You are an Operator.

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

 You are an Operator.

Levels of Perfection, as it is Perfection the EPL Initiate seeks.

Your:

-Inclinations (conditioning, repetition, ultimate statement)
-Sub-thoughts (part; a priori, a posteriori, WILL/Defiance)
-Thoughts (that degree of influence; separation and composition of above, Principles)
 *Morality (how, why and how much we weight out each event here)
 *Virtu(e) (first steps towards an action, as to mark an event TRAIN or Kata)
 *Actions (as we solidify 'this is what I am doing, and it is thus being done by me' by this degree [effort/ marked, a rate coding signal response to and from the all afferent too, and idol/latent  potential]

Surmount into DEEDS, which ripple out, and echo, into and unto time space, you are being watched~

Forces we choose~

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

This is a Force

 "We fail to see, at least in quasi modern scope, a farce to be sure, that these are fixed events, gods, a location (?) AND NOT The very Forces, which are summoned, beckoned to stay, and tethered by mental mind behavior, CONDITIONING, as to become in constant sequence, a part of chosen force."

*Upon recognition, and so to finally realize, a statement to be sure "Then this is the Source of all Force!"

...an event TIME SIGNATURE~

Yancy Lives!~

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

 From those five who played with Satan's Paw, and to meet a time to lose their very soul's to he, Yancy! Etched from Green lit' and left Phi echo, the gas came into, and unto he'. He was and is...remains to be Stellar Mass.

Black fractal, black olive tree eyes, the creeks and cracks and lines. A large sharp green jokers mouth, as to forever embed the impression of the Jade Face unto he, and all he speaketh'. 'YANCY!' the vigilante clown. That universal mask, from yor, a Pagan warriors wrathful face.

 Each tribe, of each and every time, succumbs, finally, to that greater cause, the event, of their demise. That ugly sister, Witch, which scry, so too there is a Druid outcast, so too a halfling abomination, so too the hand of justice, "Yancy!", a universal One, with Character, and not a clown that is a character.

 When you have seen "Yancy!", you have to met YA MA, that ancient emanation, the destroyer, and so redeemer?

The Last One Standing~

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL


 When I speak of one, I mean The One. When I say one, or One, I mean just that...a complete One, The Complete, The integer.

 Perhaps you saw through time, and thought you saw your reflection [in me]? I peered to you, oh blackness, nothingness, and saw progress in your event horizons view, a scope.

 It was that glass menagerie of Prince Rupert's drop, by the thousands perhaps, hanging there, in suspended animation, or were they? Each a master sensor, of seismic activity, representing perfectly, the distaf, those two wings, driven in recent times by that vanity of Klotho. The right, transcending into fragile and perfect, PURE, nothingness. While the left, seeming crude, shrewd, indestructible, yet to be destroyed permanent, with a mere backlash ripple, an echo, from Phi 21.

 You could hear the massive pounding, as if a Giant at the door, in some distant Galaxy were refused by a fair maiden aboard a ship (Shem), like this one here (Earth or Malstruck, the emanation), and were now in process of destroying the entire Orb Spider's web, proximally speaking.

 The Drops, supported by nothingness, ironic. Each was life, a portal, a way. It all depends on whether your are one, in yourself, looking out from a drop, set about as a molecule afloat that tiny sea of but one PRD's potential, unlimited. It's hard to say who made them, or how they were first create, but they're being was definitely recreatable, thus rewritable.

 I simply could not afford to entertain the thought, that I truly was, The One. As I factored through the logic, I found it to be the only way. Yet each Drop too, a hallway, safe, as long as one followed closely those scales, as set forth, by the Egyptian Book of the Dead, a Dalton's weight, absent giving off an offbeat frequency, could make the Light Journey safe.


 All those little lights, which travel passed, and through, and some even to enter The Great Hall, or' Amenti.

 Each a prism hung, each and every drop, made o' fire and ice, a moment, of Universal Materia Prima, suspended, marking the event, the Time.


I looked about me, and seeing that I was to either; care for these little trifles, which would soon turn to but sand from the straights of despair or Destroy them all, in order that we should try again, this time?

 I had to yell, "YA MA!", thrice, with progressive conviction, "YA MA!!"...'and a final', "YAA MAA!!!! Nothing happened at first, and it did not happen as I would have projected an outcome, which I had not, I would not risk interfering with the results. Rather, The echo blast on toward nether regions of space, as to follow an Avalon and thus ripple round, and through other veins and venues as to echo back Phi, and into Phi purification, the purge.

Then it happened, The Great Event, that over and over and forever captivated Beast' and Heathen Hearts, a want. Life, and the final loss of it, at least from the vantage point of this prism' perspective. ~

 The sands of Time, were all that's left, and a heartfelt Space In Time, A Heat, a Siberian Silver Platinum freeze.  

Cogs~

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

Anti Christ must only be the half, of an energy solution. As there is a positive, negative, grounding and energy circulation taking place, there must too, be those agents and elements involved, on a supernatural level, that border material prima, the Holy Spirit and ultra violet elements, in constant and concurrent succession, to have made a thing at all. The World spin twirls as it travels, as all things that are, thus alive, have proved to be.~

Mary~

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL

"She, can be pure, logical, and more to her own power, find the solution...but then, she returns, toward the corporeal, that beastly state"

 The number 13 represents, in pure form, the 13 disciples, a transient Man. Sometimes there were 12, other times 13, an enigmatic number, an eternal sign, though seeming divided "B"/8/Eternity. There is a moving undulation to numbers, that never had, and never were "static" or stoic.

"Chasing Butterflies" [Free writing Stellar Masso13]~

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL


 I, in a transient state of being, creeping those plank longs (of antiquity), down a hallway, of Victorian haunt. The Green Gass (EPL; GG) hovered there, within my being, as if id taken a fresh high thimble shot of akvavit, that ol' sea brine...and to polish my chest.

 '"I could still think! I could, and still reason-it was always life, that got into, the way."'
My very soul, seemed to say.

 'The corridors were also quite warn, creepy to alarm, as well. So how does one, get stuck into the rift, into this state of mind, a funk?'. Thinking to myself, often, but more of an autogenic and ubiquitous notion, perhaps a rate coding error, to many afferent neurons, firing off at one time, a traffic jam, within.~

 I that dim lit flicker, traveling down a creaky hallway, towards a window, with such an unwritten view, an event horizon. Twas' as if, I with a rushlight, radiant, a dull shine of my will, against the blackness of the all.

'21!'
 It bellowed back-

 I just woke up, again. My consciousness, became my awareness, intuit.

 I dreamt of little girls, in summer dresses, chasing white butterflies, along the stretch of that long pond, which wrapped around the rock, which was legend. Rapping in colloq' "They say that rock can heal anyone, sept' for the impure hearts", a man said to me in my youth, at the train station, once in a bigon' time.


 They were chasing me, with baseball bats. I was running from my life, my old mange black cat, my crappy fixed income apartment, my own terrible breath. They (those five chasing me, at present time) only thought, that they were the vehicle of my demise, and so.....I assumed it to be, also rather willed it along, in this final moment [a time].

"Old Men don't get to cry!", the leader, that one with the backward baseball cap, and a tear over his left eye, a broken brow


~Stellar Mass _☉13