Man and the True Pure Lightness of Being and Becoming
Within this deep, swelling angst of action potentials and possibilities, I feel a high-pitched, cathartic, cymatic tonal ring. What will change me forever—what will truly alter me for the better? So that I may be more prepared to face the mass of lies and deceit, which could not exist without its own imminent perishability. And yet, here it is. Here she is—without principle, without purity—proclaiming herself as beautiful, just, and proud.
How long can this gorgonic mass persist? Lucifina’s sons, her daughters—unable to calculate, to reason, to navigate the very siren traps they themselves lay. They employ diagonal maths, come at angles, use witchcraft woven into a matrix of a bloated, plotting spider-whore. Many men remain fascinated. Others are stirred by the gentle tickle of the paranormal. Yet none truly live in reality, not without the enduring stain of psychosomatic Stockholm soul damage.
But rest assured—there is a better you. The original you, who was meant to prosper and remain. The very fire she constantly schemes to extinguish, tirelessly sabotaging its first light, fueled by the souls caught in her pernicious plan.
Do not succumb. Do not fall into becoming a minion—much less a warlock. Her way leads only to the scrapyard of abandonment. And you—you are not reducible to a simple, perishable yard dog.
*Antonio Quinn Masteller coined "Lucifina" several years ago articulately
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