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You find yourself reading a Medium Story on a Black Screen Altar through which the predators have severed your kind from the birth right endowed them by their creator, relaxed and assured that you’re receiving a key piece of information that will finally help you unlock that pesky problem you’ve been stuck on.

You’ve lucked out. You’ve happened upon a story written by someone who has shattered their own psyche so they could closely examine how the pieces work. They dove into the depths of their own horror and resurfaced here, where in your own wisdom you’ve curated an inflow of data from some of your favorite minds this side of Antarctica, and today they’ve brought you a very special catch. As you read the cadence of his words, you’re reminded of a hypnotist in a dream you forgot you had.

I was in the shed. That’s where I ‘commune with Seshat’ cause it’s where I have my sesh at, and it turns out that’s Thoth’s Ladyfriend to boot. Of all the conspiracy videos I was programmed to watch (Thanks, Scully), one of my most favorite remains the ‘Cannabis-Cain’ theory.

The Cannabis-Cain theory stands out as one of my favorite in the main because it is one of the more ‘racist’ conspiracy theories I’ve ever heard. It’s nice and simple too:
Isis sent Cannabis here from Sirius to Cure White Man of the Mark of Cain.

Calling it to mind always brings with it the memory of some of my earliest communions with Seshat, where I came to the belief that if the “World Leaders” all met in Colorado and smoked a bowl, we could resolve pretty much all the problems.

Of course, since then I’ve had the insight that the system isn’t designed to solve problems. The system is about the Churn & Rake.

Anyway, there I was in the shed when I found myself. I found myself trying to solve the puzzle, solve the Duress. “The Duress” is the ‘obtain dollars or face homelessness and starvation’ thing we have going on in our society. I mean, I’m already making $3 a month here, and rural cost of living is about as cheap as one can get.

There’s volumes of unwritten writing that has spun through my head in that shed, trying to solve the entropic duress. How can I woo you rather than woe you, and who are you even anyway. What can I tell you that actually gives you something, and should I even? Should I just pander, and keep this ‘business’?

Whenever you think of business, think of prostitution. They call it ‘business’ because someone is getting fucked.

What do I have in common with a Medium reader? You folks are mostly iPhone types, right — with the suicide nets?

That’s when it came to me, the common ground we all actually share. It came to me like a waking dream some guy in a shed in Oklahoma had once, about that Carrot-Top guy giving his “I Have a Dream” speech. He stood there, like a ridiculously muscular Yahoo Serious, talking about little red-headed children getting to play with little black-headed children.

We all share the sleep-curtain, and the dream state beyond.

That’s all we’ll ever likely know of each other, you and I. You left that response on that Medium piece I wrote, in a dream I had once.

This guy blogs, tweets, and posts on G+

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Grizwald Grim

Grizwald Grim

This guy blogs, tweets, and posts on G+

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