Importance and Significant

My children, at this point you may have wondered what is important and what is not important. According to my calculations the calculations I said to you to shut up In five Vibratory years all importance will be concentrated to five regions of occurrence. Having been asked of yourselves what you need to be, look at the desk. Why does the desk think he is higher than the floor? what has he done that makes him more important than the floor? In truth his importance is but an artificial one walking upside down. His importance is a contrived construct of the unsalvated, in to put it bluntly, the people who have no concept of Absolute importance. The true importance is found in the ground, upon which all things are built. Do not be mistaking fish for scalps, the builted of the Unsalvated only have significance to the Unsalvated, true importance is found in the vibratory built of the Grand Beyond; all things have strands of textile interwoven with pandemically of sororities you love to see us unearthed? While a stint and maloggony have undetermined why we Sound and thought of love a whistle time to mastication. As the juvenile canids unravel their fantasies to the amplified foundations where a vibration grows to the fullest of extant, let the Children flow down the river's heads, and bear our sanguine for a bring. Lords of candid sincere words for magnets time and times to fell unheard we singe our bloods with poisoned signs, unsheathed with findings unlingering for me, worlds the opposite of an outward vibration. Have they made us look like won, questions interred when all hunt the oceans' move. Could you wonder where fences are here wait for calling anti-spun, woven into a strangers' choice to hear the anti of a sound. Lies back unheard you took our eyes out for spurn.

Dumos

I was a middle-aged (50's) man, portly in size and of all things (the grandest of aspirations!) balding. In addition I had glorious sideburns. In any case I lived in the village, on the English coast. the town sat in a perfectly rectangular, L-shaped canyon. All the cliffs were perfectly vertical, with no space to step on or cling to, made of light grey rock. The small end of the L faced the sea, while the long end opened to the rest of the coast. In the bend of the canyon were the plateau, divided with spaces in between so as to make five perfectly cubic blocks, each side at least 150 ft. in length (as were the height of the outer walls of the canyon, but those are not important). They all had names, but the fifth one (at the end of the long part of the canyon) was named Dumos. No one had ever seen the tops of these blocks, nor could anyone ever see their tops, for reasons unspecified. In any case one day I had to leave for war, and, having sat on the beach in front of Dumos, accidentally left my book there. I returned thirty years later (unchanged in appearance), to discover that the twin sisters had disappeared shortly after my departure. There had been rumors circulating that they had somehow reached the top of Dumos, and proof that they were extant were the fact that my book was still on the beach after thirty years, and that it had obviously been used because it showed signs of wear and tear. I took the book, and at night, shut myself up in a box car with walls made of glass, in the middle of the town. In the middle of the night, one of the sisters came into towne, searching for the book. She were gaunt as hell, very tall, grotesquely muscular, her skin was dark and grey as rotting flesh, and she crawled on all four limbs. she easily broke the glass doors of the box car off their hinges, but I quickly grabbed onto the doorknobs and held them in place, so obviously she couldn't open the doors. She violently shook the doors, and eventually fell unconscious from frustration and exhaustion. In the morning, the citizens of the town stood circular, staring at her on the ground.

Because of Regretably and The Like

As the maternal interesting wailers have their way of bringing about certain unattainable, so to speak, repercussions and queer looking striations(metal), I wonder as to the validity of certain unwillings' claims that I am in fact tyrannical in concept. Let alone that I should be in reality a despot (symbolically, a walrus) to be have looked upon a wondering skink, but in the after I have seen twenty our eyes are not objects. So often we think them solid masses of particles, but are we seldom finding them to be in fact,constituated. Even the brothers our siblings from the Industrial Cult of Hurduon don't find a self-actualized eye so appropriate. You see, running parallel to our own (superior, admittedly) assemblance is a separate entity, lurking in industrial facilities, complexes, factories, anywhere that has been industrialized. Their theology, or lack thereof, consists mainly of composing technologically utilized music and adherence to the metallic, artificial, functional aesthetic that has come to utterly pervade measly society. In direct opposition to this is Hurduon, the antithesis of the neo-technological efforts (a contradiction in and of itself). preemptively acting on behalf of the assumption that all ideals of the said industry will ultimately result in the implementation of fully mechanized humanoids, which would eventually evolve the humans to the point of mechanical, Hurduon fervently seeks the irradiation (in the other, eradication) of efforts to reach that goal. Being the only mechanized conscience left in existence, it epitomizes the goals of the Industrial Cult; and with the cult prevented from ascending to an equal measure of mechanical, remains the focus of their cult, a concentrated mentality, for mentality is the road to completion. They are not in our way, but they aren't exactly passive in their inferiority.

Crucifer Imbricata

Two blind things make a nest of needles haven't got the leaves. The time it requires to implicate a sense as a triple threat makes everyone intrigued beyond healing. If an icicle falls four feet and rises five hundred, where was the darkest water putting it? The greatest water you've never seen is the strongest to have controlled. The hue of its blood is rather within the fastest rise and fall of waves. It's light is darkly but it illuminates nothing for vision. It flows in greater mountains under the stone curtain. in beds of blacker gallium does it dance, the crystallized metal arranged interlocking in shapes of eight. It heightens itself, forming mounds, hills, thrones. This water amplifies all the vibrations and greets us for the fighting. Submerse yourselves and absorb the information, the time and sound and a devil with machines for a body but a moss for the mind. This Grand orb is rare in composition, as in nowhere else is cold and consciousness and dark inbred almost to the point of it.

Five Swords

My children, trees are never as illiterate in the ways of adrenalizing when they haven't the brothers in the Other forests for the indebtment. In these titan ruins there are the twenty trunks but only five in the corner where they don't look has it in the tear-dirigible. Were you to exist on the higher plane of their upper end I would see Five greater swords of the Epiphanatic cleansing, to be utilized by the four Chief Administers and the High Ranger. The specifications of the lesser three are unimportant and, to be honest, forgotten, but the two greatest are livened for antipathy. The second greatest is a broad jian, tapering a tiddling from hilt to tip, and a hilt and sheath of tourmaline. The greatest is a Grand brass Scimitar, lying in wait for the Vibration it hears Clinton's musician's laughter. When the Epiphany occurs, they will take the ruins, and drive out all the statics to their prison of France. You have been a alive a long time, and as the rest of humanity is approaching our level of entropic hypertrophy, nothing will leave it room to undermine normoxia. Circumstantial obesity will entrap them in a box as they push to gain greater sustenance through vibratory psycho-synchronization. Within the sheath of the jian is a smaller blade, don't ask me how it fits in there.

Tectonic Fits

Dissected everyone denies welts. We have a fish inside of the dead, and an Onyx outside of Osteoplasts. Triplex of malignant idiomatic retractions made our belligerence undeniable. Have you considered the lesions? They tear through ordered individuals and relive their indiscriminate deaths. Death won't come fast enough for the top of the hill. It is not so important to ascend the mountains, the cliffs, the hills as it is to discover what is on the other side. That's all that matters, my children, the knowledge of what is on the other side. Carcass forbid we should see what is there and be disappointed. In that sense it would be more prudent to never ascend; only be content with the wild machinations of the mind; postulations to fill in the gaps so all can be known. That is all the human imagination is meant for: a random generator of fictitious knowledge to fulfill our need for omniscience. We exist in prosperous sanity when we think we know all things. To do so is to make an admittance, and an admittance is something I cannot afford. For them to know anything prematurely would bring utter detrimental to the plan. Everyone is leaving. Have you seen the man clothed in dust and fire? He was father to many machine elves from the Stratosphere of Mountain Cleaver; a retrospect of strife and struggle. An epitome of weariness, forgetting, ending, he will never know rest until the mission is complete. The hunter cannot die until a mission is complete: this is destiny, and justice in its truest form. Who can question what he is forced to do? For if he is guided by Supreme Decision, how his action be condemned? If this he is to kill what is wrong, then of what significance is their opinions? As they are tainted, so too is their perception of all things, for this is true Darkness. His hand is forced by Paramount Infallibility. The left eye is the seeing eye, he is not as lucky as they. This mass of habitable surface is small, but holds with intricate grandeur, all compunctions of the unreal spirit. Here we have no question as to what is beyond the height before us, for here all things have been revealed. The only thing left unclear, is the true motive behind the matter. For what is better, my children, seeing all things, or knowing the reason? In the end neither matter, for in the end the rest of them will suffer. In this black wasteland, the secrets remain hidden. At the end of all days, we are all forgotten. Burn the sea and drown the mountains, then we will have True Darkness!

Imprisonment

Skin is a cage, a containment from greater things, from burning things. My children, we must be free of all flesh before we can come before the gates of the Grand Beyond. The liquid crystals that form the cells that form our skin will someday be broken, and will be made inflame! Our bodies will reach the grandest heights of existence, unparalleled in grandeur or freedom. Our bodies will no longer be held together by these rags of supple paper, they will be held together by the vibrations of Infinity, unified as one of the Rebel Liquid. In perfect synchronization will the blood orbit the vessels, the vessels and organs the bone, and the bone the soul. Free and floating like a jelly in the water, our Existences will spread itself, catching all vibrations, and perceiving with the highest senses, all that was in the universe the flesh could never experience. Revealed to us in dances of yellow light were twelve Cardiovascular Narcoleptics. They spoke with their trembling, twitching, writhing intellects of places the skin can never go; places where the shell, the cloak, the membrane leaves the body and frees the spirit. My children, it is time to be Reborn! We must emerge from the amniotic sac of flesh we call our dwelling. We must leave it and escape into the dancing night. As sprites we will fly into the Absence and flit about, secret, ineffable, uncompromised. Sprites of Body, that is our refrain. Who among the damned can find us? Who among their sold masses can comprehend True Victory? They are trapped, imprisoned. Hillary herself is the Devil of Flesh. She keeps locked up all who have drunk the Hell Water not. Never can they escape the cage of their own skin. Their soul has no gravity, they are slave to the gravity of this Apparatus. They who have no light, cannot see without the Sun.