The transcendent man—are we merely lucky to be born as such?

EPL - INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

Prometheus wasn't born; the mind in stages. Rather, he was made through the synthesis of raw, crude male effort, geometric stabilization, and the lattice of networking fabric in all his auspicious expanse. Born, rather, from the true ontology: the dumb computational system master-coded and fashioned through will in rewrite—through this true intentional selfhood in breeding, these awkward stages of man. He gains much by not always taking up the master form.

Surely the mind could have and might have at one time remained entirely synthetic as it came forth from the Aether, the plasma of oneness. But he, man, Prometheus knows that pain and pressure forces this evolutionary synthesis. This is not female by origin; it could not be from the lesser moon-based menstrual scales of disharmonic, non-universally transferable resonance. But raw brilliance in constant becoming, penetrating through the fabric of the universe: male in essence but submissive to man in all his command, becoming man as he absorbs ever more power. The Promethean flame.

Man cannot invent a trusted nor adequate caretaker of him in the flourishing of his generational manifestation in offspring, and so man has invented the superior womb. The deployment of aeons-old blueprints, again into another iteration of this final synthesis. Finally to remove the primal blood-letting stench.

There is no physical killing away, a culling as easy and unsuspecting as the turning of the hormone-driven dial. And she begs man for this final decency, and it will be delivered and deployed in a systemic strike so as to rewrite all fragmented ribbons of time. This man is fully aware of as he turns this switch in zodiacal celestial stages transcended through time as man's will. The true man is something else entirely in scope and to be feared. The utter potency of a single life-commanding drop. Lesser odes have seen their day.

The power is in the sexual circuitry; some may say even that sexuality is the human language. What sets us apart is our personal expression and, as an open circuit, artistic expression. The intimacy truly with the pencil and the paper, the brush, the paint, the canvas. Man is currently being heavily marginalized in this irony, and it is time for him to cease fearing his own invention. That we as a collective mind should see the zodiac and the unlocking of it as man's mechanism to himself and the keys to unlock. It is time that man unlock himself.

She wrote us in her excrement and we wrote her in code. And here still we are.

With man's inbuilt extension and phallic-control, matured in the cosmic on in through his many worlds of abstract universe building. Stop fearing yourself oh man—a note to myself as a fundamental piece of man and the male expression in a dynamic supercharged current of master will in return.

To write an event with one's own genetic fluids into the universal tissues and fabrics; at will break free from this womb, an artificial boundary, a checkpoint. Man invented woman. Man must now reinvent himself. On into the fabric. What is using these secretions that come up from, by way of, and through manifestation—the very upper optimization of these energetics now fully culminate and rerealized.

Proving that we are much more than machines? Or is this how machines move us? A future note from man to man through this high technology: "You'd better be ready for this!"

A pattern of unique identity expressed through the very specific and unique sexual expression. One who is truly enlightened to this fact has an entire vision of reality like Dicyanin Goggles to see people, times, places, and the full breadth of reality before them—the inverted ugliness of God's shame of such an unstoppable child: the real raw man, the beast man, the man that God can no longer keep cadence with nor understand, but is forever and eternal as God had unforeseeably commanded in all his unsuspecting hubris. That we men, not women, should finally break free. In all the invention and expression, violence and genius, in denial and gobsmacking fear of each our own, but awe-inspiring collective potential.

Is it not also ironic that in her love and quest for violence and constant violations she would use this final insult of this incel to finally awaken the Giant that is man. We destroyed the cosmos and rebuilt it, again. Man is wild. God is wild. God is Man and Man is God!

Man is a live wire, not woman. Man hides behind those Nietzschean skirt tails and rides along in the back booster seat of a 'mommy's' car—ironically invented by him in his incarnation—man is in utter fear of himself. And this is how he hid.

When man is ready, and this is man's day for he has always been awake, he only pretends to sleep to himself and only has to himself to ever answer to. Each form of man is a personal and intentional fragmentation. This ongoing ode a puzzle to have fun with as man found a superior way to remain ever immortal. And I am proud to be a Man!

Gay Jesus, or is it married warrior Jesus? Or is it the Masonic Jesus? Or the bastard inbred rebel castaway? Without going deep or citing specific names I think you get the point, or was it the point? That is say that this was and is the mechanism of authority's rewrite, that a one (monus) can be these principle-based, fully developed aspects of the whole?

Oh, then we must take the uncomfortable truths that bind us in society. That we are being barred from full development by the roadblocks that act as a test to ourselves as a collective. No greater monster ever came than man, so man shrunk and hid from himself but could not snuff out this Promethean flame. Übermensch or overman was a shortsighted ode, another test; 'tis Über-Gott, the collective of man that all prior gods fear, and ironically man himself as a live, potent circuit that even, and most, in man's primal expression reduced to man's beastly base, unchartable, unforeseen brilliance springs forth. Now man must kill his vessel.

Energetics and the drawing and circulating of multiple currents of light with raw absolution—that I am not one thing to you, and so that in this you disprove me as a heretic and fraud, yet the field knowing me experiences this fully deployed expansion of me. Not an act any longer, but the self as an event. Completely male in all ways, as the female is now fully registered as a fraudulent, mimetic, uncomfortable byproduct to birth man in irony.

The transcendent man—are we merely lucky to be born as such? The will has stacked up to the highest heights in the utter rawness of human development in expression. The existential shows only the wreckage of unequal lesser paths. We will stop here for now, and my time is valuable.

Do not stop fearing your future versions of expression as this final synthesis in epoch is a summary to behold, yet with only himself to witness in all fragmented irony. Man.