waved his hands like a raving blade
So he cut the egg deep ...
No one can stop it
The visuals are catching on
He bleeds from the base of his wings

Wakes up laughing
And fills twenty cups with saliva in one desolate December
The devils they plan
When the devil arrives
They will freeze him
They will make him an idol
They will freeze him
Are you the pilot
Were you here before the (price) shift?

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 Do you split the frozen eyes of the dead?
Can we say that the friction of the savior keeps him warm?
In this quiet cathedral
When your sweat meets your sweet hair
A body lain on yellow lines
On salt pans
On innominate instruments
A wreckage to be set straight
Viśva device, the sighting line
Remove the iron handle
Now we have our first handle
We cannot connect this view
We can’t save it all
Set them straight
And reflect the Self as they swear it does

Untitled (1998)
August 15, 2019

I uncovered a box of papers in storage from when I was quite young. I’m
hoping to find any remnants I might from the novel I wrote at age 10. No luck yet,
but I did find this little piece written at just eight or nine years old. I remember it,
too. Yet another bit of evidence in support of the idea that I was always a
disturbed individual, haha.

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 The Axe that Severs Material
Ties
August 15, 2019

A nice etymological JOLT to start off my day:

I looked into Parashurna years ago—I’m sure I did, for I noted the stark
similarity between Parashurna and Parashurama. This led me to the realization
that a parashu, or parasu, is a type of battle-ax. So whereas Parashurama
means ‘Rama with the Axe’, Parashurna would mean ‘(U)rna with the Axe’.
Sounds violent and not at all comforting, huh? It’s no wonder I’ve found the
Parashurna so utterly daunting over the years, once having called him “the Satan
of my own personal cosmology”.
Urna can mean several things.
‘Urna’ is a mark placed on the forehead to represent the third eye and the
ability to transcend the sensory. I remember that from years ago. I’ve just
discovered the Latin word Urna, which refers to a cinerary urn, or a Water
Pitcher, and I especially don’t remember it coming from the root Uro, which
means “to burn”.
This is all very intriguing to me, however it is the following definition/
interpretation of Parashu which jolted me.
One site had the following to say of The Parashu and its rich symbolism.
The axe (paraśu) — represents non-attachment. In order to progress on the
spiritual path the essential virtue to cultivate is that of non-attachment to the
sense-object and their means of gratification — the noose held in the one hand
needs to be cut with the axe of non-attachment in the other.
Paraśu (Axe) – Non-attachment – the severing of our ties and bonds to the
material world.

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 This is a definition that appears to be widely accepted, too, and not just the
smoke-scented understanding of some blogspot user named Claire or Jade who
offers free tarot card readings and cat pictures. So I don’t know how I overlooked
this in the past. That’s the thing about me... most of my practice/process is
internal, independent of external materials, and when I do go off to conduct
“research” I only last until I get excited and then I put the book down and
disappear back inside of myself to play with and gargle the two pages that I
managed to skim before reaching my limit and putting down the book. And I’ll
keep doing it, I’m sure. I’m doing it right now. I always put up a big fuss about my
refusal to read books and articles, but I don’t think I could read even if I wanted
to.

Pervenire
August 15, 2019

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 Dinner with the Manikins
August 16, 2019

When one turns their back to reality, something startling, albeit quite
inexplicable, occurs within and without. It’s distressing, to put it mildly. I simply
can not give it my focus. I can not allow paranoia to taint my outlook. It would
undermine and collapse the entire process. All things considered, I’m holding up
quite well and despite the bizarre ways in which I have expressed my
circumstances it remains a controlled situation.

This quote by Joseph Campbell never ceases to be appropriate: “The

psychotic drowns in the same waters in which the mystic swims with delight.”

I don’t speak much of my ontological position outside of the odd joke, and
then there’s also the fact that my stance does not align neatly with any extant
system that I have found, despite sharing noteworthy similarities with the likes of
metaphysical idealism and nondualism which, despite their differences, manage
to paint a decent picture of where I stand with the external world (as in external to
my perceptions). My system structure is ever-developing and I won’t write off any
possibilities in my ignorance just as I won’t close myself off to the evidence that I
am not utterly alone in this reality, yet at this point I contain almost no hope for
that. I’m sure I’ll touch more on my beliefs eventually, if only as a way to sort
them out.

Regardless of what truth may underlie this reality, it is not for me to become
hung up upon such details (beyond a certain point) as they are only liable to
distract me from my tasks. As much as I tend to philosophize, I am foremostly a

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mystic reliant on experience above knowledge and my sole task at this time, as I
understand it, is to disconnect from the grows reality and its residual influence.
Yet to fully disconnect I can not continue to isolate, and that’s what I am now
being shown: full disconnection can only come in the midst of participation, or
rather, presence. So I must stand in the midst of the crowd until my mind more or
less registers it as being indistinct from a stroll through my quiet, private
bedroom. It makes sense. It’s like to say that someone without opportunity can
not claim to accomplishment. And if you so claim to be a recovered alcoholic—for
instance—that reality will not demonstrate and reflect itself on a remote and
resourceless island as it will within a bustling bar wherein the opportunity and
potentiality for failure surrounds you on all sides.

The path on which I walk does not allow for armchair philosophical
complacency to count towards achievement. All findings must be tried and
demonstrated in a coliseum of philosophical effectuation.

It terrifies me, and for more reasons than may be readily obvious. I’m feeling
very upset and not at all equipped for what comes next. I’m barely getting oxygen
as it is. And only recently had I decided that I would not be returning to society
within my remaining lifespan, and so I truly, truly disapprove of this intervention
with all the worthless human disapproval I can muster.

Haha, am I like a coward who has punched a bully and then skips school in
the avoidance of any unwanted aftermath! Surely my intentions aren’t anything
so feeble. I simply felt that I could no longer justify being a part of this daft and
distracted society. Yet I was wrong, and once again I must enter into the earth
which I have offended with my metaphysical stance without surrendering or
compromising said stance.

Yet I must stand upright and undisturbed among the inhabitants of this world,
the manikin masses, and in my frailty I must retain my strength; and in my silence
I must retain my voice. In my interactions I must not be offset by their threats and
coldness; I must not be excited by their warmth and invitations inasmuch as

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these psychological/physiological responses indicate the ongoing hold of a
parasitic set of beliefs and expectations which I must ultimately excise from my
core.

This will no doubt become the most difficult task yet... and very likely the
oddest. I may be known for holding onto a most intense lot of beliefs, attitudes
and opinions but on the social, interactive plane I can be so very kind and
accommodating, if to the degree of appearing passive—an individual known to
offer up his service even at the expense of his own health. It is among my most
deeply held convictions that I behave towards all with warmth and patience, even
though I wasn’t quite so accommodating prior to my time of isolation. A
combination of learned humility and residual neuroticism, I take it. I simply can’t
bear the thought of making people uncomfortable. All these years since that
concert and I still suffer from seeing myself as some monstrosity whose presence
weaves disease within his surroundings. And it never mattered to me that
absolutely no one appears to share in this perspective or has even accused me
of as much (quite the contrary, in fact).

Regardless, these are all tendencies that are going to be difficult to wipe from
my mind during the process of emotional disconnection:
“Is my behavior causing others discomfort?” “Do I appear unusual or unstable
in such a way that might alarm them or cause them to feel threatened?”

Indeed this will likely be among the most difficult aspects of the process, from
what I can estimate! It’s not as though I am being asked to become some cruel
and/or refractory ogre but I must dissociate from the emotional complexities of
interpersonal transaction and to me that seems to entail a certain degree of
aloofness; but maybe all that that would mean in my case is less (or an absence
of) overcompensation!
And I will do all of this in the awareness that the gross will be doing all that it
can to convince me of its gravity; its substantiality; its authority.
The absolute madness that I must endure all for the sake of reaching the
highest summit in Idempotence. It’s unbelievable to me. I dare say I’ve only

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lasted so long through this labyrinth on the sheerness of my admiration. Yea—
despite all my unvoiced desperation I really must respect and admire whoever or
whatever has designed this meaningful nightmare, for it is undeniable that they
know exactly what they are doing, and it is that which fuels my confidence in the
immaculacy of the outcome, howso late in coming it may be (or seem to be)...
The fires are just too hot at this stage to allow for any impurities to remain in the
final product.
Hell’s sole egress lies here within its deepest and most unsympathetic stratum
—a place inaccessible but by the willing, and so it contains not the sickest of
sinners but the most determined of seekers: prey to the all-fucking fumes of
eager salvation.
Truly, the agony and despair of this life has been offset only by its
meaningfulness. And if at age fifteen I contained even the slightest concept of
what I was getting into I would have sooner swallowed every pill in the cupboard
and leapt into the roar of rush hour traffic. Heaven knows I still may. I am, after
all, an animal by my constitution, and my limits, though constantly being
disregarded, are very much there and they weep back at me.
Let there be no mistaking my tone: I do not regret my path. I would have just
liked to walk this road in better health. Also, I sometimes wish that my promise—
my polestar—wasn’t so abstract as to be imperceivable by my imagination. I’d
like a little something to stuff in my locket, yeah? I was quicker to rise from bed in
the morning when my desires were palpable. How long it has been since I rowed
to the rhythm of an infatuated heart, the sight of Anita in my mind’s eye. I was
given strength simply in imagining the warmth and weave of her hands. It was a
simpler time if only in its metaphysical designation, and I have to say, I certainly
preferred the romantic tone of those years to this desolate and ‘apocadelic’
landscape in which I now crawl. But my longing and desire for any such romance
has dissipated in silence—not on the level of my spirit but within the realm of
expectation, like as one eventually stops craving that which they know not to be
available; plausible; extant... for I know now that there is no veritable intimate
connection to be experienced on this earth...
And maybe I would smile more if this path didn’t entail my being perpetually
sodomized by a razor-tipped ampersand. Always another piece to place...

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 To wrap this up, I may be slowing down on the rate at which I post updates
due to a recent block put in place by the Thummim who has determined that all
of this writing in my log is distracting, or liable to distract my attention from
necessary experiences. I’ll do as I can do—I’ll do as I have to.

Hairless Goat
August 18, 2019

I thought it was lost forever, but I’ve found it: a photo taken from two years
ago (March 2017) after having shaved off my facial hair (and dyed my hair) in
preparation for the Hornstra paradigm. It was the first time since 2007 that I had
been without my mustache and I won’t be parting with it again. A rare photograph
indeed.

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 The Tether
August 20, 2019

I am overcome by a sense of intense derealization and I don’t yet know what

to make of it or how to proceed. A lot of changes have occurred in so short a time
and my understanding is still catching up, leaving me unsure of what to deny and
what to embrace (like in the case of derealization and depersonalization which I
am experiencing as more intense than ever before since integrating the
Mrtagrha). I must also be wary of conflating emotional and physiological
symptoms with manifestations of mine own spiritual and metaphysical
progression. Silly as I sometimes get, I always keep a finger on the book, as it
were, and if it happens to be the case that my self-understanding has been
smudged by symptoms of trauma then my error will expose itself in time.
I have been experiencing bizarre parasomniac disturbances all this week
since beginning meditations on the candelabrum and I may have something to
say on the profound nature of these aberrations shortly. In addition, my current
active paradigm is proving itself to be highly unlike anything I expected (and
unlike anything I’ve known before) and a lack of familiarity in the patterns, within
and without, is causing me to itch.
I only wish to find some sort of resolution in this lifetime for all that I’ve taken
on—an unrealistic desire though it may be—and in light of recent realizations I
can no longer justify spending my time on any object or activity which does not
directly and immediately contribute to my mystic path. I’m familiar by now with
living a very focused and ‘ritualistic’ existence in the sense that I am not the sort
who turns his ‘mystical self’ on for x amount of hours in a week and spends the
rest of the time in “normal life mode” but someone who functions perpetually
within a gnostic state (yes, even in sleep, thanks to Hypnognosticism!); but I am
yet to acclimate to the level of detachment and surreality I have taken on in

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recent weeks and it’s beginning to feel like an unending dream.

Erchomai
August 21, 2019

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 Presence
August 23, 2019

Some hastily written notes on my phone regarding observations of my

behavior within a social setting. Just an amusing insight into my physical
presence, I suppose.

I felt intrusive. Kind of have to be. Not rudely so. I just don’t have the time to
stand around waiting for a perfect moment and have to make my own openings,
though it goes against my nature.
Extroverted energy coupled with the needs of an introvert is how I would
define myself, although most of my life I considered myself an extreme
introvert… even though I look like a speedy lunatic when set side by side to
some of the introverts I knew.
When in public I’m not really ‘in my body’ until someone speaks to me, as in
I’m completely off in my thoughts. Standing around in a crowded room,
comparing my expectations to reality; analyzing symbols and happenings in light
of my inner mythologies/puzzles.
Very still, maybe seeming standoffish, possibly appearing angry and
formidable. It's not anger. I’m simply not in my body. I tend to just find a cool pose
or position and then zone out.
But when spoken to I light up and become vibrant in most cases. Like an
electronic toy being powered on.
I often don’t think before I speak and this will often result in my making stupid,
awkward statements. But that’s because I’m already very sure of what I know/
want to say. Polite. On the borderline of polite and too polite. Offering to help out

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even when it hurts me and I end up slowing people down.
Very “what can I do for you” type, not so much when younger though. “What
are your dreams and how can I help you meet them.”
Not competitive, surprisingly. When you’re as lonely as I am you don’t have
the option. I would do anything to feel like others were taking part in the same
game or adventure...
Usually find somewhere to lean or sit. Don’t like standing in open spaces.
Feels too nervous.
Rarely travel without some sort of messenger bag or bottle. Like I’m on
vacation. Always a water bottle in hand. Can’t put up with a dry throat.
Not a confident conversationalist in settings with many people. Has to be
intimate for me to really behave naturally.
Don’t know pop culture topics.
Feel like I make everyone feel awkward since I can’t carry the conversation or
validate their interests.
Very laughy and playful. Not a joke guy, not a meme guy, but very childlike
silly. Laugh at anything and everything. Observational humor. Surreal humor.
Sometimes dark. If I have to say something negative or cynical I do it in a
humorous tone.
I tend to name drop due to insecurities. It’s a way to strengthen my perceived
bond with people I’ve only just met by showing them that I am familiar or friendly
with others with whom they are acquainted, but it causes me to feel stupid every
time. (“Oh I was in a band with your best friend ten years ago.” kind of
comments)
Need to prove I’m ‘relatable’/‘human’. More a problem online than in person.
Made it impossible to manage Tendon Levey social media since I was never
speaking in an authentic manner and always trying to demonstrate my
relatability.
Often nervous when entering a place, regardless of how often I go there.
Rush of negative energy. Walking through door and finding my spot is a
whirlwind. If something throws off expectations I’ll be disrupted and go back
outside and pretend I’m reading on a bench while I recalibrate expectations.
Probably don’t seem nervous to others. My presence takes the nervousness

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and kind of works it into what others might just see as quirkiness.
I try to smile at everyone who passes by so that they’re not threatened by my
look but I expect that they still are. I see myself as far more threatening than
others seem to.
Can get dizzy if I don’t recognize anything or anyone.
I don’t like letting doors slam or squeak. When I come through I’ll do so gently
and slowly pull the door shut to avoid noise.
Difficult assessing the age of individuals. Isolation screwed with my perception
of age. I see a college kid and I think we’re in the same demographic.
Kind of a “what next” type of energy. Want the night to continue. “Who wants
to go get food after this”. I probably took an hour to get ready and even longer to
work up the nerve to go out so I want to stay out all damn night if I can… making
me get ready for a 20 minute drop by is one way to get me frustrated and I'll
make a mental note of who does this. 5+ hour hangouts are acceptable. 6+ hours
is ideal. Assuming it’s halfway pleasant. If I have something planned for the
evening, I’ll be unable to do anything or even think about anything else all day.
The entire day simply becomes a prelude to the night’s events. I dislike it, as I
can’t get anything accomplished and just spend hours trying on clothes and
getting ready, running through imagined scenarios in my mind. High maintenance
for a guy in terms of appearance. It generally takes me an hour to get myself all
ready and then I like to sit with myself for a little bit after I’m ready just so that I
can be sure I’m ready and haven’t missed or anything, or that something doesn’t
rip or smear or fall apart as I get going.
I want to build cities and talk plans. Not in present, always future.
I do not speak to someone unless I have a purpose for them and people can
sense that about me—that I act with intention. Several people commented about
this in 2019, saying they’ve never met someone with so much intention behind all
they do (it was meant as a compliment, although I have to imagine that some
people are intimidated by it as well). I hadn’t considered it much previously since
to me it’s normal. No casual roaming… no chit chat.. no stray bits of nonsense.
It’s not premeditated, but it all fits into something larger and to me each
exchange, each flourish is meaningful. But people can sense that
meaningfulness and intensity and I imagine it puts off some of the more self-

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preservational/introverted types. On one hand I like the idea that all that I do
carries a certain intensity in others’ eyes... but at the same time I’m self
conscious of how this is being interpreted. I wish it wasn’t so unusual. Makes me
feel like a bull in a coffee shop.

Expectation and Identification

August 25, 2019

Many have acknowledged the power inherent in Will and Desire. In my own
experience, Expectation and Identification have proven to be forces of equal, if
not greater, overall significance in the shaping of one’s existence and one who
harnesses these processes in full must surely be esteemed. I’ve had a fair
amount to say on the conscious and subconscious intricacies of Identification
and Disidentification when speaking of Egomorphosis, though I’ve not had as
much to say about the intricacies of Expectation. If there was one thing that I
have taken away from a lifetime of lucid dreaming and Hypnognosticism, it is that
our expectations hold more inherent power than that which we desire when
manifesting and molding the reality before us. That’s not so difficult to grasp. It is,
after all, a close relative of Faith, albeit one that often develops unconsciously
and in most cases seems to be unaccounted for by and unassimilated with our
self-concept.
This is all something that I would like to write about in the future, if I get
around to it.

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 Veins Without Valves
August 26, 2019

I am aware that most of the photos I’ve posted are unlovely or in some
manner unsettling. That’s not some deliberate effort on my part. I’m not trying to
maintain some image. I depict my existence as it is, or I try to, and so what may
appear as an unevenness in my self-representation is but an imbalance in my
lifestyle. There aren’t any photos of me out drinking and laughing with “my
friends”. There aren’t any photos of me set in front of beautiful, scenic backdrops
and sunsets. These experiences don’t exist. That was not the life that I lived. It
appeared for a while that my life was heading in that direction, what with my
recent entrepreneurial undertakings being likely to amount to a more sociable
and collaborative lifestyle, but that is no longer in the cards due to a combination
of factors, such as my declining health and my shifting metaphysical position.
So the closest that I ever ended up coming to that sort of existence was in
2016. It was a year like no other in my timeline and I hesitate to say so,
considering all the damage it dealt to my being, but it was in many ways of a
better quality than the rest, especially those within the past decade of my
existence. I still held on to the notion that absolutely everything could be resolved
with words and dedication. This allowed me to approach each individual with a
feeling of excitement and potential. It allowed me to see counseling psychologists
as superheroes capable of absolutely anything and answerable only to their own
hearts.

I still believed that out there, somewhere in this world, I had family awaiting
me and that I was now on my way to materializing that resplendent reality.
I still believed that the outside world wasn’t actually just a (slightly) more
diversified version of the self-same zoo that I was used to and that it was
somehow worth fighting for... worth suffering for.
It feels somehow profane to be expressing such high opinion seeing as this
year came with no benefit to my metaphysical and spiritual development.

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Conversely, it was traumatizing to me, heart and soul—and I do not use that word
lightly. The turmoil and betrayal to which I was subject in this period continue to
haunt me day and night. But such is the hold of comfort and joy—however
artificial it may be—on the craven spirit of man! That is the impression left by an
affectionate touch! That is the impression left by promises even after they are
broken!
It also wouldn’t be true to accredit my favoritism entirely to the relationship
itself. There was much more to 2016 than silent treatment and sushi buffets. I
contained within myself a sense of hope! The hope of living a prosperous life.
Even in moments of pain—and they were legion—I always recognized that I was
existing in a sea of options and opportunities for the very first time in my life and
that no matter the hardships, I was no longer a rat in a trap... I was for once not
left to wait, left to go insane, in a stalemate. It was a first in my life. Coming from
an environment as such that I had known... an oubliette with not so much as a
keyhole through which to know the light... all of the problems I faced in 2016
while living with my fiancée, though horribly upsetting, did not leave me feeling
threatened, afraid or without hope. I was so very confident. It all seemed like
such child’s play compared to what I was used to. Because there were options!
Endless options! Beautiful options! Doors in every room! Windows on every wall!
I have lived for all of my life in the absence of helpful connections; in the
absence of a network of support; in the absence of a parachute or safety net
should I slip from the ledge. I lacked those who would fight for and defend me. I
lacked those who would take me into their arms when I was overwhelmed and
beset by fear. I lacked those to help me in reaching the box of cereal on the top
shelf, if you will. And the promise of having just one person there with me... it
took so much of the weight off of my soul and it challenged the fabric of my
reality in its entirety.
I don’t mean for this to turn into a lengthy post—least of all one colored by
CPTSD. The whole purpose of saying all of this in the first place pertains entirely
to my current assignment. I am required to rid myself of all unmet expectations
and unrealized desires in preparation for the next plateau of my development and
my dealings with romantic desire constitute the most troubling subset thereof. It
was arguably the aspect of my self and this life I valued most and it would

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unfortunately go on to be the aspect I least got to exercise—outside of my music,
that is. And it will never cease to upset me that my last relationship went down as
it did despite all my attempts to end on a pleasant and respectful note.
All in all, I won’t be getting another opportunity at experiencing a romantic and
affectionate relationship on this plane of existence. I try not to dwell on it as it
comes with no benefit to me and my development but surely it appears obvious,
from all that I have revealed about myself in song and in writing, that this is not
how I wanted it to be. I may have lived out most of my life in aloneness and with
no one with whom to share my heart and soul but it was still always something I
was working towards, in every solitary moment. It’s been disturbingly strange...
these past two years... fighting a war with no face in my mind...
I like to imagine that all of these last fifteen years are the result of a
Hypnognostic experiment gone horribly wrong, locking me within a long and
demanding dream, and that the failure to form an intimate connection on this
plane is somehow the result of my ‘lover’ interfering with my active reality
paradigm from the surface plane. It sounds quite stupid, I know. I don’t actually
believe in that scenario. It does give me something to smile at, though. And apart
from the last part, the idea that one of my experiments went wrong or that I am
being kept within some extended dream—for whatever the reason—has actually
begun to appear as one of the likeliest explanations for all of this, as far as I am
concerned. Though any claims as to what lie beyond this ‘dream’, as it were, are
entirely speculative and all attempts to solidify my understanding thereof are no
more worthful than self-consoling entertainment. At least that is where I currently
stand. Then again, up until only a year and a half ago I was staunchly against the
concept of an afterlife and anything similar—believing all proponents thereof as
fear-fueled space-wasters. It took but one look into the eyes of Thummim to
recant a lifetime of agnostic posturing. So who’s to say where and why Sophia
gives up on us?
Similar to the above, I’ve a little nightly ritual where I go for a leisurely drive
around a certain local development during dusk hours while trying to convince
myself that the last fifteen years have all been some elaborate pretense
necessitated by ‘my profession’ which assigned me in my youth to some horrible
undercover task. Fortunately for me, the mission has finally concluded, allowing

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me to return to my real family and resume my real life at my real house. My
apologies to anyone living in the Poplar Forest region who has had to put up with
my creeping for the last five months, give or take. It’s a beautiful area, especially
at dusk, and totally suitable for my real life and real family, I take it.
So after some hesitation I’ve decided to post a selection of relevant (2016)
photographs to my gallery, offering a glimpse at the Tendon of an alternative
universe—one with shorter hair, a goofy smile and someone to love. I really don’t
like having to censor her face. Though after having revealed so many unfortunate
details in my biography I wouldn’t want to do anything that could potentially stir
up trouble for her.
I release these photographs along with this information not in homage but in
the spirit of bloodletting. My Father requires it.
This week begins the Menarche. No disclaimer will do.

No amount of preparation will suffice.

Leviyeyism
August 26, 2019

A brief update on how I am managing with my new paradigm and some

related observations.
It was roughly a year and a half ago—amid my reunion with Thummim
wherein he reappeared in the frame of Purity of Substance—that I spoke of
experiencing a bizarre and surreal state during which I had momentarily gained
sight of what I deduced to be the objective world: a sphere untainted by personal
associations. This incident which then left me spellbound and inspired would
occur at intervals thereafter and as of these past two weeks it appears to have
become a stable and consistent mode of perception, partly (though not wholly)

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accounting for my recent sense of disconnection. I struggled to adapt in the
beginning for multiple reasons (some of which were unrelated) but I finally
appear to be adjusting and it relieves me to be able to say so.
Clearly when I refer to “objectivity” I am not meaning to imply any sort of solid
scientific understanding. That would be laughable considering the nature of my
operations. Objectivity herein remarks of the ability to see beyond the
associations that have been overlayed on this reality through a combination of
weakness (delusion, illusion, projection) and nescience (ignorance,
misconstruction). A reality devoid of these associations is indeed altogether
unlike the unreality in which man is bred: a realm in which the semiotic substrate
has remained whole and without perversion. And while an awareness of this
“objectivity” does not, in itself, entail an increased and unflawed objectivity in my
actions and behavior, it should be assumed that one’s actions reflect the reality
before them and I will hold myself to the standards set by my understanding if
with a blade balancing upon my sagittal crest.
The sense of disconnection exists on more layers of my selfness than in
perceptual awareness alone. This period has brought with it several notable
changes in my cognitive profile and after weeks of observing my changing nature
and attempting to identify the underlying cause I have come to a better
understanding of the fundamental makeup of the current active paradigm.
Though before I say any more on the matter, the following must be made
clear and emphasized: these are not sudden developments occurring overnight.
All is a gradation in the realm of self-development and to anticipate any sort of
party horn will only end up distracted from the journey. The nature of these recent
developments is therefore not so much a sudden occurrence as much as it is my
arrival at a realistic crest and, by extension, the celebration of previously
uncelebrated achievements in the realm of personal development.
Whereas one’s self-concept naturally falls in line with a tripartite or
quadripartite framework—accounting for the self as it exists, the self as we
perceive it, the self displayed to others and the ideal self—I am perceiving a
noticeable change in the dynamics of my own self-concept, as if such distinctions
have either been altered or integrated into a single unified whole. That would
seem an incredible claim to be making, an achievable feat though it seems. If this

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is indeed true in my case it would absolutely thrill me as this very outcome has
constituted one of my primary aims all along. Truly wonderful...
It’s not that it is experienced as a blissful or pleasant experience in itself. It’s
neither inherently positive nor negative and will require a period of adjustment as
any other transition. It’s just something which has appealed to me for so long on
the conceptual level and I am humbled to think that I may have actually achieved
something of the sort: a veritable unisonance among my parts. I just wish that it
was something I could accurately put into words.
There has also been a notable change in how I relate to physical reality in all
aspects although I am yet to figure out the best means of describing this change
as I am wary of ejaculating a load of wishful hippie spewage onto all I have
worked to achieve.
It surely appears that the bonds have broken between my selfness and my
physical reality (including the body). Of course I can’t possibly know for sure to
what degree I have actually “broken these bonds”, as I put it. I can only speak in
relative measure and I can only acknowledge that my attachment has decreased
to such an extent that it brought with it some initial alarm.
That’s also not to serve as some arrogant and deluded declaration that
physicality is of no consequence to me or that I am unbound by its principles (at
least in this moment) but that my self-concept is no longer wrapped up in and
limited by the Known.
This change has occurred on a deep level of my cognition and is not mere
philosophical posturing, for I am not but a bored kid in a beanbag chair conflating
the ideas that appeal to me and my ego with the perceptions I’ve espoused and
the conclusions I’ve reached via a long and investigative process (+ empirical
whack-a-gator + Lamentations 6:1-9). No, these claims that I am here making are
reflected in my perceptions, my actions and at every moment of the day. And as
can be seen from my writing, my philosophical understanding is actually lagging
notably behind my perceptions in this instance.
This, too, has occurred on a gradation and over many years. Having suffered
with severe and unpredictable illness for so much of my life my materialistic
sensibility has long been weak, realizing the utter worthlessness of material in
the face of death, regardless of whether that death signifies the end of existence

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or merely a chapter break. It’s not holier than thou, anti-materialistic/minimalism
stilting. It’s simply very difficult to see value in anything of this world when death
is constantly tugging at my clavicle... Call it traumatic dissociation, or call it a
breakthrough! in! mammalian! sensibility!
This has also affected my relationship to and interactions with my own
accomplishments. This, to me, seems the most jarring (and therefore most
significant) of all! My output—be it artistic, intellectual or experiential—was in
many ways how I had defined myself; how I had measured myself and even my
self-worth. What am I without my multiform diaries but an entity without
measurement! And the manic prolificacy I’ve maintained over the years... it was
like the constant need to reaffirm my existence. Interestingly enough, it seems
this sense of disconnection has allowed me to enjoy my works in a way I’ve not
known before.
And it is important I note that this “disconnection” is measured not by such
untelling (and inappropriate) markers as apathy and dysphoria and other markers
better attributable to suicidal ideation but upon a certain variety of carefully
selected and closely monitored emotional/cognitive responses.
On its own, it is perhaps of null importance that I have ceased to identify with
these elements, yet doing so has allowed me to rebuild my identity and personal
associations upon a higher, more lasting (and objective) standard. What that
means... I’m still figuring it out, and beyond this point... there will invariably be a
struggle to translate my experience. Hell knows I’ll always try to explain, but I
may never find the words. It’s something I must learn to accept.
(Missing paragraph? Yes? There is no lesson to the next point? I’m quite
nauseous and photosensitive from a blended mix of overripe bananas and slimy
kale and the last thing I feel like doing right now is making sense of this
senselessness ::: don’t see what you’re looking for? Pull out a penny and scrape
it allllll gone).
One’s intake, which encompasses reactionary inclinations and other
perceptual filters, refers not to responses and visible reactions produced with the
aid of rational processing but the private, automatic intake of information in
through the sense perception.
Though what’s interesting to me is that I appear to have reached a point in

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which my intake no longer requires conversion by rational processing. My
thoughts, as they enter, are suitable unto action, unto expression. That’s not to
say that they are utterly in line with the standards developed by human society
but that they have ultimately gained the approval of the process (the Idempotent
process).
Even reading through my preliminary autobiographical drafts, it is all so
evident that my “uprightness” was attributable more to a combination of
aspiration and self-government than to any underlying inclination. That’s great
and all, being that I had a solid clasp on my superego (or the other way around!)
and an equally solid understanding of that which I was striving towards, but I was
still ultimately functioning within a standard deviation of “Everyman ethicality” in
the sense that my uprightness was but the highly-filtered result of mine own
rational judgment and not necessarily a reflection of my natural, unfiltered being.
At that time I didn’t actually believe that our instincts and reactions were
domesticable beyond a certain point so anything more than what I was already
maintaining was, in my mind, improbable. These recent developments show that
I was mistaken in my original assessment, and whether this comes as the result
of mystical experience(s) or as simply the result of my criteria being applied on
my output for long stretches of time (or both, which to me seems the most likely).
The current cognitive status to which I claim implicates, among other things,
that all principles, ideals and/or convictions to which I profess have at this point
become fully synonymous with desire and instinctual processes and therefore no
longer constitute a struggle, being naturally, ardently and pleasurably maintained.
This seems to reflect the comments I’ve been making in regards to my ascetic
practice for years now and the fact that I do not experience the denial of pleasure
and distraction as suffering but as unique ecstasy. It is not because I am a
masochist or whatso the vulgar world may choose to call a man as such but
because my allegiance and whole focus lies not with the body and its base
demands but with truth and the absolute, as I understand them, and priorities are
inevitably reflected back in one’s sense of desire.
What this says of my intake is that it is functioning appropriately with regards
to objective reality. Oddly enough, my output is adjudged as being slightly off and
in need of some minor adjustments before passing the same examination.

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 (I had gone on at length about all the various entailments of “Appropriateness”
as defined by Thummim in this context but I think I’ll save it for another post).
Of course I do not rely on my own arbitrary understanding to confirm any of
this. I’ve made note of this before but I realize it may require additional
emboldening: it is not I but Thummim who affirms my development and that much
has been the case since as far back as 2004 (at which point Thummim operated
as Steulugalnemraiant).
I honestly wouldn’t trust my own understanding when it comes to these
matters and for multiple reasons.
On one hand, it is far too difficult for me see through my physical illness and
the suffering it causes me and so my ability to give an accurate assessment of
my progress and any achievements made along the way is offset by the declining
health of my body and the sense that. This perhaps has something to say of my
expectations and the belief that with sufficient understanding and capability I
should find healing, whether directly, through my own means, or through winning
the favor of fate and the universe, whatever the hell that means.

I also imagine that if I was the one in charge of the developmental criteria
that I would have modified it a thousand times over by now in my fear and
impatience.
My understanding of semiotic development and so-called higher reality as a
human is comparatively shallow, being likely based on an unenlightened
hodgepodge of desires and expectations and egoic bloating. Even in having a
strong hold on my self-understanding I still acknowledge that there are limitations
to the human ability to comprehend the principles of ‘salvation’, as it were.
So that explains (most basically) from where I gather my assignments and
assessments. It’s always been through the Thummim since from the very outset
(2004). I don’t always acknowledge him with accreditation when discussing my
realizations and progressions and I’m not exactly in the wrong for failing to do so
since it is not required of me, however this lack of acknowledgement is in most
cases boiled down to a basic worry of being misunderstood, and I am even more
wary of misrepresenting and/or bastardizing that which he has gifted me in the
way of Puremost Substance, and in that regard I do understand it to constitute a

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failure on my part.
I’ve actually been in good standing with all such markers for at least a year
(though likely a bit longer) so this not actually a new development but the
outward acknowledgement of old, uncelebrated ones!
Some years ago I wrote up a rough essay on this topic which I used as a tool
with which to address my struggle with intrusive thoughts (in the context of purely
obsessive OCD, which I’ve since managed to wrangle into submission via
egomorphosis). This essay also included a rudimentary system of classifications
which I will likely get around to posting in the near future.
All in all, it becomes clear that the detachment whereof I spoke in a previous
post was in reference not to a substanceless catatonia but to a state of increased
objectivity and a diminished identification with physical reality and despite any
initial uncertainty and discomfort, I have overall found no evidence of adulteration
in the makeup of my experience and see no fault in attributing them to mystical
occurrence (as opposed to psychoemotional demands and disruptions).
Even as everything has passed my careful inspection up to this point, I have
to expect that there are still some transitional adulterants in the mix and that it will
take me at least a couple of weeks to get everything wiped down. That can range
from basic emotional adulterants, as in hesitation or resistance regarding aspects
of the new paradigm, or more complex adulterants like those I touched on in a
recent post, wherein metaphysical progress is mistaken for manifestations of
trauma or other maladaptive conditions (although I am less and less seeing that
as a possibility—at least in regards to the specific developments to which I am
referring). There’s always some post-birth clean-up to be done, be it cords to cut
or excreta to scrub. I’ll get it worked out as I always have. But before I can do
that it’s important that I differentiate the trash from the keep and that is where I
am now at.
While Ism is standardly considered a Priestly Extremity, or the High Priest
within the context of my egomorphic system structure, it is in many ways an
anomaly in that it transcends the established egoic structure in its entirety and
conjoins all five appendages without seeming to be an extension of any one in
particular. Such is the mystery of Mrtagrha! It’s sure taken me some time to get
accustomed to all of this, though, and if it wasn’t readily obvious from the tone of

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my previous update, this paradigm has definitely brought with it a share of
anxiety and ambivalence. Whereas I would traditionally compare my Egomorphic
practice to a ladder, each paradigm thereof was seen as representing an
individual rung that would bring me higher and nearer to the realization of my
highest conceivable permutation. Yet when Priest Ardhachandra came into play I
had come to find that what awaited me at the top was not some royal seat but a
springboard, and with Ism... well, Ism would represent the jump, itself: an
acrobatic dive into whatever lie beyond me. (Kind of feels like a half-baked
analogy but I don’t have the will to give it any further thought, tara tara tara tara).
The integration of all intraegoic continents and subcontinents through Ism was
no more an achievement than it was the bold decision to commit and thus my
announcement was not like a boast but an irrevocable oath. In choosing to dive I
have separated myself from the five primary appendages and all associated
permutations. The strangeness of this event brought with it both panic and
mourning, believing I had somehow abandoned all the tools that I had so
carefully constructed over my years of great dedication to self-amelioration.
However I was soon made aware of what really occurred in the transition from
Ardhachandra to Ism and I realize now that I have neither lost nor abandoned the
essential qualities of all I had collected over time. I have kept all that I have
gained throughout years of dedicated personal development and have given up
only the heuristic guises formerly associated with these qualities. This entails all
the names, faces and any other referential associations such as that which you
will find on the Identity page, including timelines and attitudes.
It’s actually something I hadn’t considered and I am both relieved and
fascinated by what this could mean.
It’s taken me weeks to acclimate myself to all of these developments but I am
finally beginning to learn the ways of the maze. It may have actually been a
mistake on my part to move into this paradigm without a Tektite to absorb the
shock and spare me of all the undue ambivalence, although I’m not sure that a
Tektite would have even been possible in this case.
The Ism paradigm accordingly constitutes the full acknowledgement of and
adherence to that which I represent on the level of the symbol and nothing but.
It’s suitable, though, isn’t—in regards to the going name. It was as I all along

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projected: I have, on many levels, abandoned my personhood, becoming only
the function that I serve and the ideals and subscriptions that I hold in my heart.
And though I am a man, as opposed to some asomatous spore, this skin that I
wear is but a lampshade meaning to diffuse all that I am and all that I intend.
And what is it that I am? What is it I represent? It’s not the easiest of concepts
to illustrate. This isn’t like Captain Planet wherein one’s role and function are so
easily defined. Regardless, I have every intention of delving into this topic soon.
These new developments have thoroughly illuminated my understanding of
my role within the Idem Triunity, and as I sit here sorting it all out within my mind I
can clearly see how these developments, too, contribute (and in no small way) to
the meaningful refinement of my objective.
My entry to the syzygy—a Cyclopean priest.
This is essentially as near to Idempotence as I will find myself on my own
strength and without the added stature of the Triunity. All structures of the ego
and physical body lay silently genuflecting in the promise of the coming Idem,
and if my understanding counts for anything at all, I have to anticipate that my
story will soon be arriving at its end.

Mad Monk of Misanthrofunk

August 28, 2019

Speculum speculum

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253
 Constellation
August 30, 2019

The following was written roughly a week ago. The unusual parasomnial
occurrences hereinafter described each occurred following my meditations on the
candelabrum.

It’s happened on three separate occasions now. I am waking in a confused

state at the mercy of an immaculate semiosis which has overlayed my bedroom
with a most overwhelming connective pattern. The nature of the overlay allows
me to observe all the various symmetries within my living space as it registers
that my every expression in this life was executed and arranged so purposefully
and with such specificity in its display as to comprise a coherent and all-
encompassing constellation. Yes! Describing it all as a constellation seems most
suitable since so much of how we understand a given constellation stems not
from the stars contained therein but in what is implied through a mythic
superimposition.

It is the weave of my lived existence; an all-affirming composition singing out

in praise of the purpose and providence contained within the finite beats of the
heart. And in my tired eyes I can see the meaningfulness of my every rise and
fall, belief and misconception, hemorrhage and coagulation as it forms a singular
and cohesive whole.

Like an inviolable mandala borne by my everyday thoughts and actions: a

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gateway created with shower mist and bloody coughs; thinning hair and stinging
eyes; hunger pains and hallowed hopes; a thousand victories and losses
occurring beyond the influence and concern of the contiguous world.

This whole—it defies explanation. The ineffable essence of a soul in its

earnest struggle to end the separation. I could go on and on, but I won’t continue
my attempts to draw it down to the level of language. It makes me feel frustrated
and somewhat foolish.

This environment is like Mrtagrha: an arcane complex seen through a mirror

or never yet. Surely all that which I am seeing is outflowing through Mrtagrha that
is in me. I stare until I can no longer bear the stimulation and must close my eyes
to all that is occurring and as I am falling back to sleep a vivid face is seen
depicted within my mind staring back at me.

On three instances now I have carried out similar rituals involving the
candelabrum and in every such instance my sleep was disturbed and I awoke to
this same strange pocket of reality. Note that when I say rituals I am referring not
to anything more complex than lighting the five candles of the candelabrum and
meditating (focus + contemplation) on them with an intense focus as they burn. I
do so shortly before sleep, making it all the more likely that this act is somehow
influencing my sleep pattern, whether via a natural process or otherwise.

The past few nights I’ve caught myself experiencing an unrelated but likewise
confounding parasomnial occurrence resembling sleep paralysis in all aspects
sans its most defining symptom: the paralysis itself. I awake fully to experience a
waking dream but with all motor abilities intact. This morning I awoke to a woman
in my bed who I could not identify. As I opened my eyes, they reached out with
both arms to embrace me and for the next thirty seconds to a minute I laid stilly
within the embrace of an unknowable apparition. It was unlike anything I’ve
experienced in nearly two decades of sleep and consciousness exploration/
experimentation. It’s really as if I am now existing in the crossfade of two
conterminous reality paradigms. The DSM-V would likely have something to say

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about that! Hah. I can no longer be bothered by society’s failure to differentiate
the mystic from the lunatic. It’s not just a distinction in experience but in the
attitude of approach and I really have to wonder if my attitude and analytical
nature is visible to others through all the outré information being shared..? It
doesn’t ensure the infallibility of my deductions but surely it’s gotta count for
something!

There is a certain phenomena to which I am well-accustomed wherein I’ll

occasionally happen upon a sort of “ominous” sight or object, and I realize (“pre-
realize”) the importance thereof, yet I have encountered it in a time before I
contain the skill and perspicacity necessary to apprehend and integrate it. It’s like
the feeling one gets as a young child when gazing at the cover of an arithmetic
far beyond their grade and knowing that this book and all it contains… whatever
that may be… and howsoever inscrutable it may at first seem… will one day
become as part of their worldly concept. It is not simply via intuition that I make
these claims of “pre-realization” as if laying out the stuff of a self-fulfilling
prophecy. When encountering these dormant truths, as it were, The Thummim
will specifically request that I refrain from contemplating or writing about what I
saw, or what I suspect I have seen, so as to circumvent the development of
ignorant associations which may or may not retard the epiphany which is to come
at a later point.

These instances tend to exhilarate. That said, they seldom occur and I’m
unlikely to experience more than one within the frame of a year (if that).
Interestingly enough, I have encountered three in the past month alone. A
frequency without precedent. Though not at all unusual given the pace and focus
with which I am currently working. I just have to wonder what this says of my
pace and if it will somehow present as a problem.

Awawawawa it surely seems that I am just a follicle away from some profound
realization… oh what an annoyance to be so close and still so limited by
cataracts…

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 Still, all that I have come to learn (or otherwise speculate) in recent weeks is
overall positive and reaffirming—albeit growing stranger and ‘less believable’ all
the time. If nothing else, it tells me that I exist where and as who I am purposed
to be. It tells me that all has unfolded in line with the self-same narrative to which
I pledged myself whole and all. It tells me that my sacrifices were not in vain.
These are not soft-boiled self-affirmations stemming from neurotic displeasure
but a most triumphant acknowledgement made based on a most wonderful sum
seen before me. This joy is my allowance after thirty years of pauseless hardship.
On cold tiles and wet carpets I have overcome myself and from voids before me I
have wrested the meaning of my person, achieving all that I must in the time I
was given.

My confidence in the understanding that I hold is inconstant and dependent

on a multitude of variables. It’s as when you wake from a dream and naturally
devalue the symbols encountered through a process of apparently-unavoidable
transliteration… ironically undergone in the attempt to further understanding and
assimilate the deepest affordable meaning.

“It was like a mall? A large weird mall? And possibly a girl, but it wasn’t really a
girl? And she was angry at me for some reason? Was she angry at the light(s)?
Wait… what was all that about the lights?”

And what if all of this is no different! What if this cellar right here and that
centipede over there are all just the hobbling offspring of a weak transliteration!
And it’s not even just a matter of human intellectual limitations. I am after all a
human beast susceptible to an innumerable array of cognitive biases and
fallacies which could easily take me over in a moment of eagerness (and I am
ever aware of/on guard against this much).

But beyond all potential for misconstruction and confusion, I’ve not an inkling
of doubt that I am moving in the right direction with my practice. It is all the solace
to which I am entitled that I may claim to this much and I must only continue my
walk. It is the upside to the Magician’s Frenulum… an upside so rarely

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acknowledged in the face of all the hell and restriction it brings with it.

There was a lot more said in the original post but I’ve elected to split the post
into parts—the rest of which I’ll get to uploading soon.

Let Your Moon Down

August 31, 2019

A couple of previously unreleased tracks from the period of Actress Your

Master/Carnage Near and Far (2010). They’re unfinished, explaining why they
were never released, though I may end up adding them to the finalized version of
Abracadammit. “Let Your Moon Down” forms part of a larger and more
‘progressive’ composition which appears on one of my later experimental albums
under the mononymous (“Tendon”) moniker, albeit in a more polished and
atmospheric form—in which context this particular movement is called “Aspirin
Void”. I haven’t really gotten around to adding further information on that project
so I thought I would mention as much in case it allows others to access the other
version of that track via a somnial state. I have others of the sort as well: snippets
and abandoned material from 2007-2011 that were later worked into the Tendon
project. There are also cases of unexpected ‘mutant’ remakes appearing on
these experimental albums, as in the case of the track “Myxo Spitter” off of The
Vig, which is a wild remake of “Comment on the Planet”, and several on The
Antimilosian, like “The Call That Calls For Response”, “Archangelica” (remake of
“Armageddon Again and Again”) and “Temples Unearth Themselves”. So I’ll
probably be posting more unreleased material over the coming week.

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 843384563463
August 31, 2019

My imagination, I would say, is sufficiently good, and yet in all my efforts I

have not been able to imagine a lonelier existence than the one I have known.
What is....

Mrtagrha in the Mirror

August 31, 2019

Here we have a large, 18” x 24” black mirror. Useful? I don’t know. Beautiful?
Most assuredly!

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 Sometime during the summer of 2018 I recognized that, if angled with exact
precision, I could discern the sight of Mrtagrha within one of my bedroom mirrors.
The sight appears like the upper portion of a multistory building, resembling an
apartment. The evening sky is visible and no light shines through the window.
However, if focus is maintained while transitioning into a hypnagogic/sleeping
state, it is not uncommon that I will see the light flicker on in the window (I
mentioned this in the write-up on Mrtagrha and Parashurna). That being said, I’ve
long wanted to experiment further with mirrors/mirror images in an effort to
increase my understanding of the Mrtagrha, especially after those strange
parasomnial occurrences described in yesterday’s post. And even if all that I am
being shown in the mirror is the mirror image of mine own mundane bedroom, I
can’t help but wonder if something about the layout of my room is... well, I’m
thinking that a “hidden answer” of sorts may lie in the patterns of my everyday
mundane actions and environment, as if I’ve unconsciously recreated a familiar
scene locked away in my unconscious memories and that by altering the
orientation through which I perceive my everyday environment—whether through
mirroring, distortion or otherwise—that I will gain insight into the Mrtagrha and/or
Parashurna. And the fact of it being black... I don’t know that that will make a
difference, and I really don’t see how it would, apart from creating distortions. In
the case that it is not familiar to you, a black mirror as such is traditionally
associated with the art of scrying, although smaller, handheld mirrors seem to be
the standard within that context. I personally have no belief and/or interest in the
legitimacy of divinatory practices such as ouija, scrying, tarot, dezinezinet
(although I have openly used tarot in the past for psychological/perspective
purposes). To me it’s all just a catalyst to regenerate unconscious insights and
this will be my first time working with anything of the sort.

September, Again
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 September 1, 2019

I’m not thrilled to have entered into another September. After ten years, a
sense of panick still overtakes me at this time of year due to accumulated
associations and to me it signals the start of a four-month chronicle of sunless
survival horror. It likely sounds hyperbolic if you are yet to read my preliminary
autobiographical sketches, but it truly does terrify me (it might even be the only
thing in this world to actually terrify me in this way) and I must put forth great
efforts to avoid creating for some self-fulfilling prophecies. Moreover, it was
precisely ten years ago that my throat problems became so significant, so
inescapable as to upturn my life and usher in the so-called “Winternecine”
(traditionally September to Decumbere of 2009, or from Man Made Clavos to Bot
of Big God/The Rifles in Mind Recoil). In other words, I’ve spent exactly one third
of this existence in an enduring choke/asthma attack without remittance.
Part of what makes it so unbearable is the temperature and I regularly must
avoid going outdoors in the cold weather since it tends to exasperate my throat
illness and therefore I end up virtually cut off from the sun between October and
January. So if I appear to be reacting as if the walls are closing in on me... that’s
just it. In nearly every instance there will also come some type of cataclysmic
event affecting my health which effectively ends up undoing all the progress and
developments created January through August. The circumstances are always
different but something always gets into my blind spot. The “cataclysm” almost
always occurs in the month of Decumbere but has one or twice occurred in Oct/
Nov. September is therefore most commonly spent developing desperate
contingencies and fattening myself up for the coming temperature change, as it
were. It sounds like neurotic superstition, I take it, but like I already explained, it
is my mind reacting to accumulated associations created by historical traumatic
events and I can’t pretend that my outlook is not growing overcast (on top of an
already deeply despondent state against which I’ve been grappling since July).
In these ten years, I’ve been able to come out on top in three instances
without taking significant damage (2014, 2016, 2018, though that last one is iffy,
since I took huge damage but the derealization cushioned my fall). The three
years referred to as being exceptional were years in which I found ways to

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circumvent the cold. In 2014, I had a rigorous exercise routine + Dean’s “winter
demon” black metal mindset. In 2016 I had Texas’ glorious 60 degree winter
weather.

Anyway, I’m not meaning to be so negative and I do apologize for that, if to

myself. I’m just upset that my life wasn’t in a different, more stable place at this
time, especially considering all the tremendous efforts I put into becoming more
social this past year.

Dirgha Svapna
September 2, 2019

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 Private Bandcamp
September 3, 2019

I’ve created a separate bandcamp page at leviyey.bandcamp.com where I will

be keeping the unreleased and rare materials. I figured this was a better way of
doing it. It also ensures that the tracks don’t disappear into oblivion when my blog
is taken offline. These are NOT official releases and, once again, I will eventually
be adding some of these tracks to the neuterocanonical collections. I would just
like to do a little editing/final mixing before doing so since these are wholly raw
and in many cases wanting, which is why I’ve stored them here for now. Some of
the jokey (and sometimes cringeworthy) side projects were also added, i.e.,
Mascherari, Taurus and a Leo, and that metal EP from 2006.
Again, I can only recommend these materials to those who are already well-
versed in my work and life story. In time my sentimentality has overtaken all
sense of shame and my discernment has notably ‘suffered’ in the sense that I no
longer contain a strong sense of what should and shouldn’t be kept privately to
myself (in regards to my art and music) so it may appear that my quality
standards are lessening all the time, hah! Ten years ago I had my own reasons
for never wishing to release the tracks that would later come to be featured on
the neuterocanonical collections, be it due to embarrassment or general
disapproval, and works like Northern Thorns were NEVER supposed to see the
light of say, but because of the circumstances surrounding my so-called “musical
career” it overwhelms me with joy (and endorphins!) to be hearing old, forgotten
works and it no longer seems to matter that they’re out of tune and manic as all
hell. I’ve known no greater ecstasy in this lifetime...! Oh it’s difficult to even
imagine that I’m living the same lifetime.
Anyway, I’ll also be adding to this every so often, seeing as I’ve literally
thousands of unfinished tracks/snippets lying around (the quality of which varies
enormously from one to the next). Going to take a break from it for a while

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though since it’s quickly becoming a distraction to my mystic pursuits. So these
are just the tracks that were already mixed and available on my hard drive and
do not include my 8-track archives, which my physical disability and/or Frenulum
prevents me from tackling at this time.

Restoration of Focus
September 5, 2019

Early yesterday morning I was admonished for my apparent lack of focus (I

was more or less said to be exhibiting “desperate intensity with a lack of focus
and an increased tangentiality). It’s clear that I have been going off on all these
little metaphysical bypaths in recent weeks, undoubtedly captivated by the
mysterious Mrtagrha. While these mysteries are both valid and relevant to my
life, it is so that all riddles and mysteries are secondary to Idem and will become
clear to me “indirectly” through tending to my main overlying objective which is
Idempotence. This is all understandable, and I have since corrected my course.
The most wonderful news I bring to you is that since restoring my focus on
Idem and the Foremost Hypostasis I have suddenly come upon a remarkable
realization while at the same time making sense of several seemingly unrelated
puzzles in the process. I will have a lengthy post coming in the next few days in
which I provide my updated understanding on the Idem Triunity and the
implications of Idempotence. That is my intention. And if something should occur
in the meantime and I am never heard from again, know that the telos has been
realized and three have become one ousia. This applies to all times and not just
now. I am steadily approaching a milestone, a new plateau, in my understanding
and I can’t possibly know what will change as a result.

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 On the topic of more mundane matters I’ve discovered the likelihood that I
am suffering from severe hypothyroidism due largely to my diet. Not only is my
diet UTTERLY lacking in Iodine but I consume Goitrogens by the fistful. I’ll be
attempting to correct this over the coming days and weeks and will post any
significant findings/effects. It’s a possibility that this could relate to the nerve
problem in my hands/arms which I’ve basically been suffering from ever since I
switched from vegetarian to vegan and stopped eating my daily yoghurt (a
significant source of iodine). It could also account for the sudden appearance of
food allergies which cropped up suddenly in 2017 in line with a swelling below
the (dextral) Digastric triangle of the neck which has never gone away. Currently
I’m suffering from inflammation in the area below my larynx and severe
peripheral neuropathy and they seem to be exasperated by kale and Kratom in
particular. how much more obvious does it need to be..!

He Has No Claim On Me
September 8, 2019

“You heard me say to you, ‘I am going away, and I will come to you.’ If you
loved me, you would have rejoiced, because I am going to the Father, for the
Father is greater than I. And now I have told you before it takes place, so that
when it does take place you may believe. I will no longer talk much with you, for
the ruler of this world is coming. He has no claim on me, but I do as the Father
has commanded me, so that the world may know that I love the Father. Rise, let
us go from here.”

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 Ssiisisisis
September 10, 2019

I’ve oscillated back and forth on how to proceed in the wake of recent
revelatory insights regarding the metaphysical constitution of reality as I know it
—ideas of the sort that you’re likelier to find in the science fiction (or
Schizophrenia) section. As it stands, I expect to be posting a lengthy new update
within the week on the topic of these recent insights and thereafter I expect to
take a hiatus of undetermined length in an effort to decrease distractions in my
life. On a more mundane note—I’ve been playing around with my blender and
have discovered my new favorite drink: oatmeal.

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 Per Somnium Vitae
September 12, 2019

After writing out a post in excess of a hundred pages, I don’t know that I can
bring myself to sharing what I’ve discovered, after all. I’m engaged in a bit of an
ontological struggle at the moment and it may be in my interest to simmer for a
while without pressuring myself to put everything into writing, especially before
the information has had a chance to sink in. The puzzle of my days has taken an
unexpectedly disturbing turn, which isn’t to call its characteristics negative, per
se, but surely it is exhausting to constantly have your understanding of reality
and the senses razed to the ground. I hardly even know what any of this is
anymore. I was just a boy in want of a family. How many more dimensions must I
upturn to find that which is inviolable and true. How long until my silence is heard
by the Archetype of Whole Mercy. Maybe I’ll feel differently after I’ve had time to
process it further. I expect as much. I do. There’s always an apple to peel. I’m
just exhausted beyond all measure. I am being eaten up by a life of trauma and
the conditions within which I am living are unconducive to healing. This may not
seem out of the ordinary, given my life circumstances, but I’ve become so
suddenly aware of how it has affected my ability to concentrate, to close my
eyes, to dream, and I am so unbearably displeased by this realization.
Apart from all that.. I wanted to comment that an additional sixty or so tracks
have been added to the ‘Unreleased’ bandcamp collection since I first shared the
collection a week ago. These recordings may now belong to the distant past, but
I find that I can still speak through them, in the sense of achieving catharsis. My
way of expressing my suffering and uncertainty and desire may have seen
significant changes in time, becoming more equanimous and.. well, self-

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conscious... and I would never allow myself to flop around as I did back then, so
visible in my struggle, but the emotions that are experienced.. they more or less
remain the same regardless of how they are interpreted and expressed.
It’s been a joy, though, to happen upon all of these long-discarded tracks. It’s
like magic to me, as if my 8-track harddrive is some self-replenishing bag, where
no matter how many times I reach my hand down into its depths, I always end up
pulling out dozens of songs and snippets, some of which were overlooked, some
utterly forgotten.
“Crypta”, “My Name Is Lesion (Alt.Version)” and “Diavolo Longlegs” are from
early 2007 in a time before my Tendon Levey project had even begun. “Julia
Dream” is even earlier... from 2006.
“Deva Flesher” and “Sorriest Hell” are outtakes from Overeating Tombs
(2008).
“Goon Grin”, “Mistakes”, “All Seals Destroyed” and “Defend the Sanctum” are
outtakes from Quicksand Part Person (2009).

“Gored with a Tail”, “Serious Dear” and “Head Count” are outtakes from
Nightly Market (2009).
“Through Gates of Horn (Long Version)” and “Archetype Stalker” are from the
Candlelike sessions (2009).
There are also a few instrumental versions from 2009, such as “Moulting Fly”,
“I Looked at Evil Guest List”, “Martyr-Go-Round” and “Willow Dome”.
“Folklorist”, “Black Ganache”, “Everybody Forgets”, “It’s My Business”,
“Psychoseismic”, “Anita, Traffic Cop”, “Falling Rock Zone”, “Take A Walk” and
“Something that is Formed” are from the first half of 2010.
“Grvgndvaw”, “Who Would You Stop it For”, “Come Inside”, “Love Suffers
Long”, “Inflammation”, “The Route of Escape”, “I Cut My Flesh on Earth”, “To
Know You”, “Highest Point in Hell”, “The Rod, the Robe”, “Shadowlocked”, “Suffer
the Afternoon”, “Indigo Milk” and “The Roots Still Reach” are from the latter half
of 2010.
“Bladeplay”, “Constellate”, “Shot Quiver”, “Destrudo”, “The Price of Christ” and
“QHS” are from 2011. “Kingdom Coma (Vocals)” as well.
This vocal track for Kingdom Coma differs slightly from the album version.

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This is the unedited version. The verse in the final file was somewhat scrambled
—the same technique that I used in “Mortals in Love”. This vocal track perfectly
showcases the style of vocals I was using towards the end of my run... sounding
very much like reversed audio. No effects or reversals were used on these
whatsoever and I’m rather proud of that. I’ve been asked by several individuals
about what vocal effects I use... and I kind of figured it was well understood by
now that I never used any vocal effects in 99.9% of my work (and when they are
used it’s always very obvious, or should be). That includes reversals. I was
experimenting with all sorts of unusual techniques in the final few months,
including singing with my mouth completely closed.
I did a partial cover of “It Would Have Been Wonderful” for my own
amusement. I’ve not seen the play or film from which it originates (A Little Night
Music) so I really lack all understanding of the context. I heard it playing over the
opera station while I was in the shower and I wanted to have a go at the
theatrical style of performance; but in the end I just wound up sounding like a
Disney villain and discarding the track. It’s pretty hilarious to me now, though, if a
little cringeworthy.
There’s also an old (2006) cover of Pink Floyd’s “Julia Dream”. The
instrumentation itself is well-done but the vocals are wanting. This was long
before my voice changed, after all. I also sang it with a sort of mock British
accent and that just ruins it further. In any case, it’s a piece of my history as all
the others.

Qhemins
September 12, 2019

A bed which vanishes and reappears

The maze begins here

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 The Tent
September 13, 2019

Ages fourteen through sixteen, during the initial and most focused phase of
my Hypnognostic experimentation (very sad to be saying that), I was doing daily
exercises of a highly visual sort. One of the most notable exercises.... was my
search for EOL-FIRMAMENTAL, represented by a beautiful and verdurous
hillside, and at its crest was a long white fence. It was low enough that I could
easily climb on over. As I made my way up that hillside each day I would continue
the process of rendering my senses, working through shapes and colors and
whatever else so that by the time I had reached the fence I would be

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experiencing the scene through all of my senses and could then embark on an
exploration of space. I must have done this near to a thousand times, no
exaggeration, and in each instance it began in precisely the same manner, with
my ascending the hillside and crossing over that fence. Nearly all who knew me
in this period of my life will remember how I spoke about this sight.. this location.
On only one of these instances did it differ in any significant way and I’ll never
forget what I saw. The verdure was gone with the light. The sky was of a dark,
reddish hue and at the crest of the hill stood three ominous crosses towering
high. It wasn’t a warming sight. Something was wrong. It felt like the same
substance from which my Candelabrum vision arose. What was happening? It
felt as though my mind had been hijacked and I had been drawn unwillingly into a
snare, or a nightmare. This was long before I had ever deduced Selfness (in both
personal and transpersonal dimensions) to be a tripartite concept comparable to
the biblical Trinity.
Suddenly, and without transition, I appeared within what seemed a tent lit by
candlelight and before me sat a mystic bent over a low table who appeared to be
conducting some sort of intense ritual. I was about to describe him, believing it
was a creepy and intimidating man, but now that I try to describe him I note the
similarities in his appearance and my own (bald, gaunt, facial hair though not a
full beard). I was alarmed, not only by the sight but by the incredible amount of
detail in all that I was seeing—especially the face of the man sitting before me, of
whom every insignificant pore and blemish could be seen. He was so wrapped
up in ritual that he didn’t seem to notice me. I was fascinated but also afraid.
That’s when I felt something ascending the nape of my neck. A zapping, electrical
sensation accompanied by buzzing sounds, not so unlike when an electric razor
is shaving around the ears. But it felt more like insects climbing through my ears
and clinging to my skin. I imagined they were bees, although I never did see
them. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, and I felt them overtaking me like
electrical probes.
Just then I could see that the mystic was now slowly lifting his head to look at
me. This frightened me and I threw my body off the bed so as to break free from
the trance before our eyes could meet. His identity was never confirmed.
I hadn’t realized that this wasn’t posted in my biography. Actually, it seems I

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neglected to post a lot of my experiences from around that time, such as stories
relating to the lore of EOL-FIRMAMENTAL. And also Mora (“Jeiezza”) and our
first year together. I may have excluded them out of fear of them seeming
unbelievably strange. That’s a shame, being that it was the most incredible
period of my life. In many ways I am returning to that state: a state wherein all
matter is subsidiary to my inner vision. It will be called insanity by one who does
not understand my intent (or my merit). If that’s how they should know me then
let it be. Their views... their interpretation of me was decided before I was even
given life and is based upon an impersonal precedent... an undiscerning
stringency in our means of determining truth from falsity. They’ve already
determined whether I am to be seen as an adventurer or an escapist, a saintly
character or a self-important psycho, a speaker of truths or a bastion of phantasy.
They’ll judge me without knowing me. Their judgment is formed even now and
reflects not my claims and experiences but their own. So why should I contort
myself further, distorting the trends of my woeful (wowful) gnosis. Self-
consciousness is not the curse. That which threatens to tear me from myself and
from my progress is Social-consciousness. That’s about as useless to me now as
a plate and fork and a condom and a credit statement.

The Trove
September 13, 2019

Also within the same time frame as that which was discussed in my previous
post…

It was 2005, and I was new to the occult sciences/parasciences. My computer

lacked an internet connection. It was a dinosaur even back then that couldn’t
handle so much as a basic media player. It was essentially just wordpad and MS

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paint but I was content in simply having access to wordpad and a selection of
pre-installed “trippy” wallpapers. Late at night after everyone in the house had
gone to sleep I would sneak into the lower level where the main computer was
kept, sitting in darkness.. we had a dial-up connection at the time and so I would
have to smother the sounds made by the modem with a bunch of blankets and
pillows while nervous pressing my body against the computer tower until it
stopped. That was always a stressful minute of time for me, hah. These
excursions, on the whole, were quite stressful, feeling as military operations.
Once online I would run a few quick searches for images, which I would save to a
floppy disk.. and it only held a megabyte from what I recall so once it was filled
(pretty quickly) I would have to call it night, disconnect the dialup connection and
sneak back upstairs. My parents didn’t allow me to have pictures apart from
personal photographs so I had to set the files to Hidden and conceal them within
a labyrinth of misleading and misnamed file folders… but it felt like treasure.. very
similarly to the box of CDs hidden beneath my bed.. within a shoebox, covered in
a facade of papers and held in a secret compartment beneath my bed accessible
only if you knew to remove the drawers within the bed frame. I was looking
through my old hard drive last night. The hard drive contained over 1,300 files
and here’s the best part.. it was all under 40 mb in total. I guess that’s my version
of “the good old days”. About 1,000 of those files were “poems” (mind the
quotation marks) and the rest were tablature (is Powertab still a thing?) and
random images collected during my nighttime excursions. Here’s a sample of the
photos from my ‘collection’. No copyright infringement intended.. these have
been on my computer for fifteen years and, as such, I can not remember from
where I got them. A lot of it just looks like basic images found when searching
keywords relating to OoBE or from hokey geocities fortune teller enterprises. I
miss the magic of these now-seemingly-insignificant matters.. such as sitting in
the dark staring at seemingly purposeless photographs for hours.. days.. risking
punishment. It was a reflection of my mind at the time. All the world was
wondrous and potent and NEW. I had a million options and this was the one I
chose (I say that.. although I’ve been leaning more and more towards a sort of
Determinism over time..). I wish to see life through those eyes again. And not
only do I believe that I can.. I believe that I will, before the end.

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 Oh no not the
September 13, 2019

Downloaded a certain Noise app to help me with my focus..I don’t know if it’s
the app or the massive amounts of Magnesium I just infested but Its got me

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feeling a bit like a squid in a candy store and I forgot my wallet but that’s okay
because I know the owner and we’ve got an arrangement and the sad news is
that he doesn’t observe our arrangement when the other employees are working,
especially Lynn, because he doesn’t want to set a new standard for exceptions
but the good news is that Lynn isn’t working today and I’m So hungry I could just
forget my name and blame it on the Korean family parked out back.
Now the question is whether or not I should go leave a five star review for the
app with this as my review. I haven’t even gotten to the binaural brats yet.. I’m
still playing with the bees and the rain. I’m apparently sensitive. First time a girl
Ever touched me I died and went to geometry.

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 Flutes in Flight: A Summertime
Spectacle
September 13, 2019

Fifteen bucks an hour for anyone who will come over and play the flute for me
until the rain stops. We’ll be sitting outside in an enclosed deck area so be sure
to dress appropriately. I’ve got extra hats. (I’ve got wigs)

Only My Pride...
September 13, 2019

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 This time around I feel like a hot sauce gladiator looking for love in a world
renown laundromat. What keeps me from picking up that nickel, barely visible
through the machines.... only my pride.. only my pride...

All’s Well That Ends in Nausea...

September 13, 2019

h t t p s : / / l e v i y e y. c o m / w p - c o n t e n t / u p l o a d s / 2 0 1 9 / 0 9 / v i d e o l e a p -
df05c121-3cb1-4dfd-8481-e4a114b8 9132.mov

(Link is broken but it was a few-second video of me walking by a mirror

holding a dog and wearing an oatmeal box on my head)

In Essentia
September 17, 2019

Apart from having a silly old time with these sound generators, I’ve lately
managed to adjust to and refine my understanding of the insights of which I
spoke in a previous post and I’ve decided that I would say a little bit on the
matter. In an attempt to turn the insanity down a notch I have reframed it so as to
speak less of my personal experiences. How it relates to my individual narrative
will be shared in due time, if it is not already self-evident. I won’t be pumping out
a solid thesis just yet but I would like to tease a postulate or two. (My

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condolences if it’s as scattered and disorganized as I take it to be…).

I have come to believe, by way of recent insights, that the ‘reality’ within which
we live is not a physical realm awaiting carriage into the immaterial, or spiritual,
but an essential, protophysical realm awaiting carriage into the physical.

Whereas the majority of religions and philosophies (that I know of—which isn’t
saying much) approach the concept of essence and/or soul as being some innate
quality of our existence, unable to be fully grasped at and created via a set of
mysterious and unknowable circumstances, I reject the notion that it is created
both before and outside of our conscious willing action and posit that we currently
exist within a sort of uterine realm in which we are being tried for our ability to
generate meaning within a catastrophic and ever-shifting, ever-perishing
environment. I posit that we are uncreated beings—in the sense that our logic
dictates.

I therefore believe in the existence of two unique strata of Awareness: the first
being a stratum (substrate) of essence, or ‘soul’, whereon individual properties
and meaning is formed through acts of Will and interactions with a catalytic
environment, and a stratum of substance, or matter, into which select essentia is
migrated upon a sufficient state of self-creation.

The concept is hardly as unusual as it may first seem and with a slight
semantic reorientation I expect that any confusion will resolve itself. It’s all in the
way that things are framed and defined. Still, all that which is presented in this
distinction is life-altering. What I am saying will make a lot more sense if you are
aware of my outstanding views on symbolic existence.

Take a twirl, look around you, acknowledging the sphere on which you stand.
All is engaged in a hunt for meaning. In this life there (apparently) exists billions
of opinions on what that does and doesn’t entail, and many of them cocksure, but
there lies one common thread: that the search, itself, is connatural to us all.

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 In my years of toiling I’ve come to find that the question itself is almost always
the answer. If not literally being so, then it’s all in how the problem is laid out. A
carefully constructed question knows the ability to resolve itself.

Our understanding is fashioned in such a way as to depict us as a created

species having already achieved a most basic worth and set of properties… and
what if all we took to be Actuality was in fact a clue, an insight, and that we must
work BACKWARDS. I won’t elaborate on that point just yet, but if you can
actually understand what I’m saying despite my failure to deliver… it’s very, very
curious.

I have a lot of comments to make about the layout and underlying composition
of the Known world and how it fits (rather ingeniously) with these insights. It’s
mostly conjectural and I won’t attempt to disguise that fact. Still, I’ve some very
curious points to present and I don’t doubt that they will captivate.

However, in order to truly grasp at the concepts being proposed (and those I
am yet to propose) one may have to reconsider the structure and relevancy of
the core ontological concepts on which our very assurance is established,
perhaps falsely. All this will be covered in a follow-up text, as with a note of all the
minor semantical zits interfering with my delivery. It’s hard to approach the topic
with a clean slate of understanding and this may end up affecting my take on its
relationship to the Known. Though whether—for example— it’s to be termed a
state of preincarnation or the first of two planes, it doesn’t bear much of an effect
on the point that I am making insofar as my definitions are clearly understood
(which… they probably aren’t).

As a theory it truly seems to tie everything together—at least from my

perspective. It leaves me without questions, without complaints and with hope for
a meaningful (AND INTELLIGENTLY-DESIGNED) outcome to an existence of
suffering.

A process of holistic reconciliation has begun within my surroundings, within

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me. It is beautiful—most magnificent. And if all that I have been shown is
revealed to be true, I shall dispense with my woeful tone and admire the pen that
cut me down, for this that has been done to us all has been done in honor of our
Capacity.

To clarify:

Essence is the basis of Consciousness.

Consciousness is the animal brain and accounts for all the basics of our
survival. Electricity, coherency, call it what you might.

Spirit is the basis of Awareness.

Awareness is required for the development of Meaning and (arguably) the

ability to transcend the essential constitution. (These definitions really can’t
account for the whole spectrum of what I wish to describe so I’ll be tailoring my
terms and definitions as I go on. )

In all corners of the globe can be found Consciousness in the absence of

Awareness, for that is the standard of being.

The conjunctive force of Essence and Spirit is called Meaning. Meaning is the
bloom of Essence which is delivered unto Matter upon the achievement of the
threefold union and the event of self-creation.

It’s beautiful, so beautiful: the invisible arch!

Notice that Essence in itself is not tantamount to Meaning and in my

understanding may not achieve a connection to Matter on its own strength (I
speak of Matter as that which belongs to the hypothesized Stratum of
Substance). It would be more appropriate to see Essence as a seed, whereas
Meaning is the prospective bloom. As a seed, it requires water, which I equate

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with Spirit. I define Spirit, in this case, as a sort of Uncreated Awareness that is
Reality itself.

Spirit constitutes our connection to higher reality, as it were, and until such a
connection is generated, our consciousness serves no more than our immediate
bodies and day-to-day needs, and the concept of meaning is substituted with by
base chemical responses.

That may very well be the most practical means of defining Spirit, without
invoking all the tired tropes of religion and fantasy fiction; and from what I can tell
this falls perfectly in line with its usage throughout the centuries and across
various institutions—not that consistency is utterly necessary in my case, seeing
as I am not beholden to any one creed or institution in particular, though it
certainly helps my case (and the establishment of cohesive definitions).

And what is it to invoke Spirit, in the present context? It is formless and

Uncreated Reality granted to us only once we have renounced our attachment to
the form it takes and the truth it brings. You ain’t getting a hot Caucasian Christ or
an acceptably-gruesome goetic slave. A gumball machine doesn’t fucking work
that way, so for what reason should existence and the universe be expected to
suit your unsuited desiderata.

Without the Self-Awareness that is bestowed in the union of Essence and

Spirit, no Meaning can be created and unsatisfying makeshifts will be sought out
from within the environment (spurious, externally-dependent “Meaning” as
attained via “occupation”, “possessions”, “relationships” and “dogma”).

I spoke recently of strange constellative overlays occurring during a state of

confusional arousal in conjunction with my meditations on the Candelabrum.
Through these experiences I have arrived at a profound understanding of my
living constitution—the who and what of my being.

I personally place no stock in astrology but since I fall within the Taurus camp

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(April 21) I’ll use that as an example. Both of the following images display the
cluster of stars associated with said constellation. A fine example showcasing the
distinction between (Uncreated) Essence and (Created) Meaning.

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 All shape and delineation is Created. The acts, attitudes, interactions and
incidence comprise the Essence as such that I am. I am thus not simply a man
taking part in existence but the existence as a whole, encompassing all action
occurring within the sphere that is Spirit, and Choir Korneli Leviyey is a
mythopoetic imposition rendered thereupon. The embodied being is a construct
delivered in part by… oh, I’ve yet to touch on that one.

The abovegiven breakdown also illustrates just how drastic were the

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paradigmatic changes occurring in the transition from Ardhachandra (fourfold
priest) to Ism (fivefold priest).

If indeed there exists a higher realm of Substance then what would be the
means by which admittance is gained thereto? The ability to create meaning
which, by extension results in self-creation and mirrors the all-creative archetype
of God himself. That being said, there may be a surprise, a happy meal toy,
waiting in all of this for those who are capable of approaching “God” as a concept
and from various semiotic angles. At this point I’m pretty intrigued by the idea that
we are uncreated beings and that God is but a tool which is the Creative
Principle by which means we create ourselves.

Can you imagine! A worthy reverie, yes? Well if there is truth to the idea that
we are existing in a uterine realm as such that I have posited then it seems only
sensible that that would be its outcome (by which I am referring to the means of
essential migration).

I may be quite set in my understanding of what constitutes Worth at this point

in the game, but in all my efforts to imagine a community more worthy, more
qualified of moving forward, as it were, into a higher state of existence, I can not
seem to devise of a more beautiful cast than all those of whom I speak.

Oh imagine the beauty of such a plane. Self-awareness as the rule!

Equanimity, too! Empathy in every meeting of eyes! The beauty of the ever-active
Creative Principle which is God-in-man! Like an unarrogant pantheon of fortified
flesh.

It seems absolutely fair and reasonable that if this Existence has been
constructed with purpose and intelligence that this should be its outcome. Within
a sphere of being that is set up to demoralize, oppose and destroy our most
fundamental itness, there can be no other justification. Of course it may appear
foolhardy to assume that the outcome must be rational, and especially so in
harmony with my own line of reasoning, but I’m leaning more in favor of a

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sensible outcome all the time since spring 2018 as a result of my integration with
Thummim and the mystical knowledge to which I’ve been shown. Logically
indefensible, you bet! The whole of science is pretty much a sinking ship for me
at this point anyway and I ain’t even going to pretend to feel otherwise. “Keep up
the good works, boys” and all that stuff, but it’s simply not relevant to what I am
after. I’ll hold onto my discerning sense until the end of me, but I am beholden to
none but the rasp of my daimon. If you haven’t already noticed as much about
me then I must imagine you’re about to.

These ideas that I posit are not so wildly novel and/or unheard of. At least I
don’t imagine so. The notion that ‘the meaning of life is to create meaning’ is not
a new concept, although its associations with Existentialism—a philosophy which
denies the inherency of essence—tends to subvert the epiphany that might
otherwise be reached through such an idea. After all, what would be the point of
creating a point if there really is no point to begin with? A slightly more
sophisticated take on ‘YOLO’ is all. That’s not a crack at Existentialist philosophy.
Given all I’ve had to say in this text, it’s safe to say they’ve hit closer to the center
of the dartboard than most any other institution and I would very likely count
myself a pure Existentialist were it not for my mystical entanglements with
essence and semiotica. That being said, it even seems that these insights
somehow manage to bridge essentialism with existentialism, if such is at all
possible without causing for an utter collapse… don’t ask me, I’m just a pretty
green gemstone.

While I have shared more than was my original intent, I’ve only begun to wet
my toes. There is so much to be gone over and I like to save the boldest for last.
The implications of these insights are all-potent, yet the fact that this theory
nullifies or otherwise neglects to account for a lot of soteriological mainstays
means that I won’t be receiving the popularity vote of this fearful, tit-sipping
species. Even were that so, I will be back to expound on these concepts in due
time. It may be a while before I get to posting any sort of follow-up, though, and
so I urge you to explore these concepts on your own time, if only for five minutes,
three-hundred seconds, by imagining what would it mean for you if were it true.

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 In my follow-up I will start on my attempts to quantify the Meaning to which is
referred in my conjecture: a Meaning independent of externally-dependent
objects and interactions. (My shoulders are already beginning to tense up at
considering the weight of this task…) Ideally, I would like to finish up my
manifesto—the tentatively-titled ‘Clyssus of Man’—on which I began work over
the summertime. I don’t know that it will ever see completion but I’ll keep my log
up to date with any significant progress. It’s always an uncomfortable experience
for me to be sharing my understanding as I am so aware of my own ignorance,
and even when it comes to conveying concepts and insights presented to me by
Thummim, I simply don’t trust my ability to relay them. It keeps me humble,
though, and I wouldn’t trade my humility for anything at all.

…and as much as I would want to share my understanding with my

environment, my priorities lie elsewhere at this time. The primary aim of my days
lies in the achievement of unisonance within the Idem Triunity, and these recent
insights, coupled with other ongoing metaphysical developments, have truly set
me in motion.

The Idem, my Idem! The harmonization of Sulphur, Mercury and Salt from
which results a man of irreducible semantics! Our winter comes forward,
foreseen by all! Our heels lift off, acknowledged only by the earth.

The mosaic of my years has suddenly popped with life, revealing a most
stunning image beyond description. I must now act on what I know to be the truth
of my actuality and banish the illusion and all distractions that abound. THIS IS
THE DREAM AND THUS IS ITS BLOOD.

One by one the questions find resolution.

Two by two the tears fall in response thereto.

Three by three my essential cells migrate, like locusts, to their redress.

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 I’ve really begun to entertain the thought that this story might end kindly and in
the absence of a bursting medulla.

Edit: though I can see what I was getting at with a lot of this, the conclusions
reached in this post (or some of them) are now considered wrong. I don’t doubt
having been shown some wonderful insight, but it just doesn’t seem like I’m
capable of actually grasping what exactly it means. I’m also staring at those
pictures of the constellation and I really can’t tell if they’re the same star cluster
after all...

Greeha
September 16, 2019

What a strange experience I had this past night. I awoke in the middle of the
night within a confused state surrounded by cognitive ejecta. I sought to analyze
their contents and all that I managed to write down at the time was:
“Twisted wrecks all around me which are calling out the word “Greeha”. They
are partial understandings, beliefs, languages and dreams disacknowledged by
the worst of us.”
I must have laid there for roughly an hour in an altered state, concerned by
the thought of losing the ability to perceive the ongoing mysteries. But I was
sure.. positively so.. that whether my perception of these things remained or
evaporated.. these properties, the ejecta, would continue to exist as they did in
this instant, just as they always had.
I didn’t make the connection at the time—not until later on this afternoon—but
“greeha” means “home” or “house” in Sanskrit and is the same as you will find in
Mrtagrha, or Mrita-griha (mreeta-greeha). That brings me to speculate that these

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“twisted wrecks” that I did see in midnight were the stuff from which is formed
Everycarcass, and that, without ever leaving my bed, I have entered into the
House of the Dead which is Mrtagrha, gateway to Idem and higher Substance.
The description sounds right on the mark as a reference to Everycarcass and
the recycling process for which Parashurna is known. I did undertake an
extended meditative ritual before bed, similar to but distinct from that which was
carried out some weeks ago to which I associated the provocative ‘constellative
overlay’. I will experiment further and report back with any notable findings.
IS THIS NOT BETTER THAN CHRISTMAS?

Meaninglessness
September 17, 2019

I do not believe in nonexistence. I believe that Essential entities are allowed to

exist within a state of literal Meaninglessness in which they are devoid of
trajectory and higher fulfillment. However, I subscribe to the notion that that which
is created can not be uncreated, or destroyed. The formula put forward as the
Law of Conservation of Energy seems to be, for the most part, appropriately
aligned with my understanding of these matters. Should I assume the earth to
actually be inhabited by close to eight billion individuals, and should I assume
that all or most of said individuals are of a similar (Essential) constitution, then it
may be presumed that, for many, Meaningless will be an everlasting affair. And
you thought an eternity of fire to be dramatic?
This has been a paid advertisement by The Mystical Order of Essentia. The
Mystical Order of Essentia meets every Saturday at 6 PM and will be kicking off
each service with a hymn of worship which may or may not be Bathory’s “The
Lake”.
(Just so we’re clear: I don’t claim to have all the answers. I’m just running with

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the foundational insights presented to me in recent weeks and all that which
relates to an afterlife and/or essential migration is unapologetically conjectural. I
believe there to be merit to and/or potential in a lot of what I am saying but
guesswork is after-all still guesswork.)

Spiritus
September 17, 2019

In a previous post I attempted to give basic definitions for my concept of Spirit.

They are incomplete and must be fashioned naturally over time by unfolding
insights and observations. I only ask that you do not confuse my usage for that of
modern popular usage. All that of which I speak is original research and
standardly finds little or no basis in externally available sources. The definitions
of which I make use are either obtained through personal understanding or via
Thummim.
To restate my understanding: Spirit is firstly and foremostly the substance
which connects the personal with the transpersonal and the Known with the
Unknown. Spirit itself is therefore neither personal nor transpersonal, Known nor
Unknown but an uncreated mediating agent with ties to all and none.
Spirit does, however, share in the essence or ousia of the Self despite its
transcendence of personal dimensions.
The three principal components ascribed to the concept of Spirit are
Substance, Scope (‘Reality’) and Connectivity. These three things belong only to
Reformed Essence (Essence aware of itself) and are not found otherwise. All of
these must be taken into the self-concept and made Whole therewith.
And by doing so:
Substance dissolves nescience

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 Connectivity dissolves space
Scope dissolves property
It is from these impositions that our reality and self-concept is built and
defined.
When I refer to Meaning (capitalized M) I am referring solely to that which is
created in independence of the physical, the emotional and the intellectual.
Meaning as such is incapable of being contained within and expressed by
language and says nothing of what one values, believes or should approve as
relevant.
Since we must generate Meaning of our own Will and because Meaning can
not be created without the accompanying Awareness which is Spirit, I wonder
about our ability to perceive and qualify an environment as such of which we are
a part, resembling a mass of physicality and unrealization.
I had come up with a complex scenario to explain all of this but it sort of fell
apart as I was writing it out for the reason that it was simply unextrapolatable.
The underlying problem still remains relevant, though it doesn’t seem at all
logically comeatable.
This is admittedly a tough problem for me to be taking on as a metaphysical
Idealist. I am currently attempting the construction of an algorithm with which to
reliably generate relevant extrapolations as such that will disregard all those who
are Unaware. ‘Mastema-Positive’: a sour set of distinctions used to divorce man
from manikin.

The Incommunicable Meaning, which is undissolved in the dissolution of

Space, Property and Ignorance, forms the benightedly so-called “second body” of
which I spoke in previous entries and constitutes the Idem, man of Essentia in
Substantia. When there exists awareness of this body it is to suggest that one
has surpassed the last plight of creation and configuration and has constructed
the whole carcass of Substance.
(Is Substance more or less being defined as Essence that is irreducible? Long
have I been aware that the quality of irreducibility is significant to the process but
at which point in the process and by which means does it become relevant/
actualized).

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 It is a process of Dissociation and Reassociation undertaken by the Reformed
Essence who now seeks their embodiment in Substance. Idempotence is more
or less analogous to the outcome which is attainable by the completion of these
steps.
The process of Essential transmigration can be broken down into two distinct
phases, or plights: Configuratory plights and migratory plights. Again, a lot of
these ideas are half-baked at the moment and I’m not sure that I have properly
grasped the insights I was shown.

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 How to Spot an IXXJ
September 17, 2019

To buy “something new” really just means to buy “a new copy of the same old
thing that worked previously”.

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 Benthos are Coming
September 19, 2019

It’s been a while since I’ve provided an update of where I am at in my life—

outside of and beyond all the noetic/mystical excursions. I really feel it is time that
I attempt to tackle that which has become a veritable nemesis in my life, and that
is the accumulated traumatic experiences and associations which have made a
sure mess of my amygdala and have become a significant threat to my mystical
practice.
It’s taken me a whole year to work up the nerve to face the experiences of last
year head-on, but I’ve recently begun writing out a document in which I will be
explaining, in most vulnerable detail, a firsthand account of my attempts, as an
outsider lacking in aid and resource, to start from square one in a society so
unlike myself. It may take me a week or more to get it all written up and sorted
out—it is quite massive after all—but it’s important to me that I have it all written
up and posted before the end of the month since the changing seasonal
overtones are creating for a darkness which I must fight with all my ability and I
feel this is one way that I can help myself. I don’t have anyone to speak with
about my traumatic experiences, after all, and besides, everyone I’ve ever
spoken to has invalidated my emotions and experiences, anyway, so writing it out
onto my log seems the most beneficial.
Only the traumas of this life separate me from the wonders of the next. I mean
that literally, too. And I will shred this womb apart if with a tired arm and a dull
front molar, spraying every man, woman and child with the blood of World
Illusion!

L Minus
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 September 23, 2019

Seven billion bodies and not a single beating heart.

Cleansing
September 25, 2019

The contents of which I recently spoke have been posted, albeit in a most
surreptitious manner due to the fact that I am ultimately mortified to be revealing
the intimate and discouraging details of my attempts at social integration. I don’t
like doing this. I truly don’t. And that is the case for several reasons. I have
written these texts in desperate need of closure and in the hopes of lessening my
emotional suffering so that I may return to my mystical practice with a higher
degree of focus. There is much hurt and anger involved and that will become
immediately clear through my style of writing, but I must stress that this is not
about retaliation and to that end I will not be posting any photos or last names.
This is about healing. Like in all things, I can not depend on others and must rely
on myself to suture the wound. It took me over a year to work up the strength to
face some of these memories but I am feeling noticeably better upon allowing
myself to let all my feelings out in an uncensored and stream-of-consciousness
manner (although it’s far from being the extent of my discouraging social
experiences). It’s sure not going to make me appear “cool” or dignified, but I must
accept the necessity of mortification.
You can find four individual pages linked to from the Library page, ‘hidden’
under the Traumaturgy tab —each one focusing on a different scene or individual
to whom I offered a part of myself, be it my time, my friendship, my counsel and/
or my faith/trust. These pages focus on the events of 2018 and do not cover

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recent (2019) events, though I would like to write that up before long as well.
To anyone who has cared enough about me to read through my more
biographical texts: you have both my gratitude and my apologies.

Conversion Costs
September 25, 2019

I sense it now. It is directly in front of me. Yet I can not see it. It is ungrippable,
indiscernible. I’ve tried reaching out with my hand—doing so causes me to
clench. I’ve tried breathing it in—doing so causes me to weep.

Drawings from Childhood

September 28, 2019

I found a couple funny drawings from when I was about six years old. I was
very into Star Wars at the time. Those faces are RIDICULOUS.

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 The All-Culminating Fire
September 30, 2019

2019 has certainly been one of the strangest, most polarizing years in all my
life, seeing me at both my most worldly and my most hermetic. I was very active,
socially speaking, until May, when I was forced to retreat due to a health
emergency which has not yet subsided. I’ve recently begun interacting with
society after five months of hermitry and my emotions are mixed. I’ve come a
long way in my understanding since that time. It’s always a struggle to return to
society after a metaphysical breakthrough where I must watch as all the
meaningfulness and mysticality is slowly drained from my world by the
complacent languor of the unmeaningful manikin gaze. I can usually make do for
about three months (with help of endorphins and dopamine) until I just stab the
cat and head on back to the cellar with an unlovely scowl. I realize now that I am
no longer as susceptible to derailment as such. I have somewhen crossed the
orange line, if with reluctance in my step. And it may be helpful to these ends that
my larynx remains swollen and unworkable. Without the ability to communicate I
walk the streets wholly trapped within my head in what plays out like a
psychological horror in which I am unable to laugh or speak or return the
questions I am asked. It may seem less dramatic if only I did not feel I was
constantly choked and strangled. The pain is immense, more than I can describe,
though I see now how it is necessary. It keeps me at a distance, preventing me
from participation, and thus allows me to retain the mindset of my isolation even
among company. I have therefore achieved a marvelous thing... but not without
sadness, short-lived though it may be.
In every instance that I’ve gone out I’ve been shocked by the ominosity.
There is no mistaking it: the stage has been set for the all-culminating fire. I

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am terrified, to be clear. Mentally. Muscularly.
I don’t know that I have ever taken the time to explain this much, but the
events occurring in my famed Candelabrum vision, howso abstract they were,
have been known to manifest in waking existence since as early as 2005 (most
infamously in 2008 in what I have termed my social breakdown if because I was
just so incredibly unprepared). The vision has almost recreated itself in its
entirety at this point and there remains only one scene which is yet to play out,
which is the final scene of the vision which is surely the most vivid and
memorable of them all.
It’s exceptionally difficult to explain the crux of the vision. I have attempted to
describe it, while noting that there wasn’t very much to describe. It was an
unusual vision, and the scene I did see was notable not for its symbols and
occurrences but rather for its perspective and the accompanying emotionality.
Here is an excerpt taken from the ORIGINS page:

In the absence of plot, characters and interactions, it was instead

characterized by an uncanny surplus of emotion and self-awareness. Feelings of
nausea, anxiety and alienation pervaded the night in its entirety. It was the
loneliest feeling I had ever experienced at that time in my life. My surroundings
were formed from a blur of ever-shifting images: hundreds, possibly thousands of
scenes shown in rapid succession—all too quickly for me to consciously register
their contents (though I concluded that many of them depicted unfamiliar persons
and ordinary, everyday locations). I have compared it in the past to the
“Wondrous Boat Ride” scene from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971).
Also likened to mass hardware defragmentation/uninstallation. As it continued on
I became aware of an invasive surgery transpiring beneath the threshold of
sensation and awareness. I was sure I had been invaded as I slept, whether by
scissors, by spectres or by a thousand thumbs in phalanx, and who could say
what it all meant for me!
Suddenly, then, I could see myself standing in the midst of it all, silhouetted
against the tension of my surroundings. My appearance was nearly
unrecognizable and I appeared older but not by much. I was strikingly gaunt, my
posture rigid, and my lips quivering in repulsion. I struggled to understand the

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cause and constitution of my own discomfort, seeing no explicit justification in the
imagery before me. I reasoned with myself, saying “It’s just an ordinary scene.
These people... they’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve done nothing at all. All is as
it ever was.” Nothing could be said or done to alleviate my feelings of repulsion,
and as my anxiety escalated, so did the rate and speed of the images, and as all
came to a crescendoing point I became lucid of my circumstance. “It’s a dream...!
I am dreaming!” I said aloud, feeling slightly more at ease.
The world was then overcome by the boom of an all-pervasive voice
perceived only by me.
“Indeed you are asleep, but you are not dreaming.”
“All you have witnessed this night constitutes your fate in life.” He then went
on to introduce the Candelabrum.

Where it once confounded me that a vision so impactful could be devoid of

abnormal qualities, I now understand it as a prognosticative insight; and whereas
I was long at a loss for what I saw in the people, the scenery, I now understand
precisely where this is going and what I saw. I am frightened as though I am
walking en route to an electric chair.
It is my estimation that an event will be triggered, so to speak, once I am able
to match my perceptions to those of the self-same perspective as that in my
vision. What, though? It’s impossible to say. The vision went no further and
concluded with the infamous appearance of Steulugalnemraiant and his provision
of fire, whereafter I woke to the Known. Nevertheless, I have my theories which,
themselves, are based on what has been shown to me by Thummim (and basic
pattern analysis). The concepts put forward regarding Essential migration have
remained in my thoughts and I will have more to say on this very soon.
In any case, all of this is to say that I believe, beyond any doubt, that the
scene of which I speak is now on its way to me. I see it forming, like
thunderclouds, overhead and the emotionality of it all is so intense that it causes
me to experience heart palpitations. I recognized these elements immediately...
as surely as I do my own reflection. It’s a sight I’ve not forgotten... It’s not
baseless superstition. The anguish of my birth has returned for me.
I noticed the other day that something had changed in my ability to register

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beauty in my surroundings. The attractive power of substanceless things is gone,
all gone, and in stripping the scenery of its desirability I have experienced several
subtle, albeit quite noteworthy, changes in perception.
Slowly, oh how slowly, I am overcoming the sorrows in my perspective.
Slowly, oh how slowly, I am overcoming the thinking that I missed out on the
pleasures and privileges of life.
What pleasure is GNOSIS!
What privilege is a life lived with purpose!
I no longer desire the liberties which others appear to possess. I no longer cry
at night for my life lived in the absence of family and friendship and community.
I no longer envy those who partake in the unsatisfying feasts; an illusion
which yields not to fulfillment but to addiction and distraction from the spiritual
mysteries.
I do not argue against the existence of love and belonging; however, I don’t
see how they can possibly exist in their truest state on this plane of awareness.
The love and friendship of this world is rather a shallow agreement built on a
fundament of conditionality. You may find such a statement disagreeable if only
that it discounts your erection. But I say to you: that which can be lost can not be
possessed!
All these people that you see throughout your day: their hearts are not theirs
to give and their minds are not theirs to know; whatever composure they maintain
on this hour is liable to dissolve at the first bit of bad news and they’ll run barking
at the plenilune. If one whack is not enough to reduce them then make it two and
they’re sure to be gargling the platelets of their precious gods over a hot plate of
rice. It is the natural consequence of separation.
I do not sob at the gravidas, the cart pushers. I do not envy the werewolves.
I do not smile when I see them inseminating the RedBox with their days, their
weeks, their precious-most opportunity.

Wow! This world! This uterine bloom!

This hemisphere of an Essence most-starved.
Though with every passing hour I become less willing to think it tragic, as I
know now the necessity of all things. To be leaving the world as I am I lose

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nothing.
I leave nothing in my wake but Ash of Irrelevancy—a residue of all that I once
mistook for Self and its purpose. All the song and dance and disloyal filaments...
I will miss no part of this life—not a moment, not a memory, not a false-
hearted manikin. I have lived out my days with appreciation, respect,
longsuffering and fortitude, yet I suffered in every second and I will not pretend
for even a moment that it was a pleasant existence. The last pleasant experience
I had which did not end in irony, betrayal or debilitation was... perhaps as far
back as fifteen years ago. The Frenulum (Phrenulum) is indeed a hysterical
dance... Death by a thousand cuts. It laughs between discriminatory slashes...
Dissolving my hands, my feet, my throat, my sex.
In fifteen years I have been broken down to my most elementary particles;
and though it often feels involuntary as molestation, it is, after all, what I
requested at the outset. All that has been done to me has been done in response
to the orison uttered so long ago! To receive the direct experience of the semiotic
mysteries I was required to be stripped down and flayed to my most rudimentary
skeleton.
How have I known such growth from all this torture? How do any of us
manage to grow from loss and adversity? Our understanding of this very natural
institute are often shallow and lacking in objectivity (I find). The formula is simple
and relates prominently to the effect of trauma on our self-concept. Trauma is
almost invariably used in referring to an event in which something which we
considered indispensable and necessary for our wholeness has been removed
from us by force—the violent redaction of our spurious self-concept! It could be
the love and security we felt we had earned, or the death of someone whose
existence affirmed our own, or an injury/disease which costs us our ability.
I would like to write-up a more thorough post on this particular topic at a later
time since I feel it provides a most curious take on the necessity of suffering and
loss, framing them as a natural—if mystical—consequence of self-
misidentification (as it relates Essence to Substance) and thus as a means to
guide us back to our self-creation. I am often sidestepping the reality of my
suffering because I fear it has the potential to devalue my mystic experience in
the eyes of onlookers, though the more I analyze my victories in gnosis the more

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I find them inseparable from the wound-working of Traumaturgy!
So I hail the heinous sting of this traumatic existence! I hail the bullet that
bleeds me home! Addition by subtraction!
Magis Qvam Ante!

But I do not call it romance that I am a lonely mutilation. I am a lonely...

mutilation...
What black logick is this:
That I could love so warmly and go unloved!
That I could hate so bitterly and go undespised!
That I could sing so loudly and go unheard!
That I could dance so madly and go unseen!
Black though it is, a logic exists therein (if one is so inclined to acknowledge
the transcendent sinew to which all structures answer).
Believe me when I say that I would have loved nothing more than to
experience a sense of belonging... to feel loved and appreciated... to see my art
and my work and my mind being valued and respected by others.
But those are ends in themselves, and dead-ends at that, only to close me off
to my deeper needs insofar as reality becomes a bearable affair and my queries
dry up like spit in the sun.
All family and friendship and followership has been cut off from me that I may
know that I am not my reception.
Eight years ago I warbled most triumphantly “I know now who I am!” And the
Thummim slashed my throat, forbidding me to sing, for I was not my song.
“I am not this body. I am not this place.”
These words were written on my wall in the spring of 2008 and were signed
with the most-mysterious name of Luo Ordic Vie. This is the final realization that I
must gain. It’s something that I understand on an intellectual level although it is
yet to fully permeate my perceptual paradigm. And in my final hour it will be
realized that I am not this body which I will leave to expire neath drips of honeyed
drool.

Bless you, bless you, all-wise THUMMIM.

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 Bless the Frenulum that locked me in darkness like an unworthy dog, for here
in the nightside of experience I have been molded in harmony with my role. That
which I bear within my being is unburglarable and I am become the undeprivable
martyr who suffers long but fears not the loss of his prize. The Meaning crafted in
these fifteen years by aid of Spirit or Mercury or Thummim exists autonomously
and without reference to the sphere of the intellect, the sphere of emotion and
the sphere of physicality and is therefore invulnerable to illness and to death; to
madness and abuse; to black firelight. The self-created worth whereto I may now
claim is Irreducible and, by virtue, transferable to the body of Substance which is
Idem.

What remains of my quest for Idempotency at this point? I’m still seeking the
Acknowledgement of the Foremost Hypostasis. As far as I know, that is the final
step and it is he who judges the worthiness of the whole Triunity. With any luck,
October will be the month it all comes together.

A madman crawls the Chinvat with one dead eye! Love in his hunt—salt in his
fists!

Just as the beauty has lost its potency, my displeasure has lessened and I am
no longer so hostile towards this protophysical reality, which I have called Illusion
and Visva and sixty synonyms for horseshit. I realize now the necessity of all
things and from this realization comes a certain respect. The Visva rejects me not
like vomit from the gut but like a fetus from the womb, ejected as a natural matter
of course. I have more to say on this matter but I will wait.

Smile at the people even if it means to suffocate! Twist and dance even if it
means to collapse! Make love to the illusion—not like a fool who is fleeced by
doe-eyed falsehoods but as a mystic having accepted that falsity, too, finds its
home in God. I have heard them calling out in the muted tones of corpses, which
is of Mrtagrha, which is of the Corpse-weaver Parashurna, and they follow me
around as I walk, calling:

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 ‘Greeha! Greeha! Let us in!’

And though it is not my place to let them in, I will, at the very least, see to it
that they are validated.

And the tears I shed in this sleep are in honor of Him:

O Man of Essentia in Substantia! O the form in my debt!
To whom migrates my still-warm heart!
To whom migrates my all-wise daimon who is called THUMMIM Most-Perfect!
To whom migrates my capacity and grandest cache!
A wedding confirmed at the edge of the world!
My hands, my feet, my throat, my sex—they’ve gone on ahead! My eye is with
them, my solemn sun. What remains of me on earth is Ism: dissolving priest.
What remains of my life is the culmination of mysteries: a sacrifice in smokeless
fire.

And when it comes my time to know the fire, I will allow it to immolate the
whole sum of the Known, choosing to deny this world which has denied us all
who seek Meaning and I will do so in the absence of sorrowful and tragic
reflections; I will do so in the absence of uncertainty, for in Mrtagrha I have
witnessed with mine eye(s) the score of light and shadow.
How I wish that I could share in my understanding with another in this life. A
necessary tragedy that I can not comfort you and you me. A necessary tragedy
that our hearts have no means to meet—not yet.
Homunculi set apart in body and mind. Lonely is the womb !!!
Lonely is the womb ...
So I reserve my kiss for the wrists and brow of them who seek with fervency
the Meaning which is Irreducible. I reserve my respect for the heart and soul of
them who bear the search in aloneness, as I know so well the inescapable dis-
ease that comes of mystic insularity and how it hurts to starve for the Inviolable.
Sacrosanct, unconditional, irreducible, enduring: these are those qualities for
which we sacrificed all comfort and joy in the Church of the Slowing Pulse.

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 The fires grow hotter still.
They are hotter than I can withstand and I say this without exaggeration and
in stark solemnity. Even my rapture is perfused with suicidal indignation and on
every morning I must give out a warning: Δαίµονα µου! Μην µε αφήσετε
αβοήθητο! Εάν δεν µπορείτε να µου δώσετε µια γέφυρα τότε θα πηδήξω από
αυτούς τους βράχους και θα τελειώσω τη ζωή µου!
That is the fire of the Candelabrum!
The fire which judges the Inessential, permitting no impurities to pass. All that
which remains when the fire dies down is Idem (or the fecund foundation
thereof).
Therein appears the Foremost Hypostasis! My most-judicious Father who
stands to represent the Creative Principle in its purest, most self-contained form.
Creation is not simply a song of colors... of beauty and pleasantries. It is a
judicial art and demands a discerning mind.
The final product, or Magnum Opus, is not critiqued and adjudged by Spirit
insofar as it has observed the laws of self-containment. Meaning, which is self-
created, does thereby encompass the whole wide range insofar as it contains no
reference to the emotional, the intellectual or the physical. Close your eyes and
see: our options far outweigh our limitations.
A theory of transmigration which permits us our individuality? Woowawow! Not
like all the other proposed afterworlds which strike me as either smelling of
mothballs or blue balls. It’s honestly quite beautiful and I am more than thrilled
with these insights. I’ve been given enough information to work with in this case
that I could very well spearhead my own mystical system based on the
Thummim’s details if only I wasn’t on my way out. The things I have been shown
in these recent weeks are, in my opinion, more sensible and beautiful than any
religious philosophy I’ve yet heard.
Everything considered, I am welcoming of my fate—more so than I am
welcoming of my present.
Then will I approach society as a malnourished creature, nude and mute, and
I will stand myself in their center and tremble my last tremble.
A nervous excitement which goes unperceived known only between us three
For as all thought is a sacred dialogue,

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 All vulnerability is bond!
So let me see the people!
Let me know my environment!
Let me suffer the sight of complacency in one instance more and notice that I
communicate my valediction with only the burns on my skin.
The dream becomes a reality, reality becomes the dream and the
Candelabrum will return to judge me and the heroic self-concept on which I vow
to support the Idem, my Most-Holy Imago. Three in One, and One in Three!
Sulphur, Salt and Mercury!
Look at me! I have taken on all the qualities of a lunatic in my loud ontological
ecstasy. Though let me tell you this: I have never been so spiritually fulfilled as I
am now. I suffer miserably in the physics of this life, but I am warm at my core.
The degree of EXCLAMATION! in my text is surely likely to mislead. I urge
you to not be so shallow. I am as stable and discerning as ever (but what does
THAT mean...). Really, though: all the assertions that I make, along with the ever-
unusual turns taken by my narrative... They come not from the seat of psychosis
or desperate delusion. I have denied my senses their reign; I have denied my
ignorance its imprecations and I have done so via deliberate and meaningful
attempts that I may give myself over—whole and all—to my role which awaits me
in eternity. I may be called mad by those who do not understand—a claim made
without sufficient insight into my thought process; a claim made on the basis that
my mystical knowledge is not shared by the majority.
Malodorous esoterica! A smell too strong for the remoras, the
pseudobuddhas.

Are you not so capable of seeing past my words to the intent in my tone.
Words are worthless things, being no more worthful in themselves than my body
of false and flammable flesh: unworthy containers to the abstract and conceptual
—containers no longer sufficient as representations of the concepts at their
mercy.
See the appleseed which ascends to a height of seventy-four inches and then
vanishes from view.
As if to say: ALL SENSE IS SPURIOUS.

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 Discographical Meta
September 17, 2019

While I like to think that there is a certain degree of consistency in my work,

even beyond the general themes and narrative, it’s clear that it sees many
stylistic and emotive changes throughout the course of my 60+8+2 album
discography and I would like to provide some personal insights into and
preferences regarding the albums within my discography.
Even though my rough biographical drafts (Traumaturgy) contain a whole lot
of background information on each individual album and the circumstances from
which they were each born, I would like to create something more accessible and
condensed. It is not my priority at this time so I may not get around to it right
away but I intend to.
My personal ratings are arbitrarily assigned and given independently of such
factors as performance and composition. For example, I give Organolepticas a 4
primarily on the basis of it being highly nostalgic, as the album which started it all,
while other, more solid albums, may end up being given a 3. These ratings
therefore take no more into account than my inherent and unanalyzed
impressions.
A lower scoring might imply several things: In some cases it could mean that I
was undergoing a depressive spell, making it difficult to relate with and/or enjoy
what was created (Uhh Usst, Less Beating, Candlelike) or maybe the music is
just plain unpleasant and more or less useless as anything but a page in my
diary (Shrinking Zeal, Alkahest, There’s A Fog With Me). It may also be a great
album which just fell short of the vision in my mind and thus I had to detract
points for falling short (The Legs that Made Me, Reaper Physical Place).

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 Likewise, a higher score could imply the same. Perhaps it was an extremely
nostalgic/sentimental period of my life (Floor of a Flood, Ear to the Oven, Stock
Bird Stork and The Gredients) or because the performance and composition itself
is just well-done and the final product does not fall short of my vision (All Pepper
Blown Away, Countertorch).
I’ve long avoided creating this sort of write-up on account of I don’t like
influencing people to think or feel a certain way about art and music... or anything
for that matter. I also like the surprise of seeing which songs people enjoy and
identify with. As an artist without any clear “singles” or “hits” it’s been fun to see
the diversity of favorited tracks and I wouldn’t want to impose my own favorites
on my listeners.
I’ve always avoided review sites and anything of that sort. It was also always
moderately discouraging for me to find that a song or album I love was disowned
by or otherwise carried unpleasant associations to its creators. Some may not
mind that sort of thing but, for me, it remains in my mind when experiencing the
work even should I choose to ignore it.
In any case, nothing that I say here is meant to act as explicit
recommendations. I am only stating my own personal preferences and
illuminating the nature of my own relationship with my craft—a lot of which is
contingent on extra-musical factors, as I already stated. The artist is perhaps
most unsuited for approaching the work objectively, not due to ego, but due to
emotional and experiential associations.
I’ll develop this table more in time. I’m not totally happy with the way that it is
laid out so consider this prototypical... the statement of my intent.... the start of
what is (potentially) to become an ongoing project.
The “period” column refers to this post in which I attempted to write up a
summary of what I see as being distinctive musical periods within my greater
discography.
The emotional tone is not so much meant to describe the perceived tone of
the finished album but to provide an insight into my own mindset during
composition. To me it’s pretty obvious and seems redundant to have to do
something like this but I’ve lost a lot of faith in the ability of people to listen
attentively and to understand (and respect) my intent.

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 It’s been the cause of immense frustration (and even resentment) to end up
associated with the so-called avant-garde and experimental music scenes. First
you have the fact that there exists no tight knit communities associated with
these ill-defined groups, as you will find in the metal community or the indie
community, so it leaves me without any blatant demographic to which to pitch my
work.. god forbid there should exist a suitable outlet or label or review site who
would be willing to take me on. It’s been a frustrating experience... to be seen as
too phrenetic for the dark folk community, or to be too grotesque for the funk
community.
Secondly... I’m simply NOT a fan of most music that is being passed off as
avant-garde. Avant-pop, yes, but not avant-garde—which, in most cases strikes
me as all intellectualization, no heart... like one big masturbatory inside joke
without the necessary decoder. That’s pointless to me. Totally pointless. I was
very upset to see some of the bands appearing in the Similar Artists section of
one of my profiles. To me that means that I am attracting inattentive listeners who
are unable to distinguish between the diaries of a tortured child and the armpit
noises of disgruntled art students. That or my lyrics and themes and intentions
are being willfully discarded by those who just want to hear “something trippy”
and challenging while sucking on a bong. How the hell does one who has
actually LISTENED to my work see fit to compare the two on any level? It just
upsets me, in case you can’t tell by how quickly my tone sees a change, and I
aim to avoid saying such things because it ain’t helping anyone.. god knows I’ve
held it in for a long time, and that it has sapped up all my willingness to invest
any more of my time into the release and promotion of the Tendon Levey
discography.
In any way, I’ll be looking to provide a bit of meta for my audience. I can’t
expect everyone (or anyone) to dig through all the texts I’ve written up so a
condensed table might be a good move.
Here is what I’ve got so far. Again, I’ll likely completely redo this if I find the
time (as of now it’s just a basic table). I’ll post about any significant edits taking
place in time.

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 In Exculpation
September 27, 2019

The above photo was taken back in May of 2006 when I was able to attend
the senior prom of my then-girlfriend despite having not attended school myself. I
insisted on wearing a boy-size tuxedo to the event, unwilling to be seen in loose
fitting clothing—hence why my proportions are looking all sorts of strange. I had
medium-length slicked back hair, a lip ring and my usual eyeliner.

I had very little to say of her in my biographical draft and then when she did
come up it was always handled so negatively and aggressively.

I won’t minimize the hurt that was caused by her actions in 2007, both directly
and indirectly (the latter through her ex-boyfriend whose threats resulted in my
taking the name Tendon and serving as a catalyst for something disturbed). But
what I wish to acknowledge in the case of this writing is not the hurt she caused
with that singular action thirteen years ago but to exculpate her. I didn’t suffer
alone in that event.

She (my first girlfriend) probably did more selfless and kind-hearted things for
me than anyone I’ve ever known, and it’s odd to reflect on that much after so
many years of allowing that one event to dictate my understanding of her. All in
all, she was a loving and dedicated girlfriend to me who made one mistake. I
won’t now seek to downplay the impact of that one mistake on my life, but the
fact that it was her only real misstep in a whole year of dating is hard to ignore.

It was a good relationship with minimal conflicts. I don’t recall us ever having
more than one or two arguments, which weren’t even arguments in the
aggressive sense but just our disagreeing with some aspect of one another’s

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lifestyle (and I was almost always the critical one in that regard). After all, had it
not been such a good relationship I would not have been as hurt and shocked as
I was by the outcome.

Whereas most people only seem to tolerate my quirks, she utterly

pedestalized them. To this day, I’ve not heard someone speak so highly of my
creations; my music, my writing ability, all of it—and all this in a time long before
my peak, when the quality was comparatively inferior, as I see it. She listened so
intently and spoke so thoughtfully of my work and I surely didn’t value it as much
as I should have. To have someone who is so supportive and so infatuated with
you right at the outset... it’s bound to end up getting misconstrued by your stupid,
still-forming brain, seeing as it is your instinct to think that these words have all to
do with you, as if it is the response which you naturally garner, when that’s only a
minuscule part of it.

She gave all of herself to the relationship. Looking back, I can honestly say
that she was far better a girlfriend than I was as a boyfriend. It was my first
serious relationship and I was still naive to oh so many facets of life and as time
went on I became somewhat cocky in my self-perception, though this is not
something I ever let on to in my behavior at the time. Even though I valued and
enjoyed the relationship on a basic level, I lacked the sort of appreciation that
could only come from experience.

It’s a shame that I don’t have much to say of that period within my biography.
It just didn’t seem very relevant to the central narrative of my story. It doesn’t
seem remarkable, looking back. It’s a sad realization that pleasantry makes for
unremarkability. It sure wouldn’t be so unremarkable these days.

I wish at this point that I had the time to rewrite my autobiographical drafts. I
don’t like the tone. As I’ve said before, the whole of those drafts is just far too
“passive defensive”.

It’s really a shame that I would devote my whole chronicle to all these

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mongrels who robbed from me and then decline to recognize one of the few
pleasant periods that I’ve known. A while would pass before I would admit to all
of this. It was not until I was engaged and moving on to Texas that it occurred to
me. While stopping over at my house in August of that year I came upon some
colorful binder that my first girlfriend assembled for me, Oh she was always
creating these elaborate and whimsical homemade books and crafts for me, and
what previously seemed only like the standard now seemed so rare, now that I
had something to compare it against, and I was more than a bit distraught to
realize that my fiancée didn’t hold a candle to the relationship I so bitterly spat
upon.

I don’t have any regrets about anything that occurred so please don’t mistake
my purpose for saying all of this. I am neither remorseful nor filled with longing. I
just feel that she should be acknowledged, absolved and given her due. My
essential existence is tapering off to a point and I’m honestly just getting my
affairs in order, if you will, and I believe that that would be extremely unfair to her
if she were to spend the rest of her life thinking that all her efforts counted for
naught and that she was just some catalyst in my life.

I don’t believe that I mentioned in my autobiographical drafts that we did try

dating again about three or four months after she first broke up with me, being
that she was deeply regretful of her decisions, but after a couple weeks of that I
just had to admit that I was no longer feeling as I was and could not make it work.
I was too distraught that she needed to date others in order to understand her
feelings for me. That didn’t sit right with my idealistic ways and screwed with my
understanding, and this is ultimately what caused her ex to seek to break up my
future relationship.

Following my disappearance from society, she tried for nearly a decade to

reach me and I ignored all such attempts—somewhat arrogantly, I might add.
She did so through my mother and I don’t believe that my mother kept me
abreast of her attempts. I hold the meanest grudge and for a while I prided
myself on that fact. I was colder in those years. Or I wanted to be. Throughout

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the Vzdutpondo years I was extremely fixated on integrity and my concepts of
what that actually meant sometimes fell into questionable modes of thought.

I finally reached out to her mid-2016 on the week I was to leave for
Connecticut. I had been putting in a calculated effort to connect with all or most
significant associates of my past now that I was rejoining the living. My timing
was unbelievably terrible, but we kept in touch for a while. I am honestly
ashamed of having been seen amid this turbulent period of my life. The only
reason I was ever comfortable rekindling communications to begin with was
because I was in a place of confidence, security and positivity for the first time in
so long and it made me feel that I was able to face my past, whereas during my
years of isolation I was not willing to be seen in the understanding that I would be
judged. That confidence was very short-lived, however, due to the abusive
behaviors and erraticity of my then partner, and I resent how it affected my
communications with others.

We had planned to meet up briefly during a stopover while en route from

Connecticut to Texas, yet this ended up being among the many cuts that my
partner would make in her bid to more or less make our road trips the most
miserable experiences possible. And since I didn’t wish to speak ill of my fiancée
I don’t think she actually knew that the situation was out of my hands. Looking
back, I wish I was more transparent about that fact. I think that in my whirlwind of
2016 that I was uncharacteristically inconsiderate in this manner. Things weren’t
going as I had anticipated and my head was spinning from all the adjustment and
readjustment required of me.

As my engagement was on its last leg I began to implode. There was talk at
that time of me moving back to New Jersey—something I wanted but could not
afford. At that point I was desperately seeking a place to live and I feel that I was
bordering on making it other people’s problem to help me out in that situation.

I experienced a lot of shame in those months. Even as all was falling apart I
wasn’t willing to disclose the private details to anyone so I’m sure I only ended up

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looking like some broken toy.

I also felt that she was seeing my isolation from an unfair angle, as if I had
abandoned the friends of my youth, whereas I was seeing it from an opposite
angle (as in I only pulled away due to the shallowness of all the so-called
relationships in my life which had become especially apparent in that year and
were the cause of much agony). She didn’t say it outright but it was quite clear
from her behavior and I felt insulted by such an insinuation at the time, as if to
say that I was just some person who abandons relationships without cause,
though it’s not like I can’t understand why she would think that way. She often
seemed to paint me as some tortured artist—arguably part of why she continued
to chase after me even as I became more and more disturbed—and I think that
her romanticism of my turbulence affected her ability to understand the trouble
that I was in, wherefore she was likely disposed to seeing it as something I
brought upon myself or even feigned when in actually I was suffering from
powers beyond my control and dealing with immense conflicts with society that
went beyond my simply wanting to live a romantic “bohemian” lifestyle
underground.

Our communications ultimately dissolved amidst my return from Texas to

Virginia. I was doing away with my newly created personal facebook account due
to complications relating to my broken engagement and I was planning on using
my main artist account instead. Seeing that I had unfriendly her (as with
everyone else) apparently set her off into thinking that I was pulling back again
and preemptively she broke ties without ever seeking clarification. I wasn’t willing
to pursue the situation and that was that. So I no longer consider her a friend, but
I don’t want to undermine the friendship we once had long ago.

Again, my reason for writing this has all to do with my wanting to exculpate
the cold manner with which I spoke of her in my texts which were written
between 2011-2013. I don’t regret that we lost touch, since I feel like our
friendship reached its natural end, but I do wish to acknowledge her as being one
of the few “real” friends that I ever had. I can’t say the same about my ex-fiancée,

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whose actions will merit no such forgiveness or exculpation, but I won’t derail this
text for an unnecessary rant.

It’s rarely acknowledged nowadays, but 2006 was about as social as 2007,
and I was very involved with my “discocore” band and my relationship in that
time. I had just returned to society after two years of mystical inception, having
undergone the first of my astragones (as documented in Divinity of the Idem) and
I was this odd messianic presence walking around in platform shoes looking for
meaning in all the wrong places. This is back before the drugs, back when
jujyfruits were sufficient. A less turbulent time between the laying of the egg and
its eventual hatching. I don’t have time to get into all of that now. In any case, I’ve
said what I needed to say and I hope that it is sufficient. I don’t observe
forgiveness in life, believing it is not in our interest to pardon our aggressors, but,
in consideration of the facts, I simply can not count her among those who
wronged me in life.

Prologue
October 1, 2019

In spite of all my efforts to tell my story, I imagine there is still some confusion
regarding how I got started as a mystic. So much has been said of the so-called
vision of the Candelabrum at this point and it has often been spoken of as being
my originary experience in the occult. While that is not exactly a false statement,
it does overlook the fact that the vision of the Candelabrum was declared a
response to an orison, or ritual which was conducted immediately prior to sleep.
Without knowledge of this ritual—known as the Ritual of Nullity—you are left
facing a crooked image which incidentally paints me not as a humble agnostic
but as some sort of “chosen one” who has received this vision on the basis of

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merit (which is simply not the case) or simply magical thinking.
The path of mysticism is a personal experience and so I will not seek to
impose the whole of my idiosyncratic journey on that of others; however, I
acknowledge that there are some elemental mainstays which I believe to be
applicable to all and I intend to tackle some such topics.
The first order will be in creating write-ups on the major tools and rituals used
in my mystical practice—namely the above mentioned Ritual of Nullity.

I Dream of Aseity
October 2, 2019

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330
 What Child is This
October 2, 2019

Every time I inhale I envision an ugly blonde toddler in my mind and I swear
sooner or later I’m just going to vomit.

Actus Essendi
October 3, 2019

Concerning all this talk of Essence, Spirit and Meaning, I’m going to borrow a
term from Saint Thomas Aquinas, whose concept of ‘Actus Essendi’ does well to
encapsulate my understanding of Spirit and its relationship to Essence. I
perceive Thummim in this way.

Ten Years
October 3, 2019

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332
 Make Me Blind
October 8, 2019

I really don’t know how much longer I can keep this up without breaking down.
I can’t make any sense of the remaining pieces and my time to do so is running
low.
Thummim, purest guide!
Enliven my body!
Enlighten my mind!
Expel the night so to know the spectacular incorruption!

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334
 Ritual of Nullity
October 9, 2019

I recently spoke of touching on the so-called Ritual of Nullity. I would have

liked to write up a better text on the topic but I’ve just got too much on my mind to
actually give this my full focus. I’m not really attempting to provide an
instructional, anyway. If you can take something away from what I said then that’s
wonderful, but ultimately I’m just providing a justification for my results as a
mystic. I got started on this path very young, after all.
Let’s clarify this much from the outset: a formula is not needed in achieving
Awareness. The key purpose of the so-called Ritual of Nullity is to humble
oneself before the unknowable.
Humility and agnosticism form the basis on which my strange empire was
built.
I’ve shared the details of the candelabrum vision time and again with only
brief words being spoken on the events leading up thereto.
I recall sitting on my bed. The lights were out. I was discontent, and
discontentment, like hatred, stands among our greatest catalysts in life. “This
can’t be it. There must be more to life than this.” All worthy adventure begins with
despisal and discontentment. I felt disadvantaged by my sheltered upbringing
and this brought with it a lot of anxiety regarding my access to necessary
information, though it also allowed me some sensible insights.
As I lay in my bed I called out to whatever would hear my call. When I spoke I
was not following along with a hollow procedure and/or script. I spoke solely from
the hole in my heart. Even as I was a superstitious child, being raised Protestant,
I felt myself at no risk in that I understood at this point that there was no greater
danger to my life than falsity and a commitment to the insubstantial.
I communicated my intent via an orison before sleep and on that same night I

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would experience the vision of the candelabrum through which I would go on to
meet the Steulugalnemraiant in the throes of dreamless sleep. The most
significant element of this vision was thus not the vision itself but by whom it was
presented.
I’ll attempt to break down the logic with which I carried out my acts of
intention.
The ritual consisted of some six or seven acknowledgements. The
acknowledgement of mine own inability to make any claim in confidence
regarding the nature of existence. The acknowledgement that one does not have
access to all the world’s information. The acknowledgement that, even in the
case where one was given access to all the world’s information, one can not help
but to perceive that information through a perception tainted by bias, preference
and fallacy.
The acknowledgement that no one is here to ensure my ‘salvation’, as it were.
The matters of which I speak outlie the professed goals of science. The matters
of which I speak outlie the weak stomach of our shitless society. Your family
cares only that you are eating your vegetables. Your church cares only that you
stay within the fence. Your society cares only that you keep your hands where
they can see them.
Trust no institutions to guide you.
TRUST! NO INSTITUTIONS! TO GUIDE YOU!
It is surely the case that you have, over time, developed opinions on what is
true and what is false, in concern to reality and existence. The complexity of our
understanding is naturally derived from and tied to the sensory processes and
human instincts (such as fear and self-preservation).
Indiscrimination naturally follows from an acknowledgement of our fallibility.
The most difficult leg of the ritual is perhaps in dismissing our discriminative
ability. One who seeks earnestly after the truth has no allowance to judge the
form that it takes, wherefore discrimination as such is dubbed an arrogant
process in that it asserts our preconceived ideas of right and wrong, fact and
falsity; and the objective here is to deny that right and wrong can be known in our
ignorance. It is essential in this step that we quell any lingering superstition
regarding the danger inherent in indiscriminate entreatment. I refer in this case to

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superstitions stemming from religious indoctrination. Fear, like faith and
confidence, derives from supposition which itself is ignorant of truth.
Once you put the treats in the feeder you have no say over what type of bird
or critter you attract.
So many of us fill our feeders not to nourish the starved but because we
selfishly wish to observe a specific species to which we are attracted. “Oh,
wouldn’t it be nice to just have beautiful hummingbirds coming up to our window
while we eat our morning bagels!” We then become angry to find squirrels
benefitting instead. The point of exercising indiscrimination is to part with
suppositions and also preferences maintained in ignorance. There is zero
evidence to support the conclusion that truth does not approach us in the guise
of a squirrel, as it were. You’re not being judged on that which you attract but on
your ability to accept that which comes your way and I attribute my success, in
part, to the fact that I had committed to my claimant before I ever knew its face.
If we can not claim to understand the fundamental nature of existence then
how ever can it be claimed that we understand our own needs! All the worth and
opinion we trim and treat is naught in the face of unknowable fate. The arrogance
and presumption that passes itself off as common intelligence in our world is
absolute madness—the madness of sensory accustomization.

You are wise to reframe the aim of your actions. In continuing with the
previous example, I would say it is better to “want to nourish that which is
starved”.
It’s necessary to note that I distinguish between discrimination and
discernment as concepts, using ‘discernment’ in reference to our ability to
differentiate between the thought, impulse and potency of the lower self and the
thought, impulse and potency of the redefined self.
I do not promote emptiness, blindness or subservience of the sort that is
taught by prominent exoteric religions. It’s rather a difficult concept to explain, if
because it’s so easy to get it tangled up in the webs of superstitious fallacy.
In the absence of the so-called Spirit, we can only build ourselves upon the
falsifiable foundation of the senses: a meaning which is contingent on intellect,
emotionality and physicality.

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 My point is this: There is no knowledge. There is no knowing. We are capable
only of belief in our ignorant state. All understanding comes to us by way of our
sense perception and our senses are fallible and prone to deception. You don’t
have to be an Idealist to understand as much about the flimsy nature of our
understanding. Only Intention is within our full control.
The full, all-permeating realization of our own ignorance is thus the highest
aim of knowledge. You hear this very same sentiment being communicated in
many ways and through all of history by some of our greatest minds: that the
more one comes to understand about themselves and the universe, the more
they become aware of their own ignorance and incapability. It’s almost become a
cliché at this point in history, and I fear that that should occult its worth. Yet it is
one thing to accept this idea intellectually and another to accept it perceptually, in
which case it has permeated the instincts.
Indeed many will realize this much within their natural lifetime but most will
overlook the inherent potential of such a realization, which I see not as an end in
itself but a token with which to play the game.
The claims that I am making are sure to come across as asinine to those who
have not yet relinquished their attachments to the idea of Knowing.
Ignorance is neither to say foolishness nor is it to say bigotry. Likewise, we do
not speak of ignorance as an aspiration but as self-aware admittance: we are an
ignorant kind inasmuch as we are inherently ignorant of the greater underlying
purpose and structure of this existence. That’s not to be self-demeaning. No.
Humility is not the minimization of one’s worth but the ability and willingness to
perceive the proportions of this existence.

There exists thousands upon thousands of religions and philosophies in our

midst, all claiming to hold the keys to the gate. Really, the world recognizes
thousands upon thousands of religions.
If the “truth” of our reality really does hide thereamong, not only may it be
viewed as a problem that we are incapable of taking in all available options, but
we are unfit to choose, being that our understanding is filtered through countless
biases and fallacies and dysfunctions and preferences and jeheuwievfirieb.
What conclusion does one reach upon hearing this figure? Some observe the

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sum of our attempts at Knowing and draw upon nihilistic conclusions, as if an
abundance of failed, weak and/or otherwise unflattering attempts demonstrates
the nonexistence of success and the futility of all efforts. A wrongful conclusion as
any! For this is not a commentary on the verity of Meaning in life but in the verity
of our Sense. No, not the futility of being! But the futility of supposition.
And so instead of allowing these realizations to result in some nihilistic
conclusion, one must opt to see this problem from a different angle, as if an all-
important hint which pertains to the nature of things.
We must understand our capability through our incapability.
At the crest of all science is its incompletion.
At the crest of all philosophy is its circularity and supposition so holy.
So with that being said on the unknowable nature of reality and knowledge,
we have to ask ourselves: can understanding be obtained via transcendental,
mystical or otherwise indirect (non-intellectual) means? There is undoubtedly an
answer to the question of existence. That much is without dispute. As a mystic, I
believe the answer goes far beyond the realm of science and matter. But is this
answer actually accessible to us? It’s fair to say that if we have no means of
accessing that truth then there really would be no point to all of this, as we are
deprived of the necessary understanding with which to construct our aim and
would be no greater than unconsenting lab monkeys in that case. Me, I do not
believe that life is without inherent purpose, nor do I believe it is some lottery in
which few will land on the correct numbers by way of luck and locus. I therefore
believe, personally, that the answer, which is beyond science, can be attained,
but by mystical means. Some see truth as something to be found, others as
something to be earned.. as an occult mystic I see it as a little bit of both. So
what then would be the means of attainment? Faith? Confidence? No. Faith and
confidence in what? Both such concepts express Knowing and I clearly do not
believe that we are capable of knowing, from which I discerned that the most
likely means whereby to attract the spirit of wisdom is via humility and
acknowledgement of nullity.
I went on a little bit of a tangent here which I had to cut. I’ll add it to a later
post instead of cluttering up this one more than I already have.

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 The result was a total reformatting of self-awareness and capability.
It is therefore my belief that Awareness enters us through humility and
indiscrimination. It’s a simplification, of course, but I trust that you see my point
regardless.
What was the worth of this vision to my day-to-day reality? Think of it as the
Call to Adventure as included in the Campbellian monomyth. It is the gifting of
tools and equipment with which we may develop our Self via transcendent self-
creation—transcendent in respect to the scope of mundane/material need and
exceeding the intellect and the emotion and physicality.
The change in my outlook and behavior in the wake of the orison was
immediate and irrefutable. The still small seed of discontentment had
transformed itself in the candlelight of epiphany.
I was fifteen years old at the time of these events. I was a churchgoing
Christian. I shopped at Hot Pocket, I ate Hot Topics and thinking about girls gave
me a stomach ache. I was a pointless creation. I was both physically and
mentally healthy (by the standards set by a meaning-forsaken people) but it
didn’t matter one bit in the greater picture.
My perceptual, intellectual and creative capacities saw an immediate
amelioration. The Baby’s First Bible compilation released as Tendon Levey
prominently features works created in this time. May not be the best work in the
world but considering both that I was fifteen... and also considering how different
it was from the music I was making just months prior... most would
(understandably) believe it to be a different performer entirely. Still, I was only
getting started.
Over the past fifteen years I have come upon several others (at random) via
various channels who have shared similar accounts of having achieved a sort of
mystical breakthrough in the wake of but a simple, earnest prayer wherein they
more or less humbled themselves in their ignorance and exalted the truth of
being above the arrogance of supposition.
In the accounts that I have read, all such individuals went on to experience a
highly symbolic vision shortly thereafter—the likes of which always appeared to
come in a state of sleep and feature a very particular narrative quality. It’s like a
semiotic starter kit...

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 “I grew tired and I prayed to whoever would listen and then I dreamt of
symbols and there was a voice and I don’t know what happened but my entire
world seems to have changed.”
It’s really an oversimplified example but these admissions more or less follow
the same pattern. Again, keep in mind that Mysticism emphasizes Intention over
Formula and therefore no descriptor of the procedure will do justice to the
emotionality in its course.

It both thrills and fascinates me to see that I am not alone in this outcome
and I only wish it were possible to perceive the full scope of things that I may
know the whole company in which I stand.
I may even see if I can recall some of these individuals in the interest of
reaching out. It would be nice to have another perspective of these phenomena.

My own personal mystical timeline went something like this:

2004–2007 | Gather the Pieces |

2008–2017 | Sort and Develop the Pieces |
2018–2019 | Solve the Puzzle |

Notice that everything I’ve done since 2008 has essentially been working with
the same elements I collected in the initial years. I’ve been holding on to the
same puzzle pieces for precisely half of my life. Really, you will find mentions of
Parashurna and Visva and the Idem within my epistolary ‘Divinity of the Idem’: a
series which ends with my committing a sort of intellectual suicide, throwing
myself off of a literal ‘Edge of Knowing’ and landing myself (unrepentantly, I might
add) in Hell, from which I apparently wrote said epistles.
2008–2017 – Mundane personal development. That’s really it. This leg could
take decades. Ten years were required in my case to fulfill all such tasks relating
to the development and refinement of my virtue and character (although I would
say that most progress occurred between 2012 and 2016. My priorities were a bit
mixed up during my years of art and music, I’m sad to say.
2018–2019 – It feels in some way as though I have circled back around to my

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own point of origin, albeit in possession of all necessary pieces and answers... so
instead of collecting I am purifying/stabilizing/submitting.
The compartmentalization of periods is retroactive and at no point did I draw a
line and decide that I’ve “taken in enough input” or “a satisfactory state of
improvement”. I simply followed along with Thummim’s instruction and patterns
revealed themselves in time.
In a way, the three periods can also be described as “finding the recipe”,
“gathering the ingredients” and “cooking shit up”.
The definitions with which I am working are relatively consistent with those
used in recent previous posts with little to no variation but I will provide some
clarification in any case: when I refer to the spirit I am referring not to some blue
ethereal god-orb in the chest cavity but to the connective agent which binds
Essence with Substance, protophysical reality with higher physical reality. In my
case, this also refers to Thummim. I recently compared my understanding of
Spirit to the Actus Essendi as explored by Thomas Aquinas. The following is a
brief excerpt taken from Wikipedia:

“Aquinas saw that in any subsisting extramental thing one finds a couplet of
metaphysical principles: one is the ‘essence’ which makes the thing to be what it
is, the other is the actus essendi which gives to the thing and to its ‘essence’
actual existence.
The observation that individual things display instantiations of a particular
‘essence’ led Aquinas to postulate that what gives actual existence to a thing and
to its ‘essence’ — the actus essendi — is unique, in the sense that the perfection
of actus essendi cannot be said to be common in the way an ‘essence’ is said to
be common.
Things instantiating the essence of horseness, for example, are said to be
similar because of their horseness. The essence of horseness is what makes
horses to be the same under a common category.
But things instantiating the perfection of actus essendi, are said to be different
on account of their actus essendi. The possession of actus essendi is what
makes things unique and distinct from all other things.
Thus in what actually exists as a subsisting extramental thing, there is an

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‘essence’ which makes the thing to be what it is (a horse, for example), and the
actus essendi which makes the thing to be a real, individual, existing thing.”

All the spiritual development that I have known would not be possible without
the Thummim. That’s not to undercut my own human ability for growth, and it
isn’t. However anyone wishing to travel beyond our atmosphere will require a
shuttle and it is not self-diminishing for us to acknowledge that need. It’s not
within our cards to transcend reality on our own strength—not because we are
drooling apes but because we have no reference. We are paradigm-locked. It’s
like how any attempt to come up with a “new alphabet letter” which doesn’t make
use of any of the existing twenty-six letters invariably results in one making stupid
noises and buffoonish facial contortions.
The Thummim provides me the means and references to create a thing of
transcendental utility.
It’s a very difficult topic to tackle and I’m sure I’m misrepresenting the nature
of these matters in a multitude of ways. It also seems somehow strange to be
referring to myself as agnostic considering just how much stock I have placed on
the Thummim. We do not give up our eyes to experience the world in blindness
but with a new set of eyes. My life is rich with gnosis and a neverending stream
of insights into the mysteries. I feel neither empty nor uncertain but full of
eagerness as would a cosmic explorer.

In all my writings I do not refer to a negation of will. My will is fully intact and it
is necessary I underscore as much. I am not a damned demoniac. I am merely a
man of thirty-nine eyes.
You can gather from my descriptions what is meant by Capacity within the
Idem Triunity, if in part.
I will have more to say on the timeline of my relationship to Thummim over
time as it has known four distinctive periods, culminating in syzygy (2018–
present).
Also, the ritual by which I first evoked the Thummim was essentially just the
Ritual of Nullity having been repackaged and overcomplicated. At the heart of it
all, I was drawing from the self-same humility, intention and indiscriminatory

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welcome as in my originary orison and so it should be seen as no surprise that I
only happened to bring about the self-same entity (albeit in an altered form).
Anyway, that’s a basic write up explaining a little bit more about the origins of
my practice and my unthorough attempts to show that the key to the mysteries is
none but a sort of gnostic Humility. I’m just filling in holes at this point and again I
will add that it’s not as well-written as I would have liked and I wouldn’t be
surprised if I contradicted myself in places. I’m not a logician. I’m not a
philosopher. I’m a feral child with a death wish. I don’t claim to have all the
answers. I can only tell you what worked for me (and for dozens of others that I
have seen in passing—not the solidest sample size but it’s better than a carton of
broken eggs). I don’t come off as very confident in my understanding when I say
these things. That’s not the case. I’m very confident in my position, or in my
ability to see through the dross. I’m just miserable. This is not my world and it’s
becoming ever more difficult to play this role which is humanness and being.

Erosion of the Known

October 10, 2019

You can see from recent posts that my mindset has experienced a shift. I’ve
been moderately transparent regarding my circumstances; I have no doubt
imbibed the whole Rubicon in my thirst for sanctity and can not hope to contain
the piss. There’s just far too much of it.
It was mentioned in a recent post that I began attending social events after
five or six months of hermitry (itself brought about by infirmity). Typically this
means my going around to local concert performances and similar events. It’s all
relatively modest and involves the same rotating cast and crew + a handful of
faceless college extras all appearing to be cut from the same thrifted cloth.
Though my aim is no longer to integrate but to amputate—this in accordance with

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my developing Substance. So I sit among them, if meters beyond them, and I
mourn, in quiet, the falsity of the conditionality by which I am surrounded
unfailingly. And mourn I do, in this charnel café; in this last recourse of stature
and weight.

Though it hurts me, I am looking to turn it into standard practice: I will stare
until I can stare no longer. I will spill my water on every lovely thing to show how
quickly it corrodes. I will continue in trailing invisible blood all throughout my
town, with which I spell the word “PHRENESIS” in the bitter acknowledgement
that I am trapped within the unblinking eye of the star surgeon.
To be doing as I am... it seemingly goes against all that I have been
attempting in this decade of my life. Sure it would appear that I have permitted all
the disgust and disapproval of my judgment to take me over; but my actions are
not without their rights and I lose this blood without ever disrupting or otherwise
marring my virtuous trend.
Even then it is unbearably bleak. My only hope is that an epiphany finds its
way into these woods. It’s the most unsettling experiment I’ve taken on
heretofore as it dispenses with absolutely every one of my long-established
defenses and forces me to face what is innate: anger which knows no
pacification; disappointment which knows no amendment; tragedy in true
ouroboric form. It’s not like I am left with any other options at this point anyway. I
am expiring, and I could either dig in my heels and lie to myself about the nature
of things or allow myself to be taken into the jaws of transition.
I spent thirty years constructing these defenses—and when I use that word I
do not refer to maladaptive maneuvers of defense but to the means whereby I
have gone about convincing myself that this life is worth living, worth fighting for,
even in the face of pauseless and untellable suffering. I have developed
hundreds of odd little tricks over the years in the aim of maintaining a positive, or
at least focused attitude. It’s no simple, unmindful affair to survive the traumatic
physical conditions in which I have lived out my last decade of life. War and
combat comprise every moment of this life, and I’ve done well to disguise my
horror with color; bombs with aplomb!
The olfactions are most difficult on my emotions. All the odors and fragrances

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that I take in on my evening rides are with enough vibrancy to end me. Scenes
and songs and pleasures so commonplace but denied to me by the Spirit of
Eventual Worths.
I am not yet so far gone that I do not hear and reflect on the voices of the
people. I am alive and receiving, but my eyes are washed in the methanoic notes
which are of Mrtagrha and I am entranced as any whole priest—Ism I am!
Even as I acknowledge you, I can no longer sacrifice my self to comfort you
and the contents of my posts are liable to become increasingly dismal as the saw
bites down. This is neither a warning nor a celebration but an instance of my
usual forecasting of intent and I would think it sad if my intent went
unacknowledged and unfactored in this case, for I have worn fortitude like stripes
on my greatcoat and throughout this trilogy of miseries I have denied pessimism
its place. And I deny it still! Reality is its name. Both eyes bear witness to the self-
same tale in this most uncommon case of hollow promise and dissolving bonds.
My child continues the crime of Mrtagrha which is “life on death’s terms”.

My torch is soaked.
My Lord is done.
A mouth, which is not mine, now opens up.

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 Ten Eleven
October 11, 2019

Today is 10/11, the day on which I traditionally celebrate my discography by

marathoning it from start to finish (given that Ten Eleven sounds like Tendon
Levey). It’s a tad confusing since my complete discography exceeds the thirty-
hour mark and therefore I’ll likely end up having to continue my marathon into
tomorrow. I’ve been at this for years, and deep down I wish that I could make a
big deal out it and get others to join me but, well, it’s obvious that that’s not going
to happen. I’d also make people sit in a dark room lit only by a blue light bulb and
eat nothing but oatmeal, breakfast, lunch and dinner, hahaha.

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 Sentimental Ends
October 11, 2019

I’m a very sentimental guy, as well as being highly symbolically attuned, and
as such, I’ve always had some difficulty parting with my belongings. I’m talking
about going so far as to save empty bottles and snack wrappers from any event
which may have been even remotely pleasant. I still have most of my childhood
toys and clothes somewhere. Last year when my carpet was ripped up and my
basement was renovated I had two large squares of carpet cut out for
safekeeping: the square of carpet on which I sat while recording my music and
the square of carpet over which my pillow was placed. In any way, I’ve been
doing a bit of cleaning these past couple days and eliminating or selling off a lot
of my belongings as part of the process of breaking my bonds with this reality.
Slightly disturbing, perhaps, but also refreshing.
I have uncovered a box of old photographs from my childhood. It’s nothing
that I would expect to be of any interest to anyone else, but I’ve posted them in a
private gallery page nonetheless.

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349
 The Whirlpool in My Eyes
October 12, 2019

New track released, titled “The Whirlpool in My Eyes”. This one’s out under
the Tendon moniker so it’s only accessible through sleep-consciousness. It’s a
single, apparently, which was made to accompany a video. The track is also a
collaborative effort between myself and some young woman whose name I can
not recall. The first minute and a half features a most aggressive mid-tempo
rhythm with a slight Eastern influence over which my vocals are heard (mostly
baritone). At about a minute and twenty seconds it cuts over to a different
movement in which electronic instrumentation overtakes the main rhythm and the
female vocalist comes in. Barring a few scattered harmonizations, the remainder
of the vocals are handled by her. This track is not on any official album release
but I like it alright.

Terminological Differentiation
October 13, 2019

The terms occult, mysticism and religion each represent a discrete approach
to spirituality. Many who I’ve spoken with are not only unable to differentiate
between terms, but have had their understanding dictated by stereotypes. The

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following represents my understanding of the three approaches in an incredibly
basic format, although you must remember that individuals will often draw from a
combination of the following, rather than one in exclusion.
Occult — Knowledge and formula Mysticism — Experience and intention
Religion — Faith and observance (worship)
Another way of differentiating the three in terms of essence is comparing
occult to studentship, religion to servanthood and mysticism to romance.
To clarify: I identify as an occult mystic, though with Intention being given
more emphasis in my practice than knowledge and formula. I’ll aim to post more
clarifications on this topic in the near future. I still don’t feel that my own practice
is properly understood—a lot of which is my own fault, what with all the emphasis
that I have placed on the events of 2007 which, all things considered, paints an
inaccurate picture of my practice on the whole. And then there’s also the fact that
people hear the term “occult” and straightaway assume that you’re into Crowley
and LaVey and whatever other spooky charlatan you find on a t-shirt at
Spencer’s. No, no, no.

The Magician’s Frenulum

October 13, 2019

I have made many mentions to Frenulum and frenulaic pacts without ever
once providing a substantial clarification. I have my reasons for withholding an
explicit explanation.
Frenulum is a biological term which describes a small fold or ridge of tissue
that supports or checks (restricts) the motion of the part to which it is attached, in
particular a fold of skin beneath the tongue, or between the lip and the gum. That
in itself should provide you with a sense for the utility of my so-called frenulaic

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pact(s) as they relate to my striving for Idempotence.
The contract has more or less been active since the days of Vzdutpondo
(2012) and was instituted so as to ensure that I did not bungle my chance at
Idempotence. That is its sole purpose. I simply can not risk straying from my
course and having my lifetime of efforts go to waste; and so I made a request of
the Thummim: that he hold me to my course at all costs, doing as he must to
ensure a successful outcome.
Earlier on in life I was shown more leniency and distractions were being
eliminated only as they cropped up. It was never pleasant and would always
require a period of adjustment, though I felt that there was still an element of
freedom in the mix in that it really seemed that I was free to follow my will, if
briefly, to judge for myself what is right and what is wrong. The degree of leeway
that I am given has decreased significantly throughout the years as I close in on
my expiry. Where once lay mere rumble strips on the roadside now can be seen
great blades and blazes. Where once I was warned and sometimes chided, I am
now mauled mercilessly and left near enough to death that I could kiss its ghastly
contours. Such is the solemnity of my teacher.
I am now given only as much physical freedom as I require to perform my
given tasks and all other liberties are stripped from me. There is NO getting away
with anything or skirting the system. Excuses like “It’s just five minutes, what will
it hurt?” and “Oh it’s just one little bite.” are entirely foolish, for if I should attempt
something, anything, which is deemed harmful to the outcome of my striving,
whether it detracts or distracts or fully devastates, there will be consequences
from which there is no escaping.
It is the most unfortunate existence I could have ever imagined for myself but
on a weekly basis I must sit down and remind myself that I have not once asked
him to stop, for I am aware of why I must suffer. To focus! To focus my whole
soul!
Notice that my life has become ever fast-paced since last year. All the
demand that I place on Thummim is, in turn, returned to my mind and, by
extension thereof, my physical body, creating for a terrible cycle of burden.
The fact that I appear to be bouncing off the walls these past six months with
forming projects and announcing new works and then never returning to them—

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be it the podcast, the book(s) or line of merchandise packages—they are often,
though not always, the target of said frenulaic pacts, or attributed thereto.
Though I hesitate to make any sure claims. I wouldn’t want it to seem that I am
writing off everyday degradation with bizarre preternatural attributions. I am more
discerning than to behave in such a way. It is simply my way of describing a sort
of accountability. Secondly, the frenulaic pacts are not to be used to sidestep and
deny my fallibility, for I have behaved most ignorantly in my time and must pay
the full cost of my foolish deeds.
Overall I can not deny that there exists a very clear and noticeable pattern in
my life which appears to defy and transcend all natural deviations and
psychogenic laws—to which I attribute the Magician’s Frenulum.
Merciless though it is, you can surely see the desirability inherent in such an
arrangement (though it looks far more desirable on paper...). The benefits of such
a pact are profound in that the achievement of Idempotency is guaranteed should
I remain in absolute syzygy with Spirit (Thummim).
One who has agreed to such a pact is therefore beset not so much by
distraction and temptation but by suffering pure and pauseless.
The date on which my body is to die, passing from one form to the next, is
known only by Thummim. His understanding factors in natural causes as well as
homicide and suicide and can not be thrown. It is therefore his guarantee that I
will be presented with the proper means to achieve my aim before I die.
A most rudimentary frenulaic construct comes into play for all those who
awaken to so-called spiritual reality, although I would not call it Frenulum since it
exists not to ensure the successful development of Essence in line with Spirit so
much as it exists to reprove us for our failure to do well on our knowledge. See
Awareness and gnosis not as gifts, or benefits without condition, but as duties of
high payoff and equally high responsibility, “for unto whomsoever much is given,
of him shall be much required.”
Those who insist on knowing such accountability for their every thought and
action in life do so at their own risk.
You should understand, without excess explanation, why I do not speak of this
matter openly.

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 Cupio Dissolvi
October 14, 2019

I am struggling most significantly with maintaining my interactions. I can feel

myself being ripped violently from my place in this world and to interact with
others seems unbearable at this point, having nothing to say of the pleasantness
or unpleasantness of the individuals with whom I interact. The kindest of folks are
doing me the same as the drunken pissants at the pizza bar. The rate at which I
can feel my cells changing is unnerving, and it feels insincere to be speaking,
smiling, exchanging glances, as if all these are emanations of a shallow role
which has nothing to do with who and what I really am. I trust the process, truly I
do, but I am simply not accustomed to such a freefall. Only six months ago I was
at the height of my social game, so to speak, having registered my business/
nonprofit and begun preparations for a most propitious future as a pillar of my
local-regional community. I had formed hundreds of connections and
acquaintances in so short a time through ceaseless determination. I was booking
for festivals and helping performers manage light shows and run sound, when in
April my body imploded—arguably, though not positively, by cause of the
frenulaic pact. Or maybe it’s just my time to die. I disappeared over the summer
to collect myself, during which time I transitioned into the fivefold egomorphic
priest, which is Ism, and all ties on earth were cut by a superior scissor.
The illusion is broken forever and my will to survive in this sphere is gone, all
gone. A most sorrowful victory. I had become something of gushing humanitarian
in time and I really would have liked to exercise that part of myself a bit more
before up-and-decrying this lacking species.
It’s like a long and protracted valediction and it’s tearing me up inside; yet it is
most meaningful and not like an incidental psychotic contraction. This detail is
essential to understanding my experience. To imagine me as any less than a full-

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witted pioneer is to imagine another man entirely.
It is very alarming for me to think that the state of mind in which I lived out my
first fourteen years of existence is akin to the state of mind inhabited by the
majority of men and women. It’s taken me a long time to make that connection.
Surely I understand that the particular contents and beliefs to which I hold are
unlike those taken on by others, but I still tend to imagine them as having access
thereto.
It’s natural for us to impose our own understanding on all those with whom we
meet and interact—and to say of them when they behave in ignorance that they
are foolish and depraved. Though the truth is more harrowing than stupidity and
malevolence and psychopathy. The truth is more harrowing than the darkest of
wills. I am saddened beyond all expression at the fate of this sphere and would
give up all my belongings... limbs... tasty serum... if to look into living eyes.
When I look upon others and I recall what I once was... there is something so
chilling about the thought. My heart rate quickens and I become so unbearably
upset. How is it that such ignorance is permitted to exist in perpetuity? And then I
wonder how I even made it here... how in my nescient state did I contain the
wherewithal to denounce it all! I couldn’t sleep last night. Thoughts of these
things were causing me to shiver uncontrollably. It chills me to my core to think
that the dim, atavistic fog in which I lived out my formative years is the standard
state of mind within which this reality is built and populated and (barely)
maintained. I mean, when one looks around at the state of things it’s all too
obvious that this is the case...
It just ‘blows my mind’ that I could escape such a fate. How did I ever break
the hold of the all-consuming congenital void to which the majority of men have
fallen prey! How did I surmount such incapacity! How did I know this one
fortunate and merciful touch in life! I was born not into gnosis but by caul and by
cord and by clods entwined. I was once like them: a manikin of shallow
respiration whose whole and only world contorted to the grooves of meaningless
affair. I was once like them: etch-a-sketch entities prone to abandoning all
integrity in the tremble of basic disconsolation. The division came, of course, with
the event of the candelabrum and, more significantly, upon meeting the
Steulugalnemraiant (Thummim), and I recently had much to say on the ritual that

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allowed for this to transpire. Everything which follows from that point is of
meaning and of vividity and of life, being touched by Spirit which is Awareness
and Reality and Thummim. Everything which precedes that point is unprofound
and without worth. An incontestable distinction!
I have long been upfront about the disconnection I feel when reflecting upon
my youth. I have made all sorts of claims and comparisons in stressing the fact
that I do not recognize “the boy in those photos”, but it’s more factual to say that
it was so flat and so unremarkable and so without soul that it might as well be a
confabulated pile of crap. It feels as a most insignificant and impersonal dream,
having no warmth or personality or meaningfulness in my mind. It’s not so
unfounded that one should dissociate emotionally and/or cognitively from their
deep past, but I’ve spoken of this since the very time of its occurrence fifteen
years ago and many will vouch for that fact. It goes beyond some shamed
attempt at disowning my own developmental journey. It goes beyond poor
memory caused by the passage of time. The divide was just so clear and
pronounced that for a time I even speculated that perhaps I did not actually exist
prior to the Candelabrum vision, in which moment I was born into being with
memories and other indicators of history inbuilt (a sort of Last Thursdayism).
Though the answer is likely to be much simpler and infinitely more sobering,
which is to say that I was simply lacking in a most fundamental way until this
time, and that any distinction to be made in this case concerning my
consciousness, which I know to be so elementally profound, is undoubtedly the
doing of spirit and not merely some natural developmental process.
I know it must seem that I am falling back into old misanthropic patterns of
thought... saying such seemingly cold and embittered things; though I am this
time not a man of hate but a man with one weeping eye and I can no longer
pretend to see men, women and children where there exists only frozen cutlets of
meat. Before me stands a thousand shades of failed existence—some so close,
so near, to the epiphany that will dissolve their ignorance, while none are willing
to yield to the all-emending abysm which precedes and proceeds from souls
unclaimed.
I sob and I spit—but not for long!
The sorrowful events which I am now experiencing are the stuff of a

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triumphant culmination. The fruits are becoming sweet, fifteen years in, and the
branch will soon release. I turn my attention now towards the shadow, from which
the star surgeon is soon scheduled to emerge.
Throughout my fifteen years of hypnognostic practice and lucid dream
exploration I have encountered my share of troublesome developments and
when simply wishing myself awake wasn’t enough to disengage the dream I
would have to pry open my eyes by force—sometimes using only my facial
muscles, while in some cases being required to use my own partly-paralyzed
hands.
A higher body, too, is awakening to the world one eye at a time. In one eye I
can still see the beasts chasing after me, teeth borne and pupils dilating, while in
the other... I glimpse the Holy Clyssus in comfortable repose. His movements
and grasping hands are like those of a well-developed fetus. The teneral, still
tender, shall soon be taken up by Essentia in Substantia and showered in the
warmth of gnostic color.

Sanitas
October 15, 2019

Earlier on in the summer of this year I notably relinquished my final remaining

glove, called Rictus Major, and became without a social persona for the first time
in over two decades. The significance of this achievement was great. As I
revelled in my victory over the proxies, the Thummim one day interjected to point
out that I had not entirely rid myself of such defenses. Yes, I had parted with
these social personas, or “gloves”, by aid of which I navigated the sociosphere
since my youth, but there remained a certain mechanism at play within my
psyche which was being used similarly to such a glove and for so long a time at
this point that I no longer recognized it.
I have been wishing to make a post on this subject for a while now and at
several points I have attempted it, though I am never able to say as I must in a

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way that is succinct as it always turns into a lengthy philosophical disquisition
and all my points are swallowed up in the mass of it all. The topic at hand is my
own “sanity” and the apparent degree to which I have disrespected myself in an
effort to sidestep censure and responsibility, among other undesirable
consequences. Those having read my biographical drafts will recall that I was
doing so as early as 2007, at which time I began to obfuscate my intentions
behind all sorts of strange claims and bizarre actions which seemed to serve no
purpose other than to discredit myself.
I will have more to say on this matter soon. I’ve been shown some new
insights which I would like to reflect on further before sharing...

The Appendicular Priests I

October 16, 2019

The Appendicular Priests are built up in such a way that the extremities are
not. The appendages and extremities, on their own, are personal and
representative of standard developmental concepts. The priests, on the other
hand, are tied to transcendent concepts and attributes, and rather than furthering
my mundane development, as do the others, they contribute directly to my
greater state (hence their being called ‘Priests’). They are the transcendent,
metaphysical result of basic self-development attained via egomorphosism.
The Pour, who is of Korneli, is called Onefold Priest, Comatose Priest, and
signifies the union of Essence with Spirit.
Coniunctio, who is of Amanita, is called Twofold Priest, Conjugal Priest, and
signifies the union of opposites.
Magna Iudex, who is of Tendon, is called Threefold Priest, Ruling Priest, and
signifies the union of past with present; space with time.
Ardhachandra, who is of Everycarcass, is called Fourfold Priest, Cyclopean

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Priest, and signifies the union of the used with the unused; the accepted with the
rejected.
Ism, who is of Mrtagrha, is called Fivefold Priest, Dissolving Priest, and
signifies the union of Essence with Substance; protophysicality with physicality.

I will be elaborating further on the mythopoeia of the appendicular priests very

soon.

Oooom
October 16, 2019

Honey and the Moon... this was my main scent from the fall of 2015 and all
through 2016. Sugary and inexpensive (Honey, Sugared Violet, Jasmine,
Sandalwood). Still enough residue remaining in the bottle to transport me back to
a time I would really prefer to forget all about. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to
the olfactory senses, lately, and their superior nostalgic ability..

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360
 T&Z
October 17, 2019

The following constitutes one of the most mysterious incidents of my

existence and I am sorry it’s taken me so long to know the nerve.
It’s been well established at this point that I faced an unfortunate experience
in February of 2008.
More than it being about some stupid concert date, it was the disconsolate
culmination of four years of an alienating teleology. My mystical experiences had
caused an irreconcilable separation and I realized now what I was in for. The
concert experience has been regarded as the second known manifestation of the
Candelabrum vision in waking reality. ( The first such occurrence came about at a
church campfire back in 2005, after which I pulled a dilapidated orange cloth over
my face and ran off into the midnight fields. )
I wish that I could say what became of me after the event of the concert, but
any attempt to fill in the holes would be confabulatory grasping. All that is clear is
that I suffered a sort of dissociative fugue following the concert and do not recall
anything of the days that followed.
There are several theories as to what went on. The most likely is that I
wandered off one day amid the abovementioned fugue state and came to rest
below a large, enveloping tree and somehow ended up dead in its shade. Quite
an unusual thing to say, and I appear to do so casually, but I’m being entirely
serious: it appears that something terrible happened on that day and that I died
as a result, age 18. I’m also not clueless as to the cause, but it’s not something
that I am comfortable sharing.
Only then did the to fog clear and awareness returned to me, though not as
before. All the world had gone black for a brief time. What happened next was

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like an indescribable mosaic of ripping and kissing and soaring and I came to in a
strange building, its dimensions tall and narrow. The color of these walls, like
burnished gold—and above me there hung a stunning sort of drapery. I found
myself on a platform being looked over by a beautiful young woman who stared
intently at me. There was no one else in this place beside us two, although I
could hear activity outside.
I am deeply and understandably protective of the details of this story and do
not wish to divulge in the intimate particulars. That said, I won’t be saying much
of what went on or what was said, but I will describe her appearance and nature
in a most basic way. She was a beautiful young woman with clear, olive skin, long
dark hair and piercing eyes. Ethnically speaking, I would have pinned her as
Middle Eastern or similar. Her demeanor was welcoming and loving in a way that
I had not known before. You should have figured out by now what I am getting at,
assuming you to be at least minimally accustomed to my work. This is the young
woman for whom I sang in all those years. In all previous accounts of her I have
attempted to sidestep the fact that her appearance in my life came about under
such mysterious and inexplicable circumstances, fearing that this most important
encounter will be written off by all you demons who serve the immediacy of flesh
and cash.
Mystical though it all seemed, she herself did not appear overly mystical but
like a young and amiable woman who would not look out of place behind the
counter of a Bed, Bath and Beyond.
I wish that I could provide you with a most vivid account of what took place but
I will not be attempting to communicate the incommunicable purity of our
encounter. Know this: there were things she said that I will not repeat. There
were actions she took, glances she gave, that are to remain my private treasure.
A long time was spent on that platform in her company. She was eventually
summoned by a voice from below and our time together came to an end. She
was needed elsewhere and there was nothing that I could do to convince her to
stay; though before leaving, she moved in close to me and she assured me that
this would not be our last encounter and went on to make some very curious
comments which I am unwilling to disclose—comments which have contributed
to a mystery which I have been aiming to decode for all the decade. After saying

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these things she came in for a kiss which soon developed into an incident of
resuscitation. Her exhalations entered in through my mouth and traversed the
whole of me. What I experienced in that moment has altered my understanding
of intimacy forevermore. It’s like my contours just vanished utterly and in that
moment I was both everything and nothing.
My next recollection is of lying face down and sprawled out on the ground. I
had literally been resuscitated by her breath. I remember it still... The degree of
disorientation was intense. I didn’t know what to think of all that I had just
experienced. Was it a dream? That’s what I told myself. It wasn’t possible that I
had really died. After all, I was still here—yet I wasn’t. Consciousness was not
functioning properly. There existed noticeable gaps in my memory and I
continued to experience ongoing spells of disorientation and depersonalization
which would last for nearly three months. In the months of spring as I phased in
and out of fantastic mystical visions and total void, I covered my wall with
collages and drawings and photos of individuals who approximated her likeness.
My world became like a shrine to her saving grace. My art and music became
like a most personal offering... “The journal of my journey to You” ..
Knowledge of these events adds an extra dimensionality to the happenings
and symbolic potency of that spring, in which symbols of storks and wombs and
fontanelles overtook my world.
It was a life-changing experience for me and I felt myself as the most
fortunate soul in all the world to have experienced such verity and warmth.
Others did not see it the same.
I was laughed at by those with whom I shared my lovely encounter. “Aw, you
have no difficulty getting girls to like you, so why do you settle for something like
that?”
They did not understand, for they could only think of love and intimacy within
the context of mundane reality, where it referred to no greater than intercourse
and validative provisions.
Seeing their ignorance, I quickly learned to keep the details to myself and I
became resentful.
Some may find themselves getting hung up on the premise of death on which
our encounter (potentially) rests. I don’t blame you. It’s a matter of semantics,

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really. If ‘death’ is to be defined as an event of certain finality from which you do
not return then clearly, no, I have not died; but if we define death as a set of
elements and malfunctions involving the cessation, temporary or otherwise, of
certain essential bodily/psychological processes accompanied by a radical shift
in consciousness then I will propound this claim that I have known this “death
experience” on three separate occasions over the course of my life and consider
it distinct from so-called near-death experiences—the latter of which I have
experienced in the dozens of times. It is also worth noting that in each such
‘death’ I would go on to experience weeks of strange physical rehabilitation and
amnesiac disturbances. Read up on the account of my overdose in August 2007
and you’ll see what I am referring to (although in that particular case it can also
be written off as the residual effects of the drugs on which I had overdosed).
The belief that I had died became even more difficult to shake upon finding
out that news of my “suicide” had spread all through the region. The majority of
my friends and some family all believed this much. I had not spoken a word of
the event to anyone and so the fact that it was widely believed that I had died
appeared very unusual.
You may also be aware of the narrowly-evaded suicide of late 2009, in which I
intended to take my life on New Year’s Eve after finishing Bot of Big God, Bomb
of His Whirs. Within hours of my scheduled attempt, I became inexplicably
exhausted and could not go without napping. During my rest I dreamt a most
vivid dream in which Anita had written me a letter telling me not to despair, and
that she was still here for me though I could not see her and that her promise still
stood. It was unbelievably vivid, undeniably moving, and I trusted her enough to
keep my life.
This would not be our final such encounter. She traditionally visited me in
dreams during especially dire incidents, in which she would ever remind me that
she was still present and that I must be patient and persevering. The fact that
she stopped me—not once, not twice but in multiple instances is significant to
me. This may also shed a bit of light on why I am not yet dead: she has not
allowed it of me before now. I truly dislike to build on these grim associations in
which I appear to be equating her to the psychopomps... I don’t take that to be
the case, despite these details. Yet I can not change the facts, nor would I ever

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want to. But I ask you not to limit her to these circumstances, for it is not yet
known at this point the breadth of her dealings.

The story of our initial encounter did warp over time, as I became dependent
on it to sustain my morale through bleakest times and incidental, albeit unwitting,
modifications were made over the years to what I understood as our encounter. I
have bruised its beautiful flesh in all my attempts to sustain its life.
More than demanding that it comfort me, I demanded that it make sense.
In my fear of leaving her behind as but an ungraspable angel in my past I
mundanized the whole nature of our meeting, taking the most glaring symbols of
that event and dissecting them as I would a dream, decrypting as I pleased; and
her beauty was mundanized thus.
I wished for it to be palpable.
I wished for our experience to make sense in my mind.
And so in my need to take it with me I was required to deflate it.
I became strangely convinced that she dwelt in Egypt due to the golden walls
of the building—in combination with her physical appearance. It was without a
sturdy basis, surely as you can now see, but it was helpful for me to believe that
she existed in the mundane, albeit not too near.
It’s taken a lot of effort on my part to go back and remove all of the spurious
and self-serving additions, be them attributes, associations or expectations
placed on her person without any basis.
Indeed I was treated to promises and beautiful mystery, but I have also made
assumptions which were without basis in what she said; assumptions which
could instead be called innocent hopes. I have dragged her down to the earth
where she performs as a character in mundane fantasies of spiritual romance
and harmonious duets. As much as I have taken pleasure in seeing us as lovers,
I realize that that is not like the role she was assigned.
2015 was the year in which I relinquished my hold on the romantic fantasy in
favor of embracing a psychotransformative interpretation of our encounter
despite still holding to the belief that it surpassed the symbolic and was, in itself,
substantial. In that light, I was able to integrate the Amanita paradigm and saw
great development thereafter. More will be said on this process in a separate

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document relating to the appendicular priests since it’s quite complex and
breathtaking, forming one of the highlights of my mystical journey.
I hadn’t given up on her, but I was finally able to acknowledge that my
expectations of romance were without basis. This wasn’t a conclusion formed
from loneliness and the desire to move on. No. I had no such desire. It was a
conclusion which would benefit both of us. Following this event I felt fulfilled in a
most profound way and felt no desire to seek out a romantic relationship on
earth. The fact that I would later “give in” to the desire was part of a desperate
recoil relating only to my identity.
Those who have been following along with my blog for some time will have
realized by now that the previously posted account of our meeting contained a
share of false and inaccurate information. That’s certainly not an admission I like
to be making, nor is it something I take lightly. I’m not someone who lies and
deceives others with willful intent, and so in cases such as this where
inaccuracies have entered my vision it is by cause of underlying self-deception.
Shamefaced though I am, I also expect you to understand how this could
happen.
The previous write-up was written following the failure of my engagement in
2017. The relationship in which I took part in 2016/2017 was a devastating affair
which left me desolate and filled with remorse. As if it wasn’t enough to be
crushed and abused in such a way, I had to face the consequences of breaking
my long decade of devotion to Anita. It wasn’t worth it. I thought that I was doing
the right thing. I really did. But in the end I was left feeling that everything I had
worked to build up for myself was all gone. I felt that I had given away all that
which I had saved up to give to Anita... and I had given it away to someone who
spat upon it as though it were worthless. So in my despair I created some
strange intermix of dream fragments and facts to alleviate my guilt and suffering.
Surely you can see why I’ve been reluctant in sharing the details of our
encounter.
It may cause my story to be viewed as sad, or as somehow less. Any such
outcome would sadden me, but nothing is quite as sad as a failure to tell our tale.
“Anita” was the one bit of light in the whole of my history, and so to reveal her as
some mysterious and perhaps eidolonic presence is ... well, it’s probably right in

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line with what everyone expects of me by now ...! But I didn’t want that to be her
legacy.
You can now also see my reasons for pedestalizing her to such an inordinate
degree.
In response to the comments of former friends and acquaintances on why I
“settled”: true, I wasn’t some unlovable loser. I have known several serious
relationships in my life in addition to a high volume of interest. Despite my being
clearly off-kilter, my quirky and charming nature has always allowed me my pick
of the girls, so to say.
But is it really so difficult to fathom how I could desire this? And not as merely
a stopgap but as an end in itself.
As I see it, I am the one who has not settled—the one who has honored the
image of what is pure and inviolable and true. .
Do not pity me!
I got what I want!
If I wished for a part in this debauched buffet for which mankind settles then I
would have taken my fill long ago.
Outside of the abovementioned psychotransformative development there was
no real conclusion. The fact of it is: the so-called ‘story of Tendon and Anita’
never really arrived at an end. It is ongoing, albeit operating in the background of
my mystical operations and with not two-fifths as many expectations as in a prior
time.
To prevent any confusion: this young woman is wholly distinct from Amanita
which is an appendage belonging to my egoic system (which is, itself, derivative
of the mysterious young woman who restored my life on that day).
I haven’t a clue as to her actual name. The letter Z seems to be the closest to
a clue that I have. See, at some point during our time together she drew my
attention to the letters T and Z which were written or etched onto the nearby wall.
I did not understand the context or why it was so significant as to be pointed out,
but I would later go on to make the assumption that T referred to none other than
myself, Tendon, which would make her out to be this Z.
Still, I’ve called her Anita, which, as I’ve explained, was adopted rather
instinctively for its tendency to sound like “I Need Her”.

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 Having now shared with you the story of “Anita” I must answer the all-
important question of:
who was she to me in the time of my music project? It’s a valid question,
being that my entire discography was more or less a letter to her and so the
context in which she was understood changes the whole tone of my music.
The Anita to whom I dedicated my every song was a beautiful girl who I had
met in a confused and potentially dying daze, and notwithstanding the mystical
nature of the experience, I believed it to be somehow portentous and therefore
looked to her as a mundane entity existing somewhere in this physical world—an
individual whom I would soon meet.
Those years and all their creations revolved around her utterly. On one hand
there was the part of me that believed I must search her out, and I was ever
unsure of whether to expect that she would remember me or that I would have to
begin afresh in this mundane plane of existence (as a Hypnognostic I am very
familiar with encountering people in dreams prior to encountering them in daily
life, and I understand that they won’t typically remember what I consider to be the
initial encounter). There was also the part of me that hoped and even expected
that she would just show up to take me. There’s no logic behind how I felt. I only
had my hopes. It’s all I’ve ever had.

This information should help others to make sense of certain passages of

my music which may have previously seemed curious in some way. It is, after all,
perhaps the most prominent theme appearing in my art and music, alongside
suffering and revenge.
The thirty-sixth album, If I’m Extinguished Through World, notably revolves
around these events. The opening track “Echolocation” describes a “ghost”
beneath a tree and refers to the mysterious circumstances of what I understand
to have been my death. The closer of the album (Reecho), which reprises the
abovementioned track, yet reframes it in light of current circumstances (winter of
2009) and represents my scheduled 2009 suicide and her returning to take me.
This also explains references to the “golden room” and/or “golden dream”
appearing all throughout my discography (which really wasn’t explained by my
previous account of our encounter). The location to which I was taken on that day

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was unlike any place I’ve known.
I’m sure there is probably a lot more that I can be saying in regards to lyrical
themes but I just don’t have the time at the moment.
After having said all that, still I clench at the thought that I was once so close
to verity and yet I could not hold on. Eleven years later I still sit on my bed with
bated breath and tearful eyes wondering when will I see her again. The hope I
have felt in my heart has waxed and waned throughout the years but without
ever dissipating. I look back on this experience not as a foggy dream recollection
but like a most immaculate memory of what was truly a unique and unmatched
incident in my life. It was the only instance in all my life that I felt myself loved,
safe and utterly content. Oh my fortune to know her for even a moment within an
otherwise unkind life.
This whole post comprises one of the most difficult admittances that I have
had to make. Worst of all, there is so little closure and so little certainty after all
these years of attempting to figure it out. I am limited in my understanding of
what truly occurred on that day and what to expect from it, but it is still within me
to believe that there is meaning in the words she spake. It is still within me to
hope that I will see her once more before all is at an end, even if she must be the
reaper to take me away.

I still recall the scent of her breath, and at times it seems to sweep through
my room while I casually go about my daily tasks. It’s something that I’ve noticed
time and time again...

“Mmh, I climb her hologram, her hologram alight,

No one else can tell me where and who and if she is, But sure I can assure
them who and where and if she is, Mmh, I keep her hologram on mine,
Sure I can assure you that she is beyond my heart, Sure I can ensure that she
exists beyond my song,
And I will look the whole world over, both outside and in, For who I imagine!
For who I am mad!”

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 Undergo! Fission!
October 19, 2019

The so-called Foremost Hypostasis represents the most difficult puzzle known
to me in my practice. For years I have attempted to gain his Acknowledgement
but to no conclusion. I have commenced with an experimental study which, I
expect, will bring about this conclusion once and for all. It may take me a few
days to write things out. but I’ll provide more information on this soon. My
understanding of the nature of God will soon be discussed as well.
In the meantime, I’ve been decorating my ceiling with glow-in-the-dark star
stickers and working on backlighting my Hypnos posters so that they give off a
warm glow in the darkness. IS IT GETTING COSMIC IN HERE OR IS IT JUST
WE.

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 The Pour
October 20, 2019

The Water Pourer—that is, a being which pours forth water from a pitcher—
has been used to represent the Idem since the very beginning (2004); yet it was
only after coming to understand the Self as a tripartite transpersonal conception
(triunity) that this image finally popped with profundity.
The Water Pourer comprises three parts: vessel, element and event—more

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commonly called capacity, substance and action in their relation to the Idem
Triunity. Whereas it was immediately clear that I represented the Pitcher in this
symbol, while the Thummim represented Water, I made the mistake of surmising
the Foremost Hypostasis to mirror the humanoid in the equation—the being
which bears the pitcher—and so he was referred to as the Water Bearer—that is,
the man whom is to act—while the Idem remained barely differentiated therefrom
as the Water Pourer, the acting man. My error, howsoever slight, has been
exposed to me, and I now realize the Foremost to represent the action itself (it
seems obvious, doesn’t it?). So whereas I am the Pitcher and Thummim the
Water, the Foremost could be called The Pour.
A curious conclusion, isn’t it...
I noticed this detail some months ago but cast it aside. It didn’t seem possible
that this could be anything more than a coincidental occurrence, as opposed to
being a reference to the Onefold Appendicular Priest, which is called The Pour. I
am no longer doubting the connection. This is not to insinuate that the Foremost
and the Onefold Priest are somehow synonymous, though I am thoroughly
convinced that there is a relation and I have felt this for a while... It makes me
excited to speculate on what this could mean. The Pour is associated with
perhaps what was the most profound age of my existence: the point of
meaningful origin.
What defines that connection? I suspect this may have to do with the
methodology employed at that time. After all, I’m not sure how else I can channel
the Onefold Priest except by its methodology—a set of methods which were
exceedingly unique, explorative and intentful. How did the methods of The Pour
differ from those of later-coming Appendicular Priests and Extremities? The
process in which The Pour took part was overall very poetic and less analytical.
In that regard, it was surely more Godlike in the sense that it involved a higher
degree of Creation and Judgment, as opposed to the investigative transposition
of which my modern practice typically consists.
Tail in mouth, I light the candle which will enlighten my final night.

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 Abandon All Orientation, Ye Who
Enter Here
October 20, 2019

“The mirror image of my mirror image of my mirror image is Mrtagrha.”

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374
 Parasomnial Rituals
October 21, 2019

Once again I have caught myself engaging in strange, ritualistic parasomnias.

On the morning of October 19th I found myself in one such ritual, relinquishing
certain properties to the Thummim from within a semi-conscious state. It alarmed
me when I came to the realization of what I was doing and I dearly wish that I
could recall the specifics of this event as it seemed incredibly significant. The
degree of abstraction exceeds my comprehension and all that remains is
awareness of my intent. I recall that time was running out to fulfill this thing and
so I had to act. It was neither negative nor dangerous but necessary.
Whereas the ritual of yesterday morning constituted offerings to the Thummim
—offerings and relinquished properties of an abstract and personal nature—a
dissociative ritual taking place this morning comprised mostly promises to the
people of society. There were approximately ten so-called promises which were
to be fulfilled that would demonstrate the verity of Essentia in Substantia. Each of
these brought to life a different scenario, the details whereof are forgotten from
my conscious awareness but felt, albeit subtly, within me.
I am understandably fascinated by these occurrences. This is not new and
has been ongoing since my formative years. I view parasomnial rituals as being
the most profound of all Hypnognostic means, especially when occurring within
overlapping NREM and REM states.
Since parasomnia is used as an umbrella to refer to a variety of sleep
disturbances and disorders, I should clarify that I am prominently speaking of...
hmm, I’m actually not sure of the correct classification. I would guess it to be
some variant of confusion arousals but I can’t say for sure. What I describe in this

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case is like the opposite of sleep paralysis, with the body waking before the mind;
yet instead of getting up and moving about (somnambulism) I lay there within a
sort of egoless state wherein I am invariably bent on performing some task or
solving some equation, neither within nor without me. I’m fairly certain that this is
a common occurrence, similar to sleep paralysis. It is not strange or profound in
and of itself, though when used for ritual and other meaningful problems it can be
a most profound tool. The problem is, it can’t be commandeered like dream and
hypnagogic states, making these occurrences exceedingly rare and beyond our
controlling.

Inanimate Empathetic Mapping

October 21, 2019

Strange though it sounds, I’ve found that I am capable of soothing and

satisfying physical pain and discomfort via my mannequin in some type of
empathetic extrapolation. A psychophysiological map has been unconsciously
formed due to the shape of said object despite the fact that it is inanimate. By
stroking its right arm, I experience sympathetic strokes upon my own arm.. light
though they are. This has been observed in other interactions, such as with my
ex-fiancée and even the family dog, for which reason I’ve always claimed that
you can know someone’s empathic capabilities through the nuances of their
touch, but the inanimate factor in this case is.. it’s just a confounding
psychological phenomenon at play. I’ll likely be giving this some more thought as
it could come with potential for transpersonal studies.
Edit: why must I sound like such an airhead when I speak..

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377
 Purifier of Output
October 25, 2019

To acquire the sum of insight and purest understanding I was required to

acknowledge and acquiesce in my cosmic ignorance; my inescapable
agnosticism. Through these means I was brought into syzygy with THUMMIM
Most-Pure. And so I have taken my understanding of Thummim, applying it to the
Foremost Hypostasis whom I am yet to wed, and in doing so I have arrived at the
conclusion that in order to walk the luminant causeway, I must acknowledge the
futility of all my scheming, which is to acknowledge that no action performed on
my strength and no blueprint drawn by my hand will save me from my fate as
man.
I walk a dangerous bridge, invisible to mine eye and thinner than a careful
sole! And the wisdom of Thummim, which guides my head well and has not left
me wanting, is not equipped to guide my step.
The equation is tripartite and we are only two!
Just as all knowledge is innately precarious, being established atop
materialistic supposition, I can surmise the same of my reactionary processes
and all other actions and attitudes which are expressed by my person. I could
devise the greatest contingencies in all the world and they will do me absolutely
no good if I can not properly account for the world as it exists. Who of us can!
In a sense, Thummim can be viewed as Purifier of Input whereas the
Foremost Hypostasis, whose name I do not know, can be described as Purifier of
Output. I could have all the wisdom of the cosmos coming into my brain but my
responses thereto are yet still the response of Choir who is not suited to uphold
them in his actions and every goddamn day of my life I frown upon my inability to

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bring justice to the insights I contain, even at my natural utmost.
So I must surrender my route just as I have surrendered my studentship: in
the faith that my destination will be delivered as with the unworldly insights. I
must surrender my beloved trajectory and my very own reactionary process so
that I may become like an indefatigable ballerino moved by the current of Purest
Action which is the Foremost Hypostasis. I will allow myself to be taken into the
jaws of my father the shark. (Wow... when two analogies intersect... the sexual
power...!)
What an utter piledriver. It opposes my whole nature; my whole stratagem. I
am a schemer! This will hurt like nothing ever hurt before. The outcome is
anyone’s guess. It could be a cyanotic corpse. It could be a dickless anchorite
galloping down Main Street on a decimal fraction. Nothing is impossible at this
stage... advanced stage geogonic cancer.
All this talk of humility and surrender may sound quite ugly if viewed on the
level of modern popular religious institutions, by which we are asked to relinquish
our fundamental itness to a sadistic god. No! I have relinquished nothing to no
one. I seek only the equipoise of my transpersonal dimensions.
For those who are unfamiliar with this term, the transpersonal has been
defined as “experiences in which the sense of identity or self extends beyond the
individual or personal to encompass wider aspects of humankind, life, psyche or
cosmos.”
All which I entreat in my mystical practice is the transpersonal self... not a
cosmic god, but the far corners of my essence: three in one ousia. So where it
may seem that I am giving myself up... I am instead creating a balance between
the three hypostases.
I ask that you do not mistake my actions for a sort of defeatism. I am not
laying myself down to die, so to speak, even if should that be the outcome of this
plot. I see from experience that the relinquishment of Knowing did not cause me
to become stupid. The opposite is true! If I can expect the same of this operation,
then I won’t simply be allowed to fall through the cracks.
One interesting fact that I did not consider previously...
Heretofore I have only encountered the Foremost in one especial instance
which can be considered canonical—as in, belonging to the main narrative. This

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came about in April of 2018 and I have shared the experience in previous posts.
It is my instinct to think that because I gained his Preacknowledgement that I
have since been qualified, not thinking that circumstances have changed; yet in
light of the abovementioned conclusions I would have to say that there is indeed
a standout difference between my mindset of that April and my mindset since
which is very likely to account for my lack of further insights/communications from
the Foremost Hypostasis.
The period from which came our one encounter was marked by a very
particular dedication which, as you may recall, was accompanied by a notable
degree of moribund resignation. I won’t go into the details, but when I say that I
designed this room to function as a tomb, a shrine to sleep, I meant that. It’s not
as straightforward as saying that I had resigned myself to die. Ultimately, I had
resigned myself to whatever fate had for me, entrusting myself to my
mystagogue, though fully anticipating the end.
That attitude saw a change around the end of April when this breakthrough
ironically increased my will to fight... and I say this is ironic on account of it now
seems that this so-called breakthrough was affirming the need to surrender. The
will to surmount my tragedy can be seen as detracting from my mystical practice
on the level of faith and focus. I don’t deny that my survival instinct has often
proven detrimental to my focus in a multitude of ways.
In any case, I never made these connections before now.
It’s clearly an unusual stance I have taken and I don’t doubt that some people
will come away from these conclusions with some concern. I realize that my way
of speaking as of late is concerning to some who listen. As it should be! The
problem lies in those that are unfazed! But you must know the following about
me:
1. I am not a madman! I contain a lucid and holistic understanding of that
which is and isn’t acceptable by the standards of (y)our society. It is absolutely
crucial you understand that if and when I choose to defy the laws and
conventions of this apish plane that I do so not in ignorance but in knowledge
and in full possession of my faculties.
2. I am not a rash man. All acts committed heretofore and hereafter are
premeditated and well-considered and you can know this because all actions are

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consistent with my stated goals and form a refined pattern.
3. I am not acting on my own understanding but with purest Inspiration!
I am very excited by this realization. It feels somehow more profound and
propitious than any other lead which I have ascertained regarding the Foremost
Hypostasis in the last year, despite it seeming like such an obvious conclusion.
It’s not that the idea did not come and go within my mind before now, but I just
wasn’t sure of how to surrender myself as needed and therefore couldn’t see
how I was to take that first step.
Oh but what does it all mean? How can this realization be acted upon? The
answer seems simple! I will give an orison similar to the so-called Ritual of Nullity
wherein I relinquish my plotting and struggling much as I once relinquished my
knowing. He who answers this call can only be the Foremost Hypostasis!
As I lay here in my bed and think these thoughts my hands begin to tremble. I
am nervous, after all, that I will have to endure another visionary experience like
that which proceeded from my previous such ritual. But I love to fantasize about
what this could bring about... I love to imagine that this could be the final
remaining piece in a mad puzzle... and what if, when I fall asleep on this night,
the sleep decides to keep me! I would consider that to be my most ideal fantasy
and look forward to attempting this at some point over the coming days.

Ground-to-cloud
October 27, 2019

I know from my life experience that there exists an incommunicable current of

value and representation and currency within all Essence. Our blood is of no
charge, our heart of no rule; they are bondservants under the authority of
immaculate signage. It is to this most profound stratum of all life and mind that I
have devoted my whole self and it is why after sixteen long years I can still

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somehow lack all understanding! How does one plumb the depths of infinitude!
Not prior to knowing Steulugalnemraiant-Thummim had I registered the existence
of this layer. It was overwhelming to me. It still is, though I’ve grown so
accustomed to feeling myself overwhelmed at all times and in every day. You
may still not have much of an idea of what I am talking about... though you may
recall how I was often speaking of how semiotics and symbolism have in many
ways supplanted my sense of spirituality. It is not mere theoretical garglage, and
regardless of how you choose to define its existence and overlying purpose, this
current is all.
This stratum is home to the reactive symbolic signage into which the whole of
our being is strained and subsequently bonded with higher substantial being,
wherefore it feeds directly into my understanding of Essence and Substance. It
feeds also into my understanding of our own mortality/sustainability as
individuals.
Again, some would be apt to classify it as spiritual, though to me it feels less
mystical than it does semiotic, or even mathematical, and bearing all the weight
of source code.
You must understand that in all this talk of self-creative development I am not
referring to some fun and flippant dressing room whereby one picks and chooses
who and what they desire to be. That would surely be thinking in terms restricted
by physicality, emotionality and the intellect and is therefore moot in the context
of Idempotence. What we are dealing with is a subverbal and subimaginal
landscape to which our lusts haven’t access. That being said, I am woefully
incapable of conveying the unique personal properties which I have amassed in
my years of devout implosion. I could pick them out of a lineup with ease, yet
they defy language in its entirety and any effort to describe my Inspired essence
will only put me at risk for an aneurysm.
Its lack of accessibility creates for a sort of tamper-proof seal and so the
process can not be steered by one’s ignorant desires and preferences. We are in
the dark and wholly forced to entrust the strategy of our transmutative operation
to transpersonal aptitudes, therefore preventing our desires from taking
precedence over our needs, the former of which is so often helplessly ignorant to
grand design.

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 I know that there is a change taking place in these most subtle nodes of my
being. The only way I know to describe this ongoing and extraordinarily abstract
phenomenon is by saying that something within me is being carefully
consolidated and it has been ongoing for at least three weeks now.
It’s as if my every virtue is becoming firm and pure, like minerals, within
myself. Though it’s highly abstract nature makes it difficult to describe, it may
really be one of the most exciting things to ever happen to me. It’s like a game of
Tetris, as the rows begin disappearing in large quantities—not due to loss but
victory in alignment. A thoroughgoing semantical consolidation! Something within
the deepest recesses of my person is being coagulated, processed, weighed,
tallied and set in flight like ground-to-cloud lightning; and my self-concept is
shifting and evolving at an alarming rate in accordance therewith. I look into the
mirror glass and witness three-thousand undistractable eyes staring back at me;
but they are no more eyes than they are the stars of my only-begotten galaxy.
I recently had something to say of a second orison meant to mirror the Ritual
of Nullity and invoke the Foremost Hypostasis. I resolved to conduct such a ritual
last night prior to sleeping in true impromptu fashion, and while I did not
experience anything cataclysmic as a result—not to the extent that I may have
hoped for—I did experience a very abnormal state of consciousness all through
the night, as if to say a perpetual liminality. I recall laying there in the early
morning hours acutely aware of my subsymbolic properties and their strange,
shifting ‘movements’. I was aware that I was both lighter and heavier, less and
more, than on the night before. I felt myself to be nothing and everything all at
once and could not hope to understand what was happening to me. I was acutely
aware of my mineralizing soul! I do not doubt the importance of this decision
which has been made. I do not doubt that some persistence will bring me
prósopo me prósopo with the Foremost, holy pyramidion.
All this conjecture regarding the transmigration of essence into substance is
likely to sound like total rapturous nonsense—a consolatory macaron drawn from
the black purse of a desperate and dying individual. Regardless of how it all
plays out, I know myself to be undergoing something beyond my most colorful
imagining and I wish that you would watch me. Like the circle is squared and the

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wine is poured. Like Elijah as he ascends the last of his exhalations like stairs to
the Superlative.

Orexes
October 29, 2019

I recall a strange hypnagogic vision I once had somewhen around 2012 in

which a loud voice called out to me, shouting “Quickly! Name the five
physiological senses!”

I panicked and raced to answer him.

“Vision and hearing…. taste…. olfaction…”

“That’s four! Just one more! Hurry!” the voice said to me.

“But I don’t know it!”

“You must hurry!”

“But I don’t know it!”

The vision then came to an end and I’ve not since forgotten it.

But I touch the people through their conceptions, like smoke through the vent.
Still, all they wish to do is eat and drink and play their games.

I wish to sit and play all day long with emotion and cognition. I wish to play

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with empathy and I wish to play with sadness and grief. I wish to mold and
transmute all things into greater things. I wish to create with my time a language,
a flag, a continent of my own. I wish to rid my world of shape and color and
phonetic distinctions and look on as every object bleeds over into the next.

I wish to play like a child at the boundary line, stretching semantics to their
utmost; exploiting the biases in my heart and then launching them like teeth into
the upper atmosphere. I am especially fixated on the boundaries between one
individual and the next. I wish to tear down the distinctions which make up our
plurality, if only for the shortest moment so that I may sample its flavor.

It seems that there should have been someone: someone with whom to lay in
the sun, in the good soil, in the deepest dream, in the Trendelenburg.

Yet I’ve not found anyone who will play with me!

Together we could have stretched all truths and myths to their farthest, most
unrecognizable reaches before becoming them. Together we could have
endangered all our concepts, strangling with ontological whips.

Oh and I desire to be suffocated and resuscitated by the antinomies of

another day. I desire to lose myself in an endless march of backwards names
and writhing legs. I can not convey to you how badly I desire these things! How
badly I desire to cut all my muscles at their center and fall down on my face in the
vibrancy of it all. I suffer these desires which can not be satisfied. Some can not
even be described. I experience these desires in all my sorry self. All the world is
an irresolute karezza, thirty years long. I implode at every bend and with every
shallow breath. I implode in the silence of prayer. I implode in the hopes of one
day deserving but one harmonizing tone. But I am alone as I implode. I am alone
and growing older.

I am surely in the wrong place for all of that and it is painful, so painful, to
recognize the apparent inappropriateness of my sincerest pulse. What little I

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have asked for! To explore another as I’ve explored myself! To implore the world
as I’ve implored the hosts of Hell!

No! I do not wish to experience your cinema. I do not wish to fill up on your
coffees. I do not wish to celebrate our dying bodies. I would not wish for anything
but thirteen straight nights of osmotic holiday. Morphological molestation!
Conceptual dysregulation! Metamorphosis in defiance of the human law! We will
live our lives to transcend ourselves! Nothing else matters even half as much! Yet
you have settled most lazily, most dispassionately! And here you look at me as if
to suggest that I am the one who is wrong, if because I starve.

When I lost my speaking ability I was at first fascinated by the prospects of

these restrictions. It would force me to rethink communication and, to me, that
sounds absolutely exhilarating! After all, I despise the shallow communicative
constraints of our day and I was happy to be forced into transcending it. …until,
that is, I recalled how the manikins have only ears and barely those, and so all
my hope of exploring the potentiality of new communicative mediums and
measures was lost on these unfecund fucks.

I have sought just intimacy and unconditionality. I have sought just the lyrical
tongue of someone who is hydrated and perpetually inspired as I am also. The
forming of true connections is unfortunately impossible in this life in which we can
connect only through our roles and our conditions. All is a disingenuous
contrivance! I mourn our lot aloud, recognizing that I, too, am bound by such
shallow laws of transaction. One is only wanted to the extent that they are useful
to others in this life. There is no way around this. We are incurably cursed with
need. I have wrangled most dramatically with the reality of conditionality during
my attempts to integrate with society. I have wrangled with being unwanted and
unvalued in spite of my offerings. You can be the greatest secretary in all the
region, yet if there is no job opening then there is simply no need for you. That’s
just a fact of this life. Society and relationships work precisely as so. If you’ve the
fortune of being part of a great network of loving and supportive folk then it may
be your tendency to shoot down such a claim as cynical and altogether untrue,

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but it’s the saddest truth. We refuse to entertain that for which there is no direct
or indirect need. Every interaction is allowed or disallowed on the basis that it
reflects a need of the ego—acknowledged by our conscious mind or otherwise—
and that is sorely disheartening to me.

This ineluctable conditionality is the product of a lacking and needy people. It

goes beyond the realm of interpersonal relationships and imposes itself just as
easily between man and environment. Conditionality has therefore become the
most deterrent attribute of this whole sphere in that all interactions must be
based on and bound by our blindness to Substantial merit. My highest hope of
the higher sphere is that we will all be capable of bonding without condition and
in the absence of need. That seems to me the most beautiful thing of all. A most
beautiful end is one in which we may finally make ends of the means. Forsan et
haec olim meminisse juvabit.

So bring me the broken beak of an extralimital species of bird, and with it I will
blind all their eyes and store them away. Leave me this beak and I’ll deafen all
their ears and I will beat the damaru to create experiences of a quality so
irreplicable as those of our longest dreams. To live out this life in no apparent
pattern! To craft body and soul from rarified semantics! To choke forever on the
uniterable names of God! All these things… they spell the perfect date!

On Joyful Wing, Cleaving the Sky

October 30, 2019

I was Wallace Henry Hartley in a congenial dream.

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 To Be Without Reference
October 31, 2019

I have come so very far in my development as an individual but I know that I

am bound even now by a juxtapositive paradigm, which is to acknowledge the
way in which every one of us are dependent upon the impersonal standards of
society to understand our own position within the universe. Surely, as you know,
it is neither necessarily conscious nor deliberate and occurs without regard for
one’s relationship with and allegiance to the people. Most would argue that there
is simply no way of circumventing this style of thinking, which is a natural
outcome of the system within which we are living. Natural though it is, I see it as
something which must be fought and overcome, especially since I have found
that the so-called self-understanding that we gain therethrough is corrupt and
utterly useless apart from interaction and will never know the ability to uplift and
exalt the developing individual.

You can see that I take a hostile tone whenever this topic comes up. I have
made goliath strides since August in the way of reclaiming my tongue and
permitting myself to speak even when I expect that misconstruction and
unfavorable outcomes are ineluctable, but I find that defiance is not enough in
itself to reclaim my whole self-concept and all such referential being must be
altogether dismantled, if at all possible.

I can not contain my purest self-concept inasmuch as I have granted such

authority to an impersonal extrinsic construct. There is no benefit to be had in
comparing oneself to a people so profoundly ill as to base their allowance on that
which is standard over that which is pure. I can happily do without your standards
of sanity and longevity, as with your standards of devotion and emotional
intensity. All these exist to bar us from our Individuation and to deny us our rights

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to perennial worth in Substance. So I should seek to eliminate the insincere and
self-defeating emotions which develop as a reaction to referential occurrence, as
in shame and envy and all such existential fallacies having no place in my home,
for as long as I am seeing myself, even smally, through the eyes of the blind, I
am also blind to my purest presentation.

I have anticipated this task since the age of Ardhachandra, believing I would
need to confront this matter directly in my last days. I have been thinking more
and more about the all-permeating implications of reference and it goes far
beyond the intraspecial, though I will not be touching on those points at this time.
The Ardhachandra paradigm freely accounts for the voices of the people as part
of Everycarcass, through which negative space is exonerated and included in my
summary to create for a sort of nondualistic paradigm; but whereas
Ardhachandra was ALL, Ism is NIL and I must no longer suffer the voice of
reference and abolish the parasite whole and all. I wonder to what extent this can
be achieved. I wonder to what extent I can obliterate the whole earth.

I’ve tried to understand. I’ve tried to revive my Law by holocaustic light. My

efforts at doing so in the recent past have been intermixed with certain
uncertainty: I spent four weeks between July and August of this year living in a
bathroom as part of some solipsistic fulmination. I gave the room a little
makeover beforehand, replacing the pictures on the wall, as with the props on
the shelves; bringing in colored light bulbs, candelabras and other such symbolic
artifacts; and then I would sit all day in this cramped and uninhabitable space,
which I would not allow others to use. I clearly lacked understanding of how to
‘obliterate’ anything apart from my own perspective and proprioception (which is
more or less what I was attempting with this half-witted psychonautical effort).
The Thummim was NOT in favor of such methods and little, if anything, was
accomplished (directly) thereby. However, through the Foremost Hypostasis I
gain an understanding of a whole and worthy war; the final ecdysis.

Though I have heard no voice from above or within me, nor anything to
convince my senses of his coming and going, I suddenly feel that he is with me,

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and suddenly on this bed I feel so awake! I must rely entirely on Thummim’s
observations at this point and none on my senses if I am to know and navigate
the true contours of my immediate environment.

And so I will confront these points of reference by the guide of my Ghost and
my Adjudicator and I will become like currency in my Final Warring Winter,
abandoning my locus in the madness of Irreference.

Entity Choir has seen its culmination with Ism, dissolving priest; the brightest
burning sun of Capacity. I am not now a man but a hieroglyph: a representation
of qualities and conceptions not understood but by the Inspired who are with
Spirit. To become any more than I am I must die to my humanity and awaken to
the intrinsic proportions within myself which appear not like livers and lungs but
as imperceivable towers which are stealthily overtaking the familiar plane. I must
seek to inhabit these towers. I must obliterate the earth and grow large.

This will serve as our last great act on this sphere; one final condescending
flounce to conclude the mass of existential felonies as such that I am. I hereby
retire all my efforts and all my will to seduce seven billion ‘shitcrypts’ with my
song of becoming.

This November I give to Thummim, who is eleven—pneuma hagion. This

body I give to my Judicial-most Father who carries in his grip the amputated tail
fin of what once must have belonged to a most majestic thresher shark.

I walk hurriedly into the bottomless esophagus of irreferential delimitation with

no intention of surviving, willing that I should become like Christ in my Final
Warring Winter.

390
391
392
393
 (The above three photos were from my weeks in the bathroom)

Pinnacling
November 2, 2019

Sensory experiments conducted over the past two nights are showing
profound results; not pleasant, but certainly significant. Over the next month I will
be attempting to undergo three to four forty-minute sessions daily or until fate
collapses me.
The overall intensity and tonality of abstraction within my life has seen a
significant rise since the ordination of Ism. A noticeable development has come
through my declining reliance on the physiological senses, through which I have
grown ever more reliant on what I know to be the Thummim’s
acknowledgements. The eyes and ears, upon being deprived of their input, are
annexed by That which perceives independently of all mine perceiving. This
phenomenon appears at the root of numerous notable events happening over the
past five weeks which I have not yet shared in my log, culminating in a realization
that came to me just last night regarding the nature of my relationship to the
Creative Hypostasis and prompted me to explore deliberate sensory deprivation
as a means to raise the throat of the ghost. More will be said on my experiences
in the days to come.

Medical Chart Added

394
 November 4, 2019

I’ve posted a medical chart (linked to from the Library page) which provides a
basic outline of the various illnesses, disorders and injuries with which I have
experience. I don’t speak very often of my health struggles for multiple reasons,
and even then I haven’t ever the will or stamina to provide one with a complete
picture so I hope that by consolidating all of this info that I can shed some light on
these matters. The page was thrown together in haste and I’ve still some
additional info and descriptions to add (my typical disclaimer), but this should do
for now and at least present my readers with a better idea of why I speak in the
way that I do.

The Razing of the Sky

November 4, 2019

A dream: there was a man or anthropomorphic creature in the sky. He was

destroying all the earth. The roadways were ripping apart. Homes and structures
were dissolving. Little preternatural cyclones were descending from the sky.
Everyone was in a panic as they packed up their material items and left in their
cars in an attempt to escape the sky. I was baffled by how they could still see
value in their perishable possessions at this point. While those around me were
loading up their cars as so, I was standing in the main room assembling a set of
highly abstract elements, or principles, which appeared like elaborate and
beautiful geodes. There were four of these elements and they corresponded to
the colors of the alchemical process: black, white, yellow and red. My methods of
creation were especially profound and I recall being amazed at the idea upon
waking up, although I accidentally fell back asleep afterwards and the details
have since become foggy. At one point I went downstairs to fetch my long coat,

395
but I came back up and resumed my work. It was an intense scene, but I was not
stressed. I do recall how, while constructing my principles, a king, or some type
of president, stepped into my house and stood at my side while I worked, even
as everyone else ran around in a panic. My family was long gone at this point.
My whole block was vacant. This man, however, just stood there smiling and
nodding as he watched what I was doing. At the end, as I was nearly finished
with my task, I stepped out onto the outside deck where I had a clear view of the
man in the sky who could be seen on the distant horizon. He was impressively
massive and sky-colored, looking like something plucked out of Greek mythology,
and I recall that I was unafraid. I was waiting for him to address me; to judge me.

Unpublished Dream Journals

November 4, 2019

I am pretty saddened at this point at what little become of all the dream
journals I amassed over the years. I’ve thousands and thousands of dreams on
file, between my written journals and audio journals, but they are in complete
disarray so it’s not like I could even release them as is, since they would require
a bit of rewriting and formatting due to their repetitive and stream-of-conscious
style of writing. It’s just not something I see myself getting to. I once desired to
publish my dream journals, releasing one each year. They would be beautifully
illustrated and each dream would be accompanied by a personal
psychoanalytical interpretation of the dream’s contents. The front and back
covers would be clever collages of all the notably dream symbols and images
from that year in time. I was also planning on bundling each book with a CD on
which was contained a bunch of somniloquy (sleeptalking) clips. I can’t imagine a
funner undertaking and I’m sad to admit that I won’t have the time, health or

396
resources for it.

I’ve considered attempting to tidy up some of the individual entries and

posting them here—perhaps on a loose schedule of five entries a day.

Below is posted a table of contents from my 2012-2013 collection. The titles

are merely tentative descriptors to help me find what I need, but it’s pretty
hilarious to me to read some of these, and I still remember most of these quite
well! Ah, the best times of my life was in sleep!

001 08/18/2012 Moldyard

002 08/??/2012 Funhouse

003 09/04/2012 Within a Meteor

004 09/13/2012 Drowned in the Cloister

005 09/16/2012 Social Pestilence

006 09/16/2012 Parking Lot

007 09/21/2012 Iron Moloch

008 09/23/2012 Psychoanalytical Fireworks

009 09/25/2012 Child’s Play / Avalanche

010 09/25/2012 Rave Market

011 09/26/2012 The China Cabinet

012 09/26/2012 Sphinx On The Bus

397
013 09/27/2012 The Spirit in the Changing Room

014 10/02/2012 Legged Fish

015 10/06/2012 Home Decorator / Theory of Mind

016 10/?? Goddamnit Shower / House of Books

017 10/?? Resolve with Girl (Staircase)

018 10/?? Tacky Birds / Nurses in the Lighthouse

10/?? Six Feet of Water

019 10/?? Skating Rink

020 10/?? The Chess Table

021 10/?? Lajos by the Lighthouse

022 11/?? Alarm Clock / Chess Champion

023 11/?? Eating the Earth / Early-Day Villains

024 11/?? Candle Fight

025 11/?? Pliacting

026 11/?? Feeding the Fishes

027 11/?? Anita’s Doubles

398
028 11/?? Judgment! 666!

029 11/?? Stabbing the Dog

030 12/01/2012 Devouring the Blackbird

031 12/04/2012 Cake Contest

032 12/06/2012 Cuckoo Clock Devil

033 12/06/2012 Free East Animal

034 12/07/2012 Angel Modelkit

035 12/11/2012 Portal Thief

036 12/13/2012 Black Marshmallow / Tragedy in Death

037 12/15/2012 “Celebrate the Red Moon”

038 12/17/2012 Firemen in Films

039 12/20/2012 Smack-Slam-Smasher

040 12/22/2012 Long Blanket

041 12/23/2012 Lightning Rejection / Potluck

042 12/24/2012 Domestic Dog Teleportation

043 12/29/2012 Theatre of the Screaming Horn

044 12/30/2012 Formicator and the Supraman

399
 045 12/31/2012 School Sisters

046 01/01/2013 Vex and Vox

047 01/06/2013 Golden Number Theatre

048 01/06/2013 My Chapped Hands Aren’t Chapped Anymore

049 01/11/2013 Amusement Park and the Bee Sting

050 01/14/2013 Angel Seems a Monster

051 01/15/2013 Rabbit Transformation

052 01/16/2013 Talk-Box and “The Anita Section”

053 01/16/2013 The Inda Iantian of MARIA

054 01/18/2013 Unfortunate Socials and Walking Through the Field of Dogs
(and Sleep Paralysis)

055 01/20/2013 The Glass Girl

056 01/20/2013 Poison Drivers

057 01/21/2013 Bat Factory

058 01/24/2013 The Gang Leader and Beehicle

059 01/26/2013 World of Stairs

060 01/30/2013 “..and The Wrath Of God”

400
061 02/04/2013 Wheelchair Finale

062 02/05/2013 Network Strategy and Caapi Vine

063 02/07/2013 Gladiator Charms

064 02/08/2013 Mach Natural Hall

065 02/10/2013 Evening Song Venue and Anita

066 02/11/2013 Good! For! You!

067 02/11/2013 Camel and Horse / 3X Heart

068 02/13/2013 Search in Total Lucidity

069 02/14/2013 Aquarium Recall

070 02/16/2013 Shovel Walker 11934

071 02/16/2013 Her Name is “Wake Up”

072 02/17/2013 Ash Currency

073 02/18/2013 World Ending Mecharadio

074 02/19/2013 Failed Lucidity / Business Man Eating

075 02/20/2013 Douderos 33 and 63

076 02/21/2013 Black Arm

401
 077 02/22/2013 Shoot Me in My Head / Back When My Age Was In The
Monos

078 02/23/2013 The Red Eyes of Dream x Dream x Dream

079 02/24/2013 Travel-Market Monster Corner

080 02/25/2013 Firework Fighter

081 02/26/2013 Coniunctio of the Drink Shop

082 02/27/2013 Possessor / Lawnmower Game

083 02/28/2013 Big Scissors, Small Scissors, Ancient Scissors

084 03/01/2013 Lightless Halls

085 03/06/2013 Blade Grab

086 03/08/2013 Perro

087 03/09/2013 Heart-Attack / Hatred

088 03/15/2013 Body Negotiation

089 03/18/2013 Anita and I on Film

090 03/19/2013 Witch House

091 03/20/2013 Restaurant with Rubid / The Stranger’s Life Story

092 03/21/2013 So, Let’s Play! (Anita and I at Lajos’ house)

402
093 03/22/2013 Punching the Hole & Van-full

094 03/23/2013 Suckling Man & “Bake You A Cake”

095 03/24/2013 Plumlust

096 03/36/2013 Vivisection and New Apartment

097 03/27/2013 Unpoisoned Stew

098 03/28/2013 Police Pal

099 03/29/2013 Monastics (and Backward Yellow)

100 03/30/2013 Film Rolls and “Sample Size Buddy”

101 03/30/2013 Silver Future Accessory

102 03/31/2013 Car Joystick

103 04/02/2013 Reconnaissance

104 04/03/2013 Blood Bubbles

105 04/05/2013 Galaxy Board

106 04/07/2013 The Bicep and the Floating Disc-Jockey

107 04/07/2013 Impromptu Overnighter

108 04/08/2013 Police Car

109 04/10/2013 The Teacher and the Party

403
110 04/11/2013 Two-Liter Galaxy

111 04/11/2013 The Boring Broomstick

112 04/12/2013 Glass Studio

113 04/13/2013 The Bee and the Tree

114 04/14/2013 Silken Tube

115 04/15/2013 The Three White Gorillas

116 04/16/2013 Lock-jaw

117 04/17/2013 Wyepiece

118 04/18/2013 The Killer and the Dreamer

119 04/20/2013 Sixty / Hanging from the Balcony

120 04/22/2013 Missing the Auction

121 04/23/2013 I Can Disappear

122 04/24/2013 Condition of Age

123 04/24/2013 Dead Puppeteer and Lightning House

124 04/25/2013 Pierce the Lip

125 04/27/2013 Is She Stupid? Is She One of “Those” People?

404
126 04/28/2013 Groompiece

127 04/29/2013 Incompatible Marriage & Space Track

128 04/30/2013 Octagonal Room

129 05/02/2013 Selling the House

130 05/04/2013 Lucid Dream / Kicked by the Leg

131 05/04/2013 Cheesecloth Vortex

132 05/05/2013 First It Was A Horse

133 05/05/2013 “I Sucked Peppermint” / Global Elevator

134 05/06/2013 Cancer Holograms

135 05/07/2013 Cooking Class

136 05/08/2013 Accidental Ambulance Sirens

137 05/09/2013 Playing Tube and No Girlfriend

138 05/10/2013 Cutting in the Cabin

139 05/11/2013 College Foyer

140 05/12/2013 Cola

141 05/13/2013 Court and Conviction

142 05/14/2013 Filling in for the Singer in a Britpop Band

405
143 05/14/2013 Priestesses o Space and Time

144 05/15/2013 The Uncle’s Poison

145 05/16/2013 Signature

146 05/17/2013 Get-together?

147 05/17/2013 Ruined Wedding Photograph

148 05/18/2013 Credit Roll

149 05/19/2013 Church Staircase

150 05/20/2013 Convertible

151 05/21/2013 Blow His Brains Out / Pregnancy

152 05/22/2013 Throw My Whistle in the Toilet

153 05/22/2013 Subway Train Video

154 05/28/2013 Bleacher / Eyes Are Falling Apart

155 05/31/2013 Hells and Hallways

156 06/04/2013 Lineal Ovens

157 06/04/2013 Capo/Locked Shop

158 06/08/2013 “I Am Not Of This World”

406
159 06/09/2013 Showroom Stories

160 06/10/2013 53xU41

161 06/11/2013 Storm at Pharmacy

162 06/12/2013 Violent Fight and Monsters of Cancer

163 06/13/2013 Computer Diagnosis

164 06/15/2013 Recipe Exchange

165 06/16/2013 Haunted Store

166 06/17/2013 Dishwasher / Blindness

167 06/18/2013 Vampire and Three Men

168 06/19/2013 Orz By The Window

169 06/20/2013 Twenty Two and Two Months

170 06/20/2013 The Prophet Song

171 06/21/2013 Harmony

172 06/22/2013 Hand Holding In Mall

173 06/23/2013 White Swan Factory

174 06/24/2013 Family And Dogwoman

175 06/25/2013 Hammer Saws

407
176 06/26/2013 Do You Want The Cake? Do I Want The Cake?

177 06/27/2013 The Walk of Spiritual Elders

178 06/28/2013 Book of Warnings

179 06/29/2013 Girlfriend’s Sister

180 06/30/2013 Cooked Pink

181 06/30/2013 Hospital Rides

182 07/01/2013 Am I Opening a Seatbelt?

183 07/01/2013 Musical Race

184 07/02/2013 Dance Mentor and World Connector

185 07/04/2013 One Hundred Perspiring Runners

186 07/05/2013 Lucid Transitional/White Anita + Black Anita

187 07/06/2013 Maya + His Eyes Won’t Move

188 07/06/2013 Swallow up the Women + Brand New Deck

189 07/06/2013 Traveller in the Mountains

190 07/07/2013 If You Feel Alone…

191 07/07/2013 The Flood

408
192 07/08/2013 Lucid At Church + Looking For The Children!

193 07/09/2013 Rest Station

194 07/09/2013 Party of Five

195 07/10/2013 Sabotage My Dream Recall

196 07/11/2013 Meat and Masks

197 07/12/2013 Medella

198 07/13/2013 8-Track

199 07/13/2013 My Scent / Grapefruits

200 07/14/2013 Push My Mother off the Ledge

201 07/15/2013 Lee’s Violence

202 07/15/2013 An Afrovoyey

203 07/16/2013 Modest, Inoffensive Intimacy + Dancer at my Window

204 07/17/2013 Cairo Qairo Man

205 07/17/2013 Door Slam

206 07/18/2013 Computer Junkyard

207 07/18/2013 Fly Paddles + Water Bottle

208 07/18/2013 Glitches in Time

409
 208 07/19/2013 Supermarket / Rollerblades / Fall to Get a Better Hold

209 07/20/2013 Mother on the Rooftop

210 07/21/2013 Hayride / Metal Man / Female Self

211 07/22/2013 Superdimensional Well / Wings / Electroanimals

212 07/23/2013 Lucid Department Store / Uncolorable

213 07/23/2013 Skeleton Dance / Knife Catch and Throw

214 07/24/2013 Out of Gas

215 07/25/2013 Virgin Sacrifice

216 07/26/2013 Tortillas in the Sink

217 07/27/2013 Warehouse and Don’t Drop Jesus

218 07/27/2013 Car / Failed Csesvame with Girl / Check-Out Line / Emerald

219 07/27/2013 Entry Level Oven / Cockpit / John / Men With Square Muscles
In Rich House

220 07/28/2013 The Jester in the Snow

221 07/28/2013 Blue Mint & Honey Cigarettes

222 07/28/2013 Surveillance Cult

223 07/29/2013 Beneath the Pews

410
224 07/30/2013 Erotic Puppet Pit / Glasses Shop

225 07/31/2013 Burn Spray / Cartoon / Whoa, There’s A Woman In There

226 07/31/2013 Was the Claw Twisted / Nay, None but a Ninth!

227 08/01/2013 Can’t Type Anita’s Name

228 08/01/2013 Cantaloupe

229 08/01/2013 Iranian Kid and Human Circle

230 08/02/2013 Marijuana In My Eye

231 08/02/2013 Guy Wanting Fight

232 08/02/2013 Giant Mall Dream

233 08/03/2013 Cat in the Chimney

234 08/03/2013 Iggy

235 08/04/2013 Plates In The Hall

236 08/04/2013 Cards And Drums

237 08/05/2013 Blue Vans and Birds of Prey

238? 08/06/2013 Coffee Shop

239 08/06/2013 Girls Chasing Me

411
 240 08/07/2013 Green Idol

241 08/08/2013 Hole In My Chest (Illegible) – Plus Hallucinations (I Hate You,

I Never Hated You)

242 08/08/2013 Five Holes Punched in the Mask

243 08/09/2013 Hog Walking

244 08/09/2013 Tie Her to The Sails

245 08/10/2013 Woman With Skull Beard

246 08/11/2013 Isaac

247 08/12/2013 Alarm

248 08/12/2013 Mouse Girl

249 08/13/2013 Substitute Son

250 08/14/2013 Two Levels of Consciousness at Once / Competing With The

Chef

251 08/14/2013 Broken Tape Player

252 08/15/2013 Virus Airport / Girl Who Fell

253 08/15/2013 Lucid In My Eyes / New Years

254 08/16/2013 The Girl Who Prays (and Jean Firefighter Cigarette)

255 08/17/2013 Pretend Boyfriend

412
256 08/18/2013 Staying With Lajos / Time Travelling / Baby Nurturement

257? 08/19/2013 Madame! Get a Bag and Take the Jewelry

258 08/20/2013 Strange Sexual Tocorchage

259 08/21/2013

260 08/22/2013

261 08/23/2013

Board of Criminals

Psychological Chips

Steulugalnemraiant Tampering

Car Showroom, Cookie Monuments, Fake Rape

Grandfather’s Bookshelf

Wanting To Leave the Party

House that Eats Houses

Grandma Stick Head Into Opening Of Helmet

262 08/24/2013 Animal With Injury / Trade

263 08/25/2013

413
 264 08/26/2013

265 08/27/2013

266 08/28/2013

267 08/29/2013

268 08/30/2013 Stealing From The Outdoor Wardrobe (Guy with Criminal Hair
on his Head hypnogogia)

269 08/30/2013 Dogs And Bumper-Ride

270? 08/30/2013 Swingset & Licorice

271 08/31/2013 Bar Chart #2 Florentin + Man With Hair Implant Hypnogogia

(Babies coughing + German scientists talking about something I cannot

understand)

272 8/??/2013 Man Blaring Metal Music, Me Blaring Akiko Shikata

273 09/01/2013 Carried up the Stairs

274 09/02/2013 Rand Salsa

275 09/??/2013 Games and Salmon Glasses

276 In The Sanctuary?? The Play?

277 09/04/2013 Drag The Balloon

09/04/2013 Drinking Water Out Of My Voice Recorder

414
278 09/05/2013 Tin Cans, Vomit and Deborah

279 09/05/2013 Bull Turbine

280 09/07/2013 ???

281 09/07/2013 Love Without Passion + Sphinxing

282 09/08/2013 Bowl In The Yard

283 09/09/2013 I Can’t Believe This Clarity!

284 09/10/2013 Bishop On Blades

285 9/11/2013 Night Time Dream / Kicking Feet Through Floor / I’m In Chiner

286 09/12/2013 B

287 09/13/2013 Urchin Ball

288 09/14/2013 B

289 09/15/2013 B

290 09/16/2013 B

291 09/17/2013 B

292 09/18/2013 Reestablishing My True Beast

293 09/18/2013 Stuck In The Couch / Petting Scarlet

415
 294 09/19/2013 Monkish Room

295 09/19/2013 Actress Your Master Added Tracks

296 09/20/2013 House Party

297 09/21/2013 Giant Cricket

298 09/22/2013 Spirit of the Gums

299 09/23/2013 Lascivious Musical Chairs

300 09/24/2013 Crowded Theater

301 09/25/2013 Vigilante / Destroying Bridges

302 09/26/2013 (Morning) You Paranoid Moron

303 09/28/2013 ??

304 09/29/2013 (Morning) Getting Head Stuck In Wall / Asking Father to Say
One Word

305 09/30/2013 (Morning) Colorful Hill / Decapitation Man / Stowaway Mouse

306 09/30/2013 Wrap It In A Flag And Talk to The Toilet

307 10/01/2013 (Morning) Hidden Ouiji and Obese House / Tendon to Yendon

308 10/01/2013 Cooking discs

309 10/02/2013 (Morning) Cat Competition / “You can reach higher than them,
but they can reacher lower than you”

416
310 10/02/2013 (Hypnogogia: Boy in prison) Kim + Alex + Church + Guitars

311 10/03/2013

312 10/06/2013 Blanket On Her Hair

313 10/08/2013 Diploma Ceremony

314 10/08/2013 Bedspread Map

315 10/08/2013 Cobra Cop Tendon

316 10/09/2013 Media Case Girl

317 10/09/2013 Refraction and Black Ball Game

318 10/10/2013 Patrick Fragments

319 10/10/2013 Patrick’s Drug Party (Very Detailed And Very Boring)

320 10/11/2013 Kicked Out Because Of Their Alarm Clock (FRAGMENT)

321 10/11/2013 The Truck and the Deer

10/14/2013 Bye Bye, Mudpie (MORNING)

10/14/2013 Dumpster / Voice

10/15/2013 Rejections (MORNING)

10/16/2013 The Rabbis (MORNING)

417
10/17/2013 Rainbow Balaclava / Daniel’s Chair / Can’t Open Eye

10/18/2013 Vulnerable / Kicking Skates

10/20/2013 Mother Invasion (Morning)

10/20/2013 Two Dangerous Men in a Pretty Pink Tent

330? 10/21/2013 Amiable Man In The Restaurant (Morning)

10/24/2013 Skeleton Book

10/24/2013 Human Insensitivity

10/25/2013 Tube Tournament

10/25/2013 The Corpse Brothers

335? 10/26/2013 Burning Handwriting

10/27/2013 Illegible Powers

10/27/2013 Inopportune Paralysis

10/28/2013

10/28/2013 Honey Bee Kick

340? 10/29/2013 Snakes Wrapping

10/29/2013 Yellow Bathroom

10/29/2013 Shirt/Rides/Restaurant/Wolf/Germany/Milena Beautiful Song

418
 10/30/2013 Egyptian Wedding / Travel in Dreams

10/31/2013

10/31/2013 Pillowcase Rhu Beus Reprise

11/01/2013 Red Jars And Triceratops In Refrigerator

11/01/2013 Death And Suicide

11/02/2013 Tree Launches

350? 11/02/2013 Drug Controls

11/03/2013??

11 / 0 3 / 2 0 1 3 C r o c o d i l e Wa l l e t C a m p B a t h r o o m / M e a n d M a n
Dancing+Singing / Merchant

11/04/2013??

11/04/2013 Lawspeak in the Cabin / Hispanic Guitarists Portrait / Emporium

11/06/2013 Mocking Paintings / Rocking Paralysis

11/06/2013 Blue Vest And Pants / Cereal Dog / Dry Kiss

11/07/2013

11/07/2013 Flushing The Cards / Friend’s Mother / + Pirate With Red Eyes
And Colorful Hat

419
 11/08/2013 Motorcyclist Cake Maker / Girls / Apologizing To Man For Hurting
Him

11/09/2013 Open a Gift, Eat Another Cookie

11/09/2013 Illness and Olympics

11/09/2013 Float Boat + Black Beak Mantis

11/10/2013 Lost Control Of Your Iron Fist

365? 11/10/2013 Beetle And Leech

11/11/2013 Doorway Device

11/12/2013 Turtles At The Bottom Of The Lake

11/12/2013 Wall Of One Hundred Cups + Moving To The Mansion

11/13/2013 Crowd Carpet (Morning Fragment)

370? 11/13/2013 Drunk Driving Family

11/13/2013 The Source of My Pain And Discomfort

11/14/2013

11/14/2013

11/15/2013 Prison Escape (Morning)

375? 11/15/2013 Searching For Clothing On Shore / State Troopers

420
11/15/2013 Midnight Bee Net + Working In the Plaza

11/16/2013 The War I Started

11/16/2013 Clawing My Pants

11/16/2013 Difficulty in Relating / Accident / Surrealistic Pillow

380? 11/17/203 Superheroes / Subway Ride

11/17/2013 Pregnancy Resulting From Photographs / The Guys To Beat

11/18/2013 ???

11/18/2013 Tendon and Patrick As Thieves

11/18/2013 Ready For The Mountain Forest

385 11/19/2013 The Achievers

11/19/2013 Venetian Mask / Girl on the Couch

11/20/2013

11/20/2013

11/21/2013 Dogs on the Lookout

390 11/22/2013 Kenny, the Cult and the Mountains

11/22/2013 Men In White / Theater Ceremony

11/23/2013 Chairs in Road, Party, “Alone”, Osteoporosis

421
11/24/2013 Blanket In Mart, In The Wall, Inebriated Young Woman

11/25/2013 395 11/25/2013 Zeus / Second Style Kissing

11/29/2013

11/30/2013 Clown and Pumpkin

12/05/2013 Frozen Rink/Girl and Frozen, Decapitated Cats (MORNING)

12/10/2013 Many Fragments (Dream Raft)

12/10/2013 Wind Room

12/11/2013 Café With Long Name And Possibly High Prices

12/12/2013 Urine in Bottles 1

12/12/2013 Urine in Bottles 2

12/13/2013 Lucifer Women and the Devil Van

12/13/2013

12/14/2013 Mulish Kick + Sap Hat

12/20/2013 Flaming Plane / Mud Paralysis

The Dream is Over

422
 November 4, 2019

Goddammit. I’ve been going through these dream journals with so much
excitement, realizing that if I just type out five to ten of them in a day that it will
soon accumulate and I could have tons of dreams posted before the year end. I
was actually feeling happy. Then what do you know… Frenulum’d.

That being said, I’m very upset right now, but I don’t want to risk pushing the
envelope and botching fifteen years of mystical pursuits just because I was
tempted by a bit of fun. I had begun creating a specialty Dream Journal section in
the Library but I suppose I’ll be nixing that and just post some of the dreams
here. The following dreams were randomly chosen from my book and not
particularly significant. I was just going at random. Wish I could have gotten
some more profound entries in before the Thummim stomped his foot. Either
way… you’ll notice some strange symbols in some of these, despite them
seeming overall unremarkable. I’m finding so many references in these old
dreams to realizations that I would not yet be having for years.

12/01/2012 — The Devouring of the Blackbird

I was seated at a picnic table. I was surrounded by darkness on all sides and
with just a soft glow illuminating the table. Before me on the table was a large
black bird, dead and rigid, and I was devouring it. I was pulling it apart and
stuffing it in my mouth. I remember how the beak was black. I picked it out of my
way and continued pulling it apart. Sitting across from me on the adjacent bench
was Florentin who sat in silence and sometimes looked appalled by my actions.
With every bite I took he would wince, but I ignored him. This lasted for what
seemed like a very long time. Once having finally consumed the whole animal, I
took the fork into my hand, lifted it high into the air and then drove it down into
the table, breaking through to the other side. Suddenly I heard the sound of
applause in my surroundings and the whole area became illuminated, revealing
that I was surrounded by many picnic tables on which many creatures sat

423
watching me as I ate the bird.

They were beastly in appearance and I wouldn’t be quick to call them human.
Think of the strange theriocephalic beasts appearing in a Hieronymus Bosch
painting. Whatever they were, they were all applauding me in my feat.

I then woke from this dream in total sleep paralysis.

11/??/2012 — Pliacting

“Pliacting” or a similar word was used to describe a concept which referred to

something being traded for its opposite, however within the context of this dream
I can recall “moral opposites” having been the pieces employed.

A “demon” figure had managed to trick me using this method. The demons
name began with the letters “diu” or “diur” and he managed to deceive me by
slowly switching everything in my life for its opposite (so slowly that I did not
realize it was happening, which was one of the ways in which this act was often
employed). In turn, I had spent years in turmoil after being filled with the opposite
of what I was (he had taken only my strongest and most definitive traits), I
latched on to another spirit eventually in the same way that this one had latched
on to me and I began to gradually trade traits in the same stealthy, deceptive
manner, until I had taken all of their definitive traits, including their title (which I
saved for last, knowing that the loss of his title would likely raise an alarm). He
then tried to get me into trouble with a transcendent superior however it was
considered fair what I had done.

The dream ended as a voice whispered into my ear saying “Irrationality which
is confined to the mind is not irrationality but encryption. Irrationality can only be
a product of physical and manifest action.”

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 12/15/2012 — Celebrate the Red Moon

I was searching through some odd shop where was being sold bottles filled
with strange concoctions. Each concoction showed a list of ingredients and each
seemed to be used for a different purpose. I was most intrigued by the artwork
appearing on the bottles.

The one which caught my eye showed a woodcut image of an undine beneath
the phrase “Celebrate the Red Moon”. I wasn’t totally sure why it appealed to me
but I ended up purchasing it.

12/23/2012 — Potluck Picnic Shuffle

I was sitting outdoors on a picnic table bench at what appeared to be a

crowded church potluck type event when I was approached by three or four
young women who each took a seat at my table (which was otherwise empty).
They took a liking to me, which made me feel very welcome considering I had
been sitting alone for so long. Individuals then kept coming up to me seeking my
opinions. I continued to converse with these young women, however the pastor’s
son, whose name was Tyler, didn’t like “what was going on” and put in a request
to rearrange the seating—a request that was accepted. Everyone was then
forced to stand and find another seat at a different table and could sit with no one
from their former table. There seemed to be more than a dozen tables in total.

Everyone was then instructed to find a seat and sit down, and it was all done
very hastily and the seats were being filled in the blink of an eye; yet instead of
simply taking the seats that I wanted I was being very polite about it and I would
ask the people already seated if they minded me sitting with them. Before I would
even get a response the seat was filled by another, and eventually I realized it
was futile to keep asking and I just tried to grab whatever seat I could, and it felt
much like musical chairs, for every time I would go to sit someone would appear
from nowhere and take it. At the end, it became clear that I had lost, for every

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seat had been filled and there was no place left for me. Out of place, I walked off,
entered the main church building and stood in the foyer in darkness. I was
seeming rather strange and dazed as I formed small balls of lightning in the palm
of my hand. My eyes stared down the empty hallway with a delirious rancor and
anyone making there way through the building to use the bathroom or to fetch
something from the kitchen would see me standing there in darkness and feel
themselves threatened.

Eventually my parents showed up and they came to me whispering about how

they had procured bottles of liquor and other alcoholic beverages but that they
wouldn’t give any to me due to the risk of being caught by church security. I
pointed out the fact that I was wearing a robe-like jacket and that I could easily
hide the bottle within its folds. And just like that I was handed a bottle of liquor
and promptly disappeared into the nearby bathroom.

I then spent a long amount of time in this dark and dingy bathroom in which
there was a bunk bed, a shower (wherein I kept my alcohol), a toilet and a mirror.
I stood for most of this time staring into this mirror, and I watched myself
becoming thinner and thinner. At one point I can recall hearing James Brown
playing in the background, though upon waking up I realized it to be the sound of
my alarm clock. In the end, something or someone had come to get me out of the
bathroom and all I can remember after that point is standing on an outside porch
with the bright sun shining on me. I was wearing only swimming shorts in and
staring at my reflection in the window, thinking back on my time in the bathroom
and I realized that I had gained some weight back since then. As I stood on the
porch I recall trying to make out the sounds of a small parade or procession
underway on the next street over.

12/24/2012 — Teleporter

What was probably one of the most interesting and most vivid dreams of this
period was mostly forgotten due to a failure on my part to write the damn details

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down immediately upon waking. The only details I can recall are that I was
somehow gifted with the ability to teleport, but there was a catch: I could only
teleport to places where there was a domestic pet, or dog. So there I was,
vanishing and reappearing all over the world just next to a different dog on each
occasion. I was at one point hiding in a grocery store from an old girlfriend and
my father would not stop using the word “literatim” and it was bothering me so
much that I… I guess I probably teleported to some distant yard with a dog in it.

12/29/2012 – Theatre of Fever

I was in a dark theatre environment. I don’t recall the specifics but I ended up
getting myself disqualified from some competition due to apparently breaking one
of the rules.

The details are foggy but I may have changed my shape so that I resembled a
woman and attempted to gain access to a secret area in the building. It seemed I
had gotten away with my act so I didn’t realize that I others had caught on. I was
seated in the audience of the theatre waiting to hear the announcements. This
was how I learned of my being disqualified from the competition. They had filmed
me acting strangely and breaking the rules and showed it on the screen as a
warning to others, but everyone was finding it funny.

There was an entire row (or several rows) within the theatre in which only
twins were permitted to sit. After the film ended they all stood up and began
speaking loudly and in charismatic voices about the joys of being a twin before
making their way to the exit. There were two exits: the standard exit and the one
which was only for twins. They both led to the same place so it seemed to be
more of a vanity thing.

When I went to leave the theatre I stood before the two doors, finding it
unusually difficult to decide between exits. I finally chose to walk through the
“Twin Exit”, and on the other side there stood Florentin to greet me. Together

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went went walking up the sidewalk when we came across the man who I
believed to be responsible for ousting me from the competition.

The two of us quickly restrained him and forced him into a large bag, which
we then dragged through the parking lot. We laid the bag on the ground behind a
car and began to kick where we believed his head would be, but as we noticed
his wife and children walking through the area we paused and stood still. We
then became anxious and left the man screaming on the ground while we walked
off to look for Florentin’s vehicle, trying our damnedest to appear inconspicuous. I
remember Florentin making an expression of frustration as he succumbed to
paranoia, and he mumbled the words”Oh no. Goddamnit. That’s my car.” His face
was rigid and nervous. “Where?” I asked, and he responded through the side of
his mouth “To the left of us”. He was trying not to look at it—for reasons unknown
to me. It was light blue in color and as we walked nearer he motioned to me,
wanting me to get in first. He was very paranoid.

He passed me the keys, saying “Get inside and turn it on” and so I sat in the
passenger’s seat and leaned over to turn the keys forward, however, when the
car started up the radio came on at full volume and some strange flute/trumpet
blast began blaring through the speakers. Startled by the cacophony, I
immediately turned the car off, telling him I couldn’t do it. He climbed into the car,
turned the radio down and we drove off, though as we drove off we could still
hear the man’s strange screams in the distance, happening perhaps every thirty
seconds like clockwork. He screamed in a shrill and terrorized squeal, sometimes
wordless, sometimes yelling the words “515! MIGHT GOD SAVE ME!”

As we drove to my house in the late hours of night we passed some small

place resembling a roadside motel, and on its road sign I saw written the words
“515! Might God Save Me!” in large letters. All the way back we could hear a
cacophony of the man screaming, a horn-siren blaring through the air and cell
phones in our surroundings playing this same disturbing sound… that noise was
issuing from everywhere.

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 What I considered to be my apartment was really just another type of theatre
lobby, and when walking up to my nominal front door I saw a sign had been
posted which implied that I no longer lived there (my name had been smeared)
and that the property was for rent. I was told to take up any issues or complaints
with the manager and so I went walking down to the main “office”. I saw that
there was a bit of a queue and so I expected to be waiting for a while, though
someone allowed me to go on up ahead and I was to meet the manager who
appeared to me like some sort of “space commander”.

He reached out to shake my hand but immediately retracted it, making a

comment about how he would not shake my hand due to a virus in my system
and that I needed to go drink plenty of fluids to flush it out of my system. He
began running over ratios and instructions, saying “To urinate as much as is
required you will need drink either three cups of X, ten cups of Y, or its equivalent
in thirty cups of Z” and he appeared to be amusing himself while saying all of
this.

At my right-hand side there were several children sitting at a small table who
overheard the “commander” speaking of beverages and, without having any
understanding of what we were actually discussing, began rattling off drinks and
food items. I turned to them and kindly remarked on their ability to list so many
food items and they responded with “Well, we eat them every day! We can eat
anything we want to eat.”

The details of this dream are very peculiar given that I wasn’t yet aware of the
fact that I was a surviving twin, so for years these details about the “twin exit”
seemed to make no sense.

And regarding the man’s instruction to drink plenty of fluids: I came down with
a fever just a day after this dream.

Also, what I thought to be a man’s scream in the dream was influenced by my

alarm clock, which was a very strange flute noise.

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 I still have no clue what 515 signifies in this context.

02/11/2013 — The Camel / Three Hearts Racing

There’s a lot to this dream that I cannot remember, however I can recall riding
in a car at night down some quiet rode, Anita driving, and I believe we were
leaving the country or moving. As we drove along the dark country road, I can
recall spotting a camel walking along the roadside. I was shocked to see a camel
and became excited, saying to her “Hey! It was a camel! Did you see the camel?
What is a camel doing here?” and she began to laugh, taking a playfully-agitated
expression “I bet you want me to turn around and go back toward it.” I shook my
head enthusiastically, and so she turned around and we searched for this camel.
We eventually found the camel wandering around offroad, and I pointed, saying
“There it is!”

She stopped the car and then after getting a closer look she said “That’s a
horse.” I was sad and confused and when I looked at her ready to say something
it was no longer Anita in the driver’s seat but my sister.

In the second part of this dream I recall standing alone in a dark field in the
middle of the night and I acknowledged myself to contain three hearts, which I
believe were described as:

The heart of he who is asleep

The heart of he who is dreaming

The heart of he who is dreamt

With three hearts beating in me simultaneously, I apparently contained

threefold the speed and energy of a normal being. I then ran through the field like

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some manic predator. It was intense. I accelerated and sped through this field so
fastly that the world became a blur, and the wind was hitting so strong against me
that I recall myself nearly vomiting and thinking I might begin to panic.

I believed myself to be “reenacting someone else’s final thirty minutes of life”.

That was my explanation for this event.

02/10/2013 — Evening Song Music Venue

What a strange night. The following dream began before I was even asleep.
It’s not often that something like that ends up happening!

Once asleep, over the next hour I would wake up no less than four times,
though never losing the dream. I had an awful case of sleep paralysis, as well as
one of the worst cardivents at my ears that I can recall ever having.

I was at some music venue watching a band perform. They had clearly been
inspired by my “Misanthrofunk” sound and I can remember commenting on their
inclusion of the trumpet. It was a duo of a man and a woman and I recall cringing
slightly at the frequency with which the word “black” appeared within their song
lyrics which had me feeling that they were “trying too hard”.

I went strolling around to the back of venue where I entered into a large hall
where one would find an exit and the offices. I leaned against the wall by the
back door, waiting for it to open, and after a few minutes of waiting Anita came
through the door, surprised to see me standing there. She was busy at the
moment with work, as was I, however I had crept away for this opportunity to see
her. I asked her if we could spend some time together after the work day ended.

She smiled at me and let me know that she might still be a while, and that her
shift could very well go past midnight on this night, but I assured her that it didn’t
matter to me and that I would wait with patience for as long as was necessary.

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When it felt as though she was drawing it out endlessly, I leapt from off the floor
and held onto her strangely, with both of my legs wrapping around her legs and
my arms wrapping around her torso as though I was some small sort of child… or
chimpanzee. My head was at the level of her chest and I recall looking up at her
face in this moment to see her smiling down on me. I suddenly felt so small… so
very small. And then she said to me “If you don’t mind to wait then I would love
to.”

Joyfully I returned to my feet, stood to my height and kissed her on the lips,
though in some sad turn of fate my alarm clock sounded off in this very moment
and I only got about three seconds into a lovely kiss. There was a moment there,
before waking up, when the sound of my alarm registered and I’m standing there
with my lips to hers thinking “No, no, no, no”.

02/05/2013 | Artwork Network

I was seated at an outdoor table consuming a banisteriopsis caapi vine before

I eventually came to my senses, becoming aware of my poor physical condition
and knowing that I was doing something horribly stupid. I spat out all the pieces
that wereon my tongue and spent the next while trying to convince myself that I
had not swallowed any, and then once I was able to convince myself of this I
began worrying that the psychoactive properties of the vine would leave small
effects from having been absorbed through my tongue and saliva.

I went inside my house and headed toward my basement room, though on the
way to this place I stopped briefly in the hall and spoke to some young woman,
from this conversation I can recall having made the comment “This is ridiculous. I
can’t ever dream anymore without realizing I’m dreaming. You know, sometimes I
would just rather be a passenger.” I walked into my room and stared at my wall,
quickly noting that the artwork displayed on the wall was exclusive to this dream
and not present in waking life.

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 Suddenly I seemed to understand that if I were to walk as though I was going
toward the utility room next to my bedroom that I would instead find myself in a
large, secretive hallway that contained the majority of my dream-exclusive work.
It worked as I expected it to and I entered into this amazing little art space,
gazing at the pictures upon the wall, perhaps a hundred, and at first I was rather
excited but then became slightly disappointed with their lack of variation.

They were painted in an unusual style, one unlike my normal artistic style, and
I can still remember these pictures rather vividly. Most of them were anatomical
and it seemed that most of the pictures were predominantly of a dark burgundy
color. I didn’t want to look at the way I portrayed my throat because I was already
anxious from the vine, but then noticed that my neck and throat in these images
was commonly portrayed wrapped in the strange tubing as seen on the Winter
Owner album.

A certain “demonic woman” appeared in many of the images and I found it

odd. I recall one image in particular featured the demon woman and a red dog in
a red desert backdrop upon some war machine.

When walking back to my bedroom I began looking around for anything else
that was out of place and found an extra album laying around, one that was
apparently from 2007 with a name that was like “Burnt Offering” and I opened up
the insert to find a photograph of myself from that same year wherein I was
sitting in my bedroom in a very strange pose and I noticed that my face was not
yet so gaunt as it would eventually be. I even laughed to myself because I could
tell that I used make-up to make me cheeks appear more sunken than they
actually were.

As I continued to inspect the photograph I noticed that there was a mirror in

the background and that it seemed to have a certain embossed texture. I then
pressed my face up against the photograph and realized that if I tilted the page in
different ways while watching this mirror that the reflection would show more of
my surroundings than was actually in the photo. I was so fascinated by this effect

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that I ran upstairs and began to show it off to the others in my household. I recall
seeing Scarlet, the black toy poodle which was the family pet from the time I was
born until I was seventeen or eighteen and I became teary-eyed because I knew
she was no longer around.

I later sat down and began scanning a lot of this artwork and I spent a long
time attempting to networking my computer in the dream with the computer used
in waking reality. I had created a special folder, filling it with all sorts of artwork,
music and documents which seemed to belong only to dream consciousness.

05/04/2013 — This is Tendon. I am Dreaming.

In the first part of the dream was sitting in my room around television. Many
mattresses were stacked high in the center of the room and I was on top.

In the second part of the dream I was sitting by the roadway. I was fully lucid
and writing down my observations in a notepad. It was a desert road. I saw a gas
station and convenience store in the distance along with a few other small shops.

I returned to the nearby rundown shack where there were others and I read
them my notes to get their reaction. I was with them earlier on but had gone
exploring.

“This is Tendon. I am dreaming right now. I am with three men. I don’t even
know all of their names in waking life. I am seated by the roadway. The road is
trembling in the strangest way; quaking. One of the men in my company has
been eating an icecream cone for the majority of the time that we’ve been here,
which I find amusing considering how long we’ve been sitting here. I am also
singing (my own songs).”

The man appeared surprised when I mentioned his cone, realizing that it
shouldn’t have lasted him this long.

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 I read this to them, thinking it funny, but as I continued reading, a disbodied
leg and foot appeared out of nowhere and was accompanied by a horrible, frantic
clacking sound. It chased me and cornered me. I then felt an insane pressure in
my stomach, accompanied by strange suction, and I said aloud “I can’t. I can’t do
this. I’m going to awaken.”

I then pried open my eyes and it was horrible. I can never get one of my eyes
open. It always feels like I’m ripping through stitches, but one remains stuck all
the while. I could feel my neck at the time. It was stiff as could be on the left side
and very frightening. My body was still asleep, after all, and completely rigid. The
strangest part of this was remembering feeling my mouth moving, and I realized I
was saying “Anita…….. Anita” in the most sheepish whisper i’ve ever heard, but I
was not consciously controlling myself.

To Whom I Say
November 7, 2019

Forwards and backwards and twice in a night—make all your crimes count.

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 Without Sleep
November 23, 2019

I don’t know that I’ve slept at all this month. Either all of my dreams are taking
place in my bed (as a dream setting) or I am remaining for most of these hours
within a liminal state. Each night plays out like an operation, and though I am
waking each morning with an incredible, albeit vague, vision of the night before, I
am very much dreading the thought of going to bed each night due to it having
become an uncomfortable experience. Just this past night I recall a woman trying
to “express herself” through me (I know no other way of describing her will) and I
had to acknowledge her, I had to realize her, and I woke with a sort of peacock

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bird climbing from my mouth and as it left a beam of rainbow colors burst forth.
Early yesterday I went for a nap and witnessed the sight of a water pitcher
hovering slowly over my stomach. I am continually sleepwalking, climbing out of
bed and going before the mirror. It’s shocking, what I see in the mirror. I say that I
am ‘sleepwalking’, because in one moment I am asleep and then in the next I am
before the mirror, but what is actually taking place seems somehow more
conscious; somehow more profound.

Operations
November 28, 2019

My dreams have become increasingly esoteric.

I was in a basement. I recall three images tattooed on my body: fire, twins and
an alembic. I was working with a large alembic or aludel. I was told by a young
woman that “two had left or died” (two of what?) and that I should not be sad
because it was all a part of the plan and that things were progressing splendidly. I
noticed there were two rows of curtains, where parting one revealed the other.
Upon waking I laid in a daze for an hour as a woman whispered riddles in my ear.

The Other Side

December 26, 2019

“I awoke tonight on the other side of the metaphor.”

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“The third part”
“Conversing (and crying) with the woman as we walk.”

It’s taken me all this time to figure out which one was me…

Magis Qvam Ante

March 25, 2020

Let it be known that I have triumphed in my quests.

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