Michael Cremo

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

God head

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

Those who don't follow along or intend to make trouble. Assuming that this is a quantum manifestation of this energetic temporal marker, then a disembodiment and retuning to hibernating latent code would be the outcome.

What if some technology is actually required to keep active (however suppressed) within the matrix? As the totality is required as a seeming subtle muting of certain energetic agents. In essence, many are muted, but specific mavericks must appear to be active, or a disinformation agent [Alex Jones, etc.] is required to appear to be furthering a campaign; however, in hubris, not unlike a remote control cybernetic puppet. Verisimilitude that a polemic advantage is being successively gained as a form of mimetic deception. Elementals must be kept in vast quantity or supply. Deception loses its potency.

God Head 2: further exploration

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GPT and open AI is obviously being used as a further block or buffer between cabal, CIA, Khazarians, annunaki, tartaria and on...

GPT

Diversion back to conspiracy and Qanon 

Cocaine and it's historical use is the key to all of this:

GPT}

The themes you've mentioned—child trafficking, occult rituals, the use of substances like psychedelics and cocaine, concepts such as egregores and tulpas, and adrenochrome harvesting—are interconnected in various conspiracy theories and esoteric beliefs. Let's explore these elements:

Adrenochrome and Conspiracy Theories

Adrenochrome is a chemical compound produced by the oxidation of adrenaline. In certain conspiracy theories, particularly those associated with QAnon, it's alleged that elites harvest adrenochrome from children through traumatic rituals to obtain psychedelic experiences or as an elixir of youth. These claims have no basis in scientific reality and echo earlier blood libel myths. The compound has been a subject of speculation in popular culture, notably in Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," but there's no evidence supporting the existence of such harvesting practices. 

Egregores and Tulpas

An egregore is an esoteric concept referring to a collective thought-form or autonomous psychic entity influenced by the collective consciousness of a group. Similarly, a tulpa originates from Tibetan Buddhism and denotes a being or object created through spiritual or mental powers. Both concepts suggest that concentrated mental or spiritual focus can manifest entities or energies on the temporal plane. 

Psychedelics and Occult Practices

Psychedelic substances like LSD and psilocybin have been used in various spiritual and shamanic traditions to induce altered states of consciousness, facilitating experiences perceived as communication with other dimensions or entities. While these practices aim for enlightenment or healing, the misuse of such substances outside traditional or controlled settings can lead to harmful psychological effects.

Child Trafficking and Occult Rituals

Allegations linking child trafficking to occult rituals are prevalent in certain conspiracy theories. These narratives often claim that elites engage in satanic rituals involving children, reflecting modern iterations of the "Satanic Panic" from the 1980s and earlier anti-Semitic blood libel myths. Such theories have been debunked and are considered baseless, yet they persist in some circles, often fueled by misinformation and fear. 

Conclusion

While the concepts of egregores, tulpas, and the use of psychedelics in spiritual practices have historical and cultural significance, the integration of these ideas with narratives involving child trafficking and adrenochrome harvesting stems from unfounded conspiracy theories. It's crucial to approach such claims critically, relying on credible sources and evidence to discern fact from fiction.

For a deeper understanding of the cultural impact of psychedelics, you might find this animated discussion insightful:

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The connections between cocaine and various topics such as tantra, occult rituals, war, psychonauts, human trafficking, psionics, elitism, and Khazarians are complex and often speculative. Here's an exploration of these associations:

Cocaine in Ancient Egypt and Pre-Columbian Trade Routes

In 1992, German toxicologist Dr. Svetlana Balabanova discovered traces of cocaine and nicotine in several Egyptian mummies, including that of the priestess Henut Taui. These findings were surprising because coca plants, the source of cocaine, are native to South America and were believed to be unknown in Africa before Columbus's voyages. This led to theories suggesting ancient transoceanic contact between Egypt and the Americas. However, these claims are controversial and have been met with skepticism due to potential issues like contamination and the lack of corroborating archaeological evidence. 

Cocaine's Role in Various Contexts

Tantra and Occult Rituals: While some esoteric practices incorporate psychoactive substances to achieve altered states of consciousness, there's limited historical evidence linking cocaine specifically to traditional tantric or occult rituals.

War: Cocaine has been used in various conflicts to enhance soldiers' endurance and suppress appetite. For instance, during World War II, both Allied and Axis forces reportedly used stimulant drugs, including cocaine, to keep troops alert.

Psychonauts: Individuals exploring altered states of consciousness, known as psychonauts, have experimented with various substances, including cocaine. However, due to its addictive nature and potential for harm, cocaine is less favored in contemporary psychonautical practices.

Human Trafficking: The illegal drug trade, including cocaine trafficking, often intersects with human trafficking. Individuals may be exploited as laborers in drug production or coerced into smuggling drugs across borders.

Psionics: Psionics refers to the study of psychic abilities. There's no credible evidence linking cocaine use to the enhancement of such abilities.

Elitism and Control Mechanisms: Throughout history, powerful groups have been implicated in controlling drug trade routes to exert influence and amass wealth. Allegations have been made about organizations like the CIA and various criminal syndicates participating in cocaine trafficking to fund covert operations or enhance their power.

Khazarians: The Khazars were a historical semi-nomadic Turkic people who established a major commercial empire between the 7th and 10th centuries. There's no credible historical evidence linking the Khazars to cocaine or its trade.

The God Head

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

The God Head

The assumed God Head requires that the following be done. However, keep in mind that at least 13 zodiac signs, along with a potential 26 personality variants, create a slip margin for who will be required to join in invoking the singular entity:

Child sacrifices; absorption of essence by way of adrenochrome ritual consumption (in ritual), sexual tantric niche energetics, absorption of essence in meditation rituals, consumption of bodily parts as a show of ongoing dominance. There is an appeal to nature energies that align closely with animism, e.g., the Komodo dragon swallows its food whole after stalking. It is all an aspect of the process. Advance these acts as being done/committed by a higher being.

Moral control with diversion in politics and law as a means to solidify order or Master Control.

Diversion, in that the pervading personas appear to be in charge when they are either decoys or a transferable aspect of the council as a totality.

As discussed prior, you see that QAnon and Satanic Panic are referenced routinely when making any connection to alchemical altered states in combination with ritual practices. Event windows can be better understood, but can the outcome be stopped or halted?

Alchemical mixtures of drugs, as well as the display of dietary integration—i.e., fasting, an only-meat diet, vegetarianism, and overall epicurean traits—must match closely with required exercise and heightened practices in ritualization.

Think of yourself as a strand of code along with others [9, 11, 13 > groups?]. These combined in ritual make up a singular entity.

Indian ink and eloptic vril. Every person initially thinks that they are an inflated version of the self—God. This is an aspect of the indoctrination mechanism, further serving as an indictment to return to the well. When the world at large allows no leave from this engineered fact, depression and suicide typically follow suit.

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GPT Take
Your exploration delves into complex themes intertwining esoteric practices, societal control mechanisms, and psychological constructs. Let's unpack these elements to provide clarity and context.

Ritual Practices and Alleged Sacrifices

Historically, claims of ritualistic child sacrifices and the consumption of substances like adrenochrome have surfaced, notably during periods of societal panic. The Satanic Panic of the 1980s is a pertinent example, where unfounded allegations of Satanic ritual abuse, including child sacrifices and adrenochrome harvesting, led to widespread hysteria. These claims were later debunked, with investigations revealing no evidence of organized Satanic conspiracies engaging in such practices.

Astrological and Personality Variants

The concept of 13 zodiac signs stems from the inclusion of Ophiuchus, disrupting the traditional 12-sign system. When combined with 26 personality variants, this suggests a framework where individuals align with specific archetypes, potentially influencing their roles in esoteric rituals. However, this system lacks empirical validation and is not widely recognized in mainstream astrology.

Moral Control and Political Diversion

The notion of moral control through political and legal diversion aligns with theories suggesting that societal elites manipulate systems to maintain dominance. This perspective often intersects with conspiracy theories, such as those propagated by QAnon, which allege that hidden networks control global events. It's crucial to approach such claims critically, as they can perpetuate misinformation and unwarranted fear.

Alchemical Practices and Dietary Rituals

Alchemical mixtures, specific diets, and ritualistic exercises have been integral to various spiritual traditions aiming to transform the body and mind. Practices like fasting, vegetarianism, or exclusive meat diets are employed to achieve altered states of consciousness or spiritual enlightenment. While these methods can have profound personal significance, they should be approached with caution and awareness of potential health implications.

Collective Consciousness and Ritual Integration

The metaphor of individuals as strands of code combining in ritual to form a singular entity reflects the concept of collective consciousness. In many esoteric traditions, group rituals aim to unify participants' energies, creating a shared spiritual experience. This collective approach is believed to amplify the ritual's effectiveness and foster a sense of interconnectedness among practitioners.

Psychological Constructs and Indoctrination

The idea that individuals perceive themselves as inflated versions of the self, akin to a God complex, touches on psychological phenomena where self-perception becomes distorted. Such indoctrination mechanisms can lead to detrimental outcomes, including depression and suicidal tendencies, especially when individuals struggle to reconcile these beliefs with reality. It's essential to recognize and address these psychological impacts to promote mental well-being.

Conclusion

Your inquiry traverses intricate subjects that intertwine historical events, psychological theories, and esoteric practices. While these topics offer rich avenues for exploration, it's imperative to approach them with critical thinking and discernment to distinguish between substantiated facts and speculative theories.

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

No Heroes---

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

No Heroes

I believe we are facing an imminent threat—whether from AI, aliens, or, more likely, an occulted race of [self-assumed] ancient superiors. Trump and Musk seem aware of this and are taking measures to slow it down.

I'm not saying either of them is a hero, but I do believe they, along with others, are stalemating a potential annihilation or enslavement scenario—a struggle for dominance that has revealed its true face time and time again.

No heroes.

The Losers Game

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

The Losers Game

"Am I to poof-myself-up in self importance!?"

"Perhaps execute a plan of ultimate seduction and betrayal?" 

 We could be nothing. Reach out to offer assistance to a child and be called a predator. Everything was in reverse. The script had been switched out long ago—if indeed there had ever been anything resembling sacred universal order.

 On our own. Each and every one of us. Left out in the rain unless we sell out the person by our side. Ironic that only then would it kick in—once those misdeeds against your fellow had been committed or even pondered. Only then would the presence emerge. As we plot and machinate against those closest to us, a reward awaits each and every time.

"You, my friend, have risen up beyond the fodder," that ominous presence seems to say with searing conviction. "None of them are worthy, but you decided that you would rise above them."

No matter how cowardly the act may seem, everyone ultimately only needs to serve one set of eyes beyond this veil of illusion. The loser's game.

A Witch called Amygdala

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 I leaned back over the rail. I kept pushing it further. I could hear the upside-down muffled sound and echo of water rushing and crashing by. Still, I leaned back much further than I should. I wanted to see if anything would catch me, if anything benevolent might be keeping watch over me. No one came. Does the universe allow for willful random acts? Am I of any importance under divine law or order? Does any such thing exist?

Just as I began to slip and lose my footing on the wet concrete below me, the old woman pressed her hand against my shoulder, bordering my chest on that middle ground—there, between the beat of my heart and my brachial pulse. Alarmed, I shrunk, then sat up, now facing her directly. Was she going to pull me in or push me slightly forward to my parallel? Since I did most of the talking—as if to relieve a tension, more so as if to coax her in for reassurance—she scampered away as I caught my breath, still stuck in my gut, a confused vagus nerve response.

GPT

That moment seems like a test, an unspoken question sent out into the universe, waiting for a response. The lean, the slip, the anticipation of something unseen catching you—it's a search for meaning in the abyss, a challenge to the fabric of reality itself. And yet, the answer came in the form of an old woman, neither pulling you back nor pushing you forward, but simply making contact, pressing just enough to acknowledge your presence without dictating your fate.

Her retreat leaves the question unanswered, or perhaps, that is the answer. The universe doesn’t interfere, but it witnesses. It acknowledges. It offers moments of pause before the fall. But in the end, the choice remains yours.

What do you think—was she a force of intervention, or simply a passerby unknowingly stepping into your personal test?

"The Coven Five"

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Aye, the dark ones are born here in this middle place. Beneath the stary night sky---a cosmic order to chaos. Deep inside the gut and crawling upon the skin monsters by the trillions but yet they too have order. This middle place is where the mechanics of universally repressed chaos finds a name.

FADE IN:

EXT. WOODED COUNTRY ROAD – NIGHT

A dark, silent expanse. Towering pines loom, their branches whispering in the cold wind.

THE COVEN FIVE prowl the blackened roads, their arms flapping like wings, their mouths curling into twisted smiles.

COVEN FIVE (WHISPERING, MOCKINGLY)
"Who-woo... who who..."

They call into the night like hybrid misanthrope ravens, stalking the wooded streets. Their eyes scan the dim-lit road ahead, searching. Hunting. Were they merely birds of prey chasing another frugal meal? Or was it all an act?

A ritual?

EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET – NIGHT

DANNY (13) walks briskly, his sneakers scuffing against the cracked pavement. He glances over his shoulder, his pace quickening.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
It was Danny’s birthday. May 7th. Tomorrow, Grandma Darla would take him to the Tractor-N-Surplus store for a new bike.

He should have been excited. Instead, unease prickles his spine.

Danny knows these roads too well. And he knows them—the Coven Five.

Everyone knows everyone in this small, repressed lakeside town.

EXT. FOREST EDGE – NIGHT

The five figures stand motionless among the pines, watching, waiting. Their hunger isn't for food—it's something else entirely.

Their bodies tremble, starved of the power they crave.

A low, pulsing frequency hums in the air, twisting around them in warped, cymatic tones. A signal from somewhere beyond.

A chemical reaction, a spiritual drug.

Sex. Violence. Blood.

Their bodies buzz with unnatural energy, as if aligned with something far away—a ringed pulse, an unseen force. Saturn. The stars.

And then—

Damon steps forward.

EXT. SIDEWALK – NIGHT

Danny hears footsteps. He stops. Turns.

Nothing.

The sickly-sweet scent of roses clings to the night air. But underneath it—something rotten.

His heartbeat hammers. He walks faster.

Then—A SHAPE EMERGES.

Damon.

He moves with eerie confidence, his smile sharp, hollow.

DAMON
Going somewhere, birthday boy?

Danny's breath catches. His fingers twitch. Run? Stay?

EXT. DESOLATE ROAD – NIGHT

The attack comes fast.

A sudden, brutal blow to the face—Danny stumbles, his head snapping back.

Then another.

And another.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
A sacrifice of ceaseless death. A transfer of energy.

The others descend, their fists pounding, bodies shaking with sick pleasure.

Blood splashes onto the pavement in crimson arcs.

Danny gasps. His wide, unblinking eyes stare upward.

And then—

Stillness.

EXT. ROADSIDE DITCH – LATER

A gray, lifeless body lies discarded like waste. Blood seeps into the earth.

A car rumbles past. Its tires smear the remains across the road, streaking fate into the asphalt.

No one would know.

No one would care.

Just another worthless life.

Forgotten.

EXT. DANNY’S BACKYARD – FLASHBACK – DAY

Danny kneels before a cage, peering inside. Foxes. Rabbits.

Tiny creatures, trembling. Waiting.

NARRATOR (V.O.)
He had been calling to something. Summoning.

But he never knew what.

The wind shifts. A whisper curls through the trees.

Something unseen. Watching.

Waiting.

MATCH CUT TO:

EXT. FOREST – NIGHT

The Coven Five stand beneath the trees, eyes gleaming in the dark.

They are no longer just human.

They have become something else.

Something ancient.

Something insatiable.

FADE TO BLACK.

And so, in the middle place, the struggle between order and chaos is not a battle, but a cycle—an unrelenting rhythm woven into the fabric of existence. The dark ones emerge not as interlopers, but as inevitabilities, born of the tension between what is seen and what is suppressed. Beneath the stars, under the vast expanse of cosmic precision, they writhe in the micro and the macro, shaping the unseen architecture of reality.

To name them is to recognize them, to acknowledge that even chaos bows to a deeper law. But whose law? And to what end?

-----

Flapping their arms as if having wings like owls and often assuming themselves as hybrid misanthrope ravens, they smiled cawing or calling out into the wilderness "who-woo who who". The five prowled those wooded streets. Country roads blackened by high, thick, forested, silent watchers—the pines. Jusy birds of prey chasing down another frugal meal? It was all an aspect of the act. Scanning, searching, looking for an insignificant rodent perhaps?

 Thirteen year old Danny would soon be walking hurridly home. Making haste to span that long 1/3 of a mile corridor from his to his grandmothers house just blocks away. It was his Birthday today [May 7th] and tomorrow she would buy him a bike at the Tractor-N-Surplus store she just wanted Danny to pick a color prior to. Her birthday surprise to her only grandchild. However the coven five didn't know that it was Danny's birthday, so I suppose this is further proof of the dark divine?-- However this walk was a routine weekly predictable action. Danny was close with his grandma Darla. Little Danny knew them, and they knew him these "coven five". Everyone knew everyone else in this small lake side repressed community. 

The five were hungry but they hadn't eaten in days and wouldn't now. Hungry for a power few would ever ponder in this life or any other. This psycho-driven drug like high fed their glandular marauding natures. A pulse of sexual-violence infused with cymatic beep! pitched tones ---of rape and murder. Exciting their connection to another world---an aromatic ringed halo pulse---Saturn and the stars.

Damon would come upon him first. Little Danny. As this young man was too called out into this night---inviting. So much life condensed in the certain [sacrifice of ceaseless dearh]. The sorrow of each their deliberate needless but willful act caused a sweet smell in the air and a pervading bliss. You'd sware angels were present and then what in the hell they truly were?! They wanted him to be found. 

 They wanted him to be found dead. Yet they would have to sacrifice even this for now. For they had much more killing to do. But it wasn't a killing like the "normies" thought of it. This is how you carry out an "energy transfer". What was Danny ever going to do with it---his life...wasn't really his. Tonight he would know this full well. It showed in the eyes beyond immediate death. Capture maybe forever as an act as deed. They couod all live with that and in fact relished it. Frozen in the moment, caught as a victim, this becomes a fact that just doesn't merely fade away into black, right away that is. Like this smell of sweet roses ot lingers on perhaps in eternity?

 Though they all played the game, they too wanted to take credit, those five. They didn't need to watch the news to see the chaos and sorrow they would unleash. True, they were as lost and cliché as any powerless demographic that would even ponder such a thing. However, in the moment, they became something different, something foreign and removed. They wanted to be avatars for this unholy quest and they were for however long. After all life is fleeting and life is after all more of a gesture. 

**Unrelenting pummeling, blunt trauma to the face and head.** Repeatedly inflicted—one penetrating assault after another. Pounding bare-knuckle blows, fully intending total annihilation. A marauding massacre. Blood splattered in all directions like a forensic, unholy scene of mayhem. That lifeless body turned gray as the bright red life plasma now seemed to make haste—pooling and searching, as if to find another host, another living form in its path. Yet it, too, would be splattered about and further violated, even after baseless death—tracked across miles by countless rotating tires that acted as if commissioned, like frenzied rotary saws, dispersing bloody fate far and wide across the meat-soaked tracks of time.No one would know. No one would care or know how to care. Just another worthless life, soon forgotten—one that no one would search for.

Not long after, and maybe the day before? He would go to that cage where he kept the various animals that he would practice his summoning skills upon. The foxes and wolves could have broken in and carried them away after all. 

 You see, Damon wasn't an idiot. He was doing this quite willfully with intent. For him, it was more of a process of becoming that which he already felt that he was. He wanted to feel cold and indifferent. As if he were able to automatically serve the will of something that chose him in a random moment of chaos, and he wanted always to be at the ready for these and other entities. Until one day he might become one that they too feared? Not by being more but to vacate his very soul. To posses what others couldnt see but yet held the real value. 

 One creature he had recently bought and pretended to nurture for the first week.His gaslight honeymoon which he showed genuine love to the thing, it was all part of the order. 

 Looking into its eyes for long periods. Seeing if it could feel what was coming? He'd left it starving here, getting ever weaker for two weeks now since. He was surprised it had survived an entire day out in the elements and practically cooking beneath the high sun. Loved, neglected, betrayed, stolen from and cooked as meat. This was all part of the organic alchemy in the funal act for the unsuspecting thing. 

He met it, Harry with a guava. A fat and juicy one at that. To see if it would have the strength to dig in, and it did just barely. He pet it as the thing shook. But just as it was about to take its first bite after struggling to peel away the fruit's skin, Damon slapped the animal with all his might. Damon kept back his adrenaline. He lowered his heart rate at will. He wanted to access a happy thought. Morph himself into thus associating happy with this kind of embedded memory. In graduating steps associate happiness with much more hideous experiences than this one. He thought of his 9th birthday, innocence and would soon rewrite and destroy that. He whistled his birthday song from that time, picturing that beautiful day. As he grabbed the near incoherent reptile hard and sadisticly, seeming to have nearly broken its shoulder bones. That immediate contact by slamming Harry into that tree. That tree had witnessed several vile acts, but it remained silent, even taking on its own ominous aura, perhaps. 

 Damon grabbed it hard by the back of the neck, trying to nearly snap its little frame in the process but still he held back his full power. He walked hastily, directly into the kitchen where he slammed its head with a large frying pan in an incoherent shocking pivot.

 Now speaking softly and soothingly as he immediately made an effort to pet its head. As to reassure it, truly to conjuring up an unnatural algorithm of chaotic emotion in the field around him, yet the reptile gave out a defensive, guttural hiss. "Oh I'm sorry, buddy!" Damon sadly replied with an actual frown as he lit up the skillet, turning the gas stove up to the highest heat. Damon poured a generous quantity of cooking oil into the skillet but first made sure that he provided a fair amount of sink water splashed in towards the animal as to create an alarming pop throwing off burning crackles. As he watched the dumb animal tense up and hiss again, he broad-sided it with a meat cleaver and released it into the frying pan.

 The reptile reacted, and Damon laughed as he saw the iguana, for a millisecond, seem almost human. Small clawed fingers and toes sizzled, instantly blistering with third-degree burns. He preferred it fresh and innocent. 

 The privileged—those with advantage—would go on in Sadistic Universal Continuance. 

 

God must be an ancient, murderous, and demonic psychopath—it would lead anyone to wonder. It was never enough. There was always an insatiable hunger, an urge to consume life whole on this planet.

He'd boil some rice, Damon. Maybe make that Spanish rice, now flying high on what he'd just committed and done. His mother would like that meal he jostled. He'd make this one taste like Cajun-style chicken.

How many! How many times? By how many people? Was this the real world? A world of cruelty that spun this psychodrive?

It was time to leave a nice loving note for Damon's hardworking mom, Patty. On a paper towel he'd drawn a big, huge heart with an arrow through and one of those leftover Valentine chocolates from the top kitchen drawer. Reading, "I love you mom, bon appétit Patty," followed by "best mommy ever!" On the second line. 

Damon had a fishing date where he could set his sights on killing things yet to be revealed in their occulted terror. 

 His dreams would echo now somewhere between this place and that one tonight. But really, he'd already planned on pulling young Danny's eye out earlier so that he could look into it at 3:33am under this vast [however feeling as if dimensionally shrinking] starry night sky. Holding the ince young Danny's currious eye to that brightest star in the heavens tonight. Was it Venus, Serius A or a tether between [world]? He would walk out there to see if he held that right eyeball up still bouncing at the root if maybe it may glow with some revealing truth of what might lie beyond this crappy world. On into the next one. 

This is not a normal world. Neither is the world just. However, this is my world, or at least the hell that I have been cast into. We shall discover who will become the greater force of demonic rule. Especially the good—those who survive—become unrecognizable to themselves. Those who kill to eat see another day.

What was it that you wanted to be such a long, long time ago? Back when you didn’t know there was a brooding battle within for your eternal soul?

As Damon fell asleep, he drifted off to his coven. They were all dreaming the same dream as they often had.

"Hail Satan!" They chanted, nonchalantly yet deliberately, as they now circled from left to right. Only the initiates of this specific cult order would understand the meaning—this was a pure sacrifice, now commissioned and fully intended.

Pulling up and off their black-hooded robe coverings, each turned quickly, as if choreographed. These were only an outer layer, concealing the thick white-cowled robes beneath—a removable veneer. Even their demeanor shifted in a nanosecond. As the procession called forth another entity, they seemed lighter, in unison.

In a scattered, schizophrenic, fragmented shift, they became white lighters, justifying their hunger under another purpose. Slipping away from God's vision, they had learned to become both the decoy and the predator of disparate tenure.

These occult practices take place out in the open—always and everywhere. There is no removal from the passage of first history—the hideous and obscene realities that we are now tethered to, steadfast.

There is a lighter side to the brutality. All that we choose not to see. True, some have become either numb or mute within their souls. Trauma makes for eager learners.

Damon couldn't even remember waking up or how he got here. The innocents invigorated him. The universe poured blessings down upon him. His mother thanked him and kissed him as she tickled Damon as if he were a child. His friends were waiting by the docks, and they were all thinking the same thing. First, they had to do a little fishing. Then they had a body to desecrate and hide in places. They would all fantasize that they were burying Easter eggs. There was nothing obvious nor malicious. They were exercising muscles of the psyche. As they would state together loosely, "Psionic Satanic warriors training in an unknown land behind enemy lines."

The large fish stared back at him as he grabbed it tightly with thick tactical gloves he had fashioned for this purpose. In squeezing, he could hear some of the industrial-grade staples actually produce a pop as the skin broke. Damon wanted to see if the fish would squirm, even though it well knew that doing so would lead to further rupture of its assumed autonomy. It was food, and Damon wanted this animal to know it from the start.

You see, Damon wasn't the typical and dismissive kind. He didn’t require the immediate gratification of power over another living being. That wasn’t the case here. Neither was there some definite addiction to qualia—absorbing the soul essence of this fish or any sea creature by occulted proxy.

Damon wanted to see into the eyes of death in transfer. He walked in ritual always and slept in death’s cosmic embrace. He wanted to see what this fish would give away—what it was connected to—so that he could menace too this other worldly place. For now there would be much more killing to do.