June 2023 - trip; expectations; clarity

 June 15, 2023

This is going to be hard to write. For weeks N and I took a trip together. I can feel the bitterness accruing in my heart leaving it as I begin to write this down. B is right that I should do something nice for myself. I can also now feel to go that route rather than to introspect or let in horrible and conclusive thought. In the past I would have been very all-or-nothing about our interactions. Very now or never. I still am. But there is space that opens the field wider and sees it as a hit, a major hit of intensity, that now I must recover from. B said it was too much for the beginning of something. This would be a sensible perspective to have, but from another perspective – N's – it was not too much at all.

But of course in hindsight there was nothing romantic in it at all. There was only my fantasy, which I wanted so much to come true, to bring forth. Only I am to blame for this. I could have turned it around at any point in the first few days when it became apparent that any romantic longings were thwarted. I stayed in it. Why.... Now I suffer the hit of being sexually rejected. By the smartest man I know. The only man whose mind I trust. I'm afraid to find somebody normal, to sink into the morass of mud people (where I really belong?)... unnecessary to continue that thought. I simply need to recover and restore and feel like a normal wanted sexual woman – fully a woman. Three months (or more) of talking and hoping and it has culminated in this. Of course I tried too hard, did too much, put it all forward too much. That's the lesson for what not to do. How often does one meet a man they want to marry? A man whom they can talk to about things nobody else sees, a man between whom a world builds up... a fantasy builds up. I still want nothing else. What I want seems impossible. Marriage is for Earth. True marriage is for a special mission. Opportunities for marriage can appear but usually the man throws it away to maintain his independence and avoid being consumed. He doesn't know what he gives up. I'm made for this kind of marriage.

~

The power is out in the whole town, so I went to the redneck bar. I feel comfortable at home here. But I'm an immigrant who is lost in America.

(It's all a long cope for N not being in love with me, for wanting a nice and classy and emotional girl and not someone just like him. I put knives into my own heart. And I told N that I love him so I was negative challenge. I threw myself at him. I didn't beg. But I stated my case, in the end.)

There is no way I can do it, be a woman like this. I want to hang myself so much. Because I will never overcome this. I will never act or get this right or love the right man. I cannot close my eyes. There was such togetherness between N and I all throughout the trip but now I cannot trust it. All of our mannerisms are the same, our laughs, our sighs... but I spin theories in my head and I have heard and seen too many things lately that all seem to say one thing: stay away from those socially higher ranking than you. And this ties into everything we talked about with regard to the occult and secret networks and the true mechanisms of reality and reality's currency (vril).

 

June 16, 2023

All this feeds my self-importance and ego but I must say that immediately since coming back home the weather has been very strange, an unstable and tumultuous air and ambiance into a sudden drop to coolness. Hard to distinguish between myself and the world. But the air feels unsettled, filled with charged particles, streams of chaos and anger that shift and allow streams of light and sunshine to prevail – each stream carried with it a different world, a different plan for the manifest world.

The first night there were incredible winds, sudden darkness and a storm that quickly passed. Mostly it's the winds. The next night, yesterday, saw another strong storm and left trees knocked down all over. It was lights out all on the main road, calm and lovely pitch darkness, peace driving through. This morning was the kind of day where stepping out and seeing a dying moth by my door made me feel the world speaking to me. The winds were strong; a sudden, violent onset. Everywhere I turned the world was speaking to me; looked up from the wind; a stooped old lady in a solid bright yellow dress across the street stood out to me. Very old and stooped. Bright yellow.

 

June 17, 2023

From the very beginning I saw it as two things happening at one, two ways of seeing and reading and interpreting out exchanges. My mind – my whole inner world – was primed. I must have affected him. It's right that he has to be alone now.

(It pains, it sears, that he did not want me). Through him I can see the force of my own mind –

I cannot have any normal relationships. I have no interest in them. This fantasy mechanism was given to me to experience some semblance of romance, but it doesn't work on Earth.

From the very beginning I saw the words as they would be seen now that it is all over, and in a completely different way, as part of another world of meaning, enhanced. Two simultaneous meanings. I always see this other world of meaning with men who draw me to them. And now the whole exchange has unpeeled at each layer along which it had initially lined up, and the unpeeling reveals the horrific delusion of it, how much fantastical meaning and want I imbibed all his words with.

~

Everything is an energy exchange. I can't help my attention funneling onto N; it happens automatically, psychically; it feels like a waterfall or a stream seeking the ditch. It's simply what my mind, my third eye, points to. We are so extremely similar, both so off the ground, that, together, I think this funnel of intense, concentrated, dammed up energy built up over the time we were in each other's presence, and because we didn't even touch more than brushing hands or my putting a hand on his am, it had nowhere to go. It just accrued, until it was suppressed, ignored. And now I feel there is a karmic debt from me to him because I have placed this barrier between us: my wants, my soul's, heart's, demand for a relationship, for yes or no. My heart is like a vice grip, like a long, tightening tunnel that chokes the man it wants. A terrifying vagina. How do I make my heart spacious and free and light, when its nature is like that of a laser? At the same time, I feel, these past few days since we've parted, that my heart contains this massive force, an enormous mass of energy.

 June 18, 2023

I'm taking the deep dive into the Beach Boys. Brian Wilson's music is healing, and I like Al Jardine's songs as well (Don't Go Near the Water, Lookin' at Tomorrow). He's like their Richard Wright. B. Wilson's music is choral harmony, real church music, holy music.

Love was my way to the truth. Love was my path to the truth. What started as childhood crushes led down a path of experiences and insights that were pieced together into a world. A painful path. Concurrent with music. I can listen to music and become enlightened, or come to understand things, through the characters (musicians), their types and roles, and their paths (and supplementary “invisible information” - of types the perspective brought to me by someone like N). And now I'm onto the Beach Boys due to N's influence, to our hanging out, even though I'd been meaning to get into them for a while.

These are the types of people I see:

• Avatars (musicians, poets, druggies, obsessed by their craft

• Seers/Mystics – N (very typical/symbolic seer nature, actually – the prototypical seer. He is the eyes of the Мёртвый Мир, that see through the context field)).

• Magicians – people who tap into a power structure, who perform rituals and need them, who can build charisma

• Academics/Loremasters – a difficult path, people who need all types of wood and water slypths for their myths, clever and smart, people who can ultimately reject the world and become saints?, media types, talk show hosts.

• People/Christians – those for whom all the beauty of the world is made. The 48k likes people. Those who have families, who have, live, earthly stories. Christians. Those for whom missionary work is done.

• Mediums – N's word for them, which I think is apt. Nymphs, slyphs, nature spirits.

Magical world: Avatars, Seers/Mystics, Magicians, Lorekeepers/Saints, Christians, Mediums

~

Slyphs for myths

God only gives me as much heartache as I can handle. How does this happen? Because of the way I am made, if functioning optimally, the maximum passes through me: this is why I experience heartache repeatedly. Love is my path to enlightenment. Through desire. There are many Ways.

My ears are always primed for what I want to hear.

~

N told me about the way the Greeks classified people: psychics, pneumatics, mud people. Pneumatics – those like Buddha who could reach enlightenment on their own; psychics, those who could understand psychics; everyone else, who had nothing to do with the first two.

I told him about Quenta's system: nonsleepers, decoders, warriors, keepers/foxes, normal people, and the last kind, whom he called mediums. I also explained the animals or beasts to him: mediums had none, they did not create but interacted with forces and had simple personalities, normal people who had one. Academics who had two and had to remain between them; when he said that academics should also have a craft, I thought of this type and being between their academic field and their craft. Warriors had 3, all the same kind, one in the soft world, one in the hard (“tangible”, he said) world (he often found better words for what I was trying to say), and one in between, and had to be everywhere at once. Decoders, who had 4 beasts but in whom one was incompletely developed and would never be fully developed, people who lived between the tangible and intangible worlds, who were no one and nowhere. Nonsleepers, who had 4 fully developed beasts and lived in the intangible world.

Sounds like the decoders get a pretty raw deal, N said wryly. He saw himself in it I think. I said they hold the world together.

Now, through musicians.... Well, through N, I have taken all we talked about, all the information and perspective he fed me, and integrated it, and I think I understand the world. Everything makes sense. Everything has been placed. Specifically, how the world really works, what we are in, Christianity, and order/structure to the many abstractions that have been living in my head. I have been trained to see. N knows and sees everything, very little things. Of course he perceived that I liked him, and he must have known (on some level?) that he was causing me pain, but it was necessary. Everything we discussed, he/we also acted, plausibly, in order, I think, to teach a level of nonverbal, coded communication that may be useful later and what helps one see the structure hidden in our similar world.

~

Before I continue (it is difficult because there is so much I need to get out at the same time), I will say a few things:

From the very beginning, I felt as if we were in congress. Our words were plain but also the exchange flowed like one smooth stream. When he messaged me it was as if I had been waiting a long time for him to. Right away, the fantasy starts.

There was one desire implanted in me – the desire to find my true love and be with him. All that I wanted was to live beside N and have sex with him sometimes. But it is too much, too vice-like, too restrictive, to try and force him into this fantasy, into this life and role. He is a free man, as free as I. Only, I am constrained by the shape of the one desire that lived/lives in me, and it grasps and constricts the man it chooses, becoming narrower and narrower, darker and darker, suffocating, until it takes everything from him – his freedom, his vril, all he has built up. This isn't what I think; I think love does the opposite.

I don't know who I was talking to, in the beginning. Even now, "N"'s voice in my heart and my memory is different from N's. "N" was the perfect form, the perfect character for the Interloper. And I tried to take it from that realm into the tangible world, and this traps N. The kindest thing I can do to him is not keep trying to make him the Interloper. God help me I don't know how to flirt.

Every time I get a self-hating thought now I see it potentially as the demon who sits around my neck, because of what my “type” is – the way Yung Lean has a demon, too.

I have deleted my accounts to avoid sinking into the morass of minds. It is still very painful. I have the dream of marriage and unity, but I don't want it with an earthly man – I crave the spiritual compatibility. Another thing that N gave to me was the permanent key to isolation, and the vision. Of course, the seer bestows the vision. I spent all day on twitter yesterday and felt like I was drowning in the sea of minds speaking about nothing. We'd talked about two types of disintegration: the kind where you dissolve into nothing by assimilating into the world/the crowd, you become no one, you just enjoy your life, and lose your mind, and the kind where you devolve, turn in on yourself like a rotting vine from too much time alone, from being too insular, from going as far as you can and getting to the point of rotting once you are too far from humanity. The former is dissolving, the latter is disintegrating, crumbling. I felt myself dissolving into the crowd. I began to lose touch with his mind's influence.

They don't know N's mind. None of them are anywhere close to his level. And I need to maintain focus, to “vibe” on his level, continuously.

I think the only path and possibility is to channel all of my mental force into my projects, sustained. He keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Through N's perspective, and through telling him about what had happened in 2014-2015, I began to feel like I'd been subject to bad influences. Even in some of my art around TIF, the further I got into it the more there appeared passages about the forest being a misdirection, an evil; there were demonic faces, passages about being devoured; it all hinges on infatuation with the magical, the mystical.

Talking to N made me see what had happened to me differently. Particularly, TIF was a separate thread running through me that culminated in seeing 6.66 and almost having a psychotic break, but I burned through its symbolism through writing, and in the story found the way out: the symbols lose their meaning in the end, the man is free of them. This new perspective will also surely help write Echo, which I feel it is imperative for me to do.

This was another thing we talked about, in talking (extensively) about the occult (N had the exact information and interests I needed in order for my worldview to gel): some people seek out the occult, its power; other times, the occult finds you and you don't recognize it, but it uses you.

~

It could have ended very bitterly if not for a couple of very improbable things happening to force us together again. I think it ended okay. But I didn't get the relationship I wanted. In time I will just look back on how good this whole trip was, how amazing we even took it.

I think N was on a mission from the beginning. He even said that white people should be more mission-based in their approach to spiritual development (rather than pursuing Eastern philosophy). And we started talking, also, just before twitter was replaced with X, which is a closed pigpen designed to prevent mass uprisings and stem the flow of information, to prevent another 2016 (more on this later). We (he) got in just as the door closed. He even said, he felt like we were on a world tour before the end. He is probably right....

June 20, 2023

I've had some revelations, some clearheadedness, now that things have settled. N is in the real game. He's had a glimpse of what happens to you when you talk about real things, try to expose the mechanisms (and there are many, many mechanisms – two of which, as I said, are encouraging introspection/going inward/self-blame/self-reference (artists gobble this up), and myth-making. We've been trained, mentally, by swimming in the ambiance we do to make myths of realities. Let the myth, and mythological feeling, dissolve to get to the truth. Creating mythological feeling is something we have learned to do to obscure fails from ourselves. We are all very heavily socially engineered).

N has initiated me into the real. I feel that today. Everybody else looks, well, like they're living in the matrix, saying nothing. He's also brought a responsibility for this upon himself, he's brought me in. Everything he says is correct. He is a true Seer. It makes sense, why he said he couldn't be what I wanted, why he has to be alone now, why he can't explain himself. It had not yet gelled for me. I was too stuck on romance (another pop-psych inversion, a way for us to fool ourselves. The ruling traditions are ancient).

~

I understand now, with all the things we talked about having gelled into one whole worldview, one set of eyes, rather what we meant when he said that zoomers really have nothing, on a different level. I understand this reality, his reality – they are not able to glimpse this reality, this simulacra we live in, that's been created.

(“How did this start?” I asked him one day. He said, “I just want to know the truth.”)

I think N thought I contained secrets, secret knowledge, a reserve of knowing. Either I'm not the type or what I am is an avatar, able to channel certain things, able to heal, to put people into a trance, a spell, to take them on a journey. The very last day we got back into my car and it was like the trip was unbroken when we were together again, even though it had been broken. I'm the trip. I'm a particular way that I can bring into the world: I've always felt this, or long have. N is a seer, an illuminator of context, of the context around you, us, all of us.... He is the type who can ground the way in reality. What I had was raw material, experiences, intuitions, hunches, vague feelings, an attachment to the “above” but that alone, ungrounded in reality, unorganized. I even told him, in the course of our talking, that I'm not sure how to say the things I want to say yet, I don't have the language for it. He provided the structure, or was like a chiropractor of the mind for me, or of the spirit, even. My spirit was crying for him. That's why I rejected W; I felt a spiritual incompatibility with him; we were spiritually at odds, on different teams. And now I look at him and he seems like just another lost in the blind world, unable to feel the parameters of reality as N and the few people he's surrounded by can. I was perfectly primed to receive what he could give, with my particular experiences. I don't think my collection of perceptions, experiences, feelings, history, could have been so perfectly organized in any other way! I don't know if I could have so clearly seen any other explanation of reality. There is still much to explore, but, for example, it's clear to me that our seemingly natural mental habits have been trained – myth making, and, more easily spotted, pop psych ideas. And the trainers are part of a very long legacy. I need a long break from the “public square”, the sea of screaming minds.

The thing about N is that, while he is on a quest for the truth in an obsessive way, he also did many creative things, and his contributions were some of the most creative where featured him. They extrapolated into an absurd but true reality, and there was a poetry to them. And this is what he was seeking, I feel. He approached me through music. Did he see, on some level, that this is my path, in his mission-oriented way of approaching people? I've thought many times that what happened was him initiating me, preparing me for a future (“The next four years are going to be very weird”), most notably by teaching how to communicate nonverbally in code, through action mirroring words said, discussed, either by us or some media we were listening to – to be perceptive of this level of reality – that where symbols live, where movements, actions, the unspoken, reigns, to know it is not simply plausible deniability but real. And the knowledge of this way has to be communicated non-verbally, too. More on this later.... My heart hurts. But music and writing have been going well.

None of what people could say about it would matter because they don't touch on this reality. If he never says anything to me again I'll be in my reality alone, again, but also on a quest for the truth, organized and cognizant in my creative efforts.

I think nobody can really, perfectly, see N's reality, which is reality. Maybe a few can, but not completely. He made me, my mind, in order for it to be validated. Now it's obviously reality to me. Those who can partially see it are missing the emotional component, which I contain....

~

I felt the paranoia today, from being aware of the real. It is dangerous. They are always watching. I could easily go back to dreaming. But I won't. I won't assimilate or dissolve in the world. I will stay up there. Reject fantasy. Reject romance. All of it is a given fantasy, to appease. Often I asked, where did my yearn for divine love come from? From CIA experiments. Because divine love is not romance. I see that N was afraid or guilty about bringing me into this, that he wants to stay “up there” and not assimilate (“I've been mostly isolated with periods of coming out.”)

 

June 21, 2023

Theories from the past ~week as I've coped with the fallout:

Upper class/middle class

We listened to the Kaye Griggs interviews (some of it)

• higher status husband who used her as a beard, even though Kay Griggs herself wasn't exactly nobody. Still, she was the social inferior to his decorated position. She had good Christian values, wanted to love, ignored his red flags, and paid dearly.

B's mom's boyfriend just died, and it came out that he'd been married this whole time.

• He was loaded, an exec at --.

• B's mom was too trusting and gullible – he lived half the time in another state. B's brother had had suspicions that he was married but B's mom ignored them.

~

Pernicious Background Methods of Control and Subjugation (All the Things We Love)

• Beauty attached to deception → used to make terrible concepts more than palatable, to bypass consciousness and logic (unfortunately, logic is the last thing to remove – it means we've reached the end).

  (Interloper tells Tress this)

• Introspection/navel-gazing, especially using false pop-psych concepts which have contributed to destroying other systems of thought

• mythologizing/abstracting, removing from time – why do we do this? It feels profound. Why?

~

One way in which N clarified my thoughts: pointing to invisible people.

To elucidate this concept/reality of invisible people helps give more structure to the MM idea of Tress talking to nonexistent people in the shadows.

~

[begin disregard]

Do the traditions of spirituality – eastern, western/Evola/Hermeticism, chaos magic/Egyptian magic – lie in the differences in their approach toward man's relationship with the void?

I feel, now, like I've been “taken up”/“possessed” by the stream of chaos magic because it has been predominant and winning in our lifetime. All the language and imagery of my poetry reflects this.

I see my art and writing very differently now. Particularly TIF and my poems, the entire arc of Love is a Ghost. In 2019, when I stopped writing poems, I thought I'd lost the ability, or burned through something. But now that I'm beginning to identify the different spiritual traditions, their calling cards and patterns, and their presences on Earth (for instance, Julius Evola was a scion of a different tradition, the western masculine one, opposed to the ruling “chaos magic” force, maybe even true Christianity – and on Earth he was branded “far right”. Yes, he is “far right” of the dominant force – which we are blindly inside [11/20/24 far right and left don't mean anything at all – they are arbitrary, the spectrum itself is arbitrary]. But the “far right” as “fascist” is its false conceptualization.), I feel that I was “found” by these forces – they attempted to go through me, and they did – but through art I wrestled with them. I believe my lifelong depression (and of course it starts in teenage years because it uses your sex energy and that's when it develops) was a symptom of fighting these forces, and the end of my poetry was my defeating them, through poetry.

Depression is a system of processing these forces that latch onto you because you can't name them. They are powerful because they can't be named.

Effectively naming something reduces its power to almost nothing – this can be good or bad, this is merely a tool. There is an art and science to naming, tied in with obscuring.

That's why big holding companies have generic names that mean nothing. If you name a company what is really is and does, it will have no power in this world. How did such corporations become so powerful? They were given secrets by this void, or this face of the void, this void-relationship, that work in this world, that are real, and it makes this void-relationship the stronger one on Earth.

Even “chaos magic” is an invention that's almost meaningless – it means nothing, it's formalized, it contains a tiny grain of trinket truth to satisfy and answer its adherents – it works and contains rituals that feel mystical – that that they may continue to pass on the true power; they are lackeys. “Chaos Magic” is an obfuscation of its source in order for the name(s) of that source to remain obscured.

I, too, am good at obscuring and shrouding in code, in mystery, in order to pass on information. I mythologize, romanticize. Perhaps that's why this force chose me, to try and go through, pass through, into this world, and my poetry documents the fight between it and me.

And think about it – the void is nameless. Religions are, teach, one's relationship to the void. In eastern ones I think the concept is of its pervasiveness through everything. To feel this pervasiveness.

In western traditions I think it is to use the void, the spring from it. Hard to describe. In the “satanic” tradition it is to be used by the void. It has taught society to romanticize the feeling of being used, and how does it do this? Through shrouds, layers. The concept of the divine feminine is fake – there is no divine feminine – that is a shroud created to romanticize passivity by capturing sexual energy most potently. And it demands worship...

[end disregard]

 

June 23, 2023

[begin disregard]

Where have I stopped now, in the process of revelations? First glimpsing the hidden mechanics, then coloring them in the quality of myth; then realizing it's all class, no myth, no shrouding needed.

~

It is prevalent in ways largely hidden but obvious if you can see them. Nobody online commented that Bladee's newest shirt was just the 8-pointed star – the chaos magic star. But no - “chaos magic” itself is a misdirection, a fake practice meant to smuggle in the forces behind it through symbology: the star of Ishtar.

(And what is Ishtar? The opposite of Christianity. The rule of might on Earth. And what is the architecture of Islam? The octagon. What does that feel like? Perfect balance, gentle dominance of all aspects of life; panopticon; unbreakable social tendrils.).

The rituals of chaos magic I think mean nothing because they take place on a very superficial level where nothing happens; there's a grain of truth in it (or else it'd have no appeal; there must be a grain of truth in every occult practice to lure in; in fact maybe the goal of any occult practice is to possess a truth, make it accessible only through itself, its system), in the law of manifestation. But deep interactions take place with real tools: money, beauty, language, architecture, sound. Fancy ritual is a watering down, an obfuscation, so that the “initiate” doesn't know what he's really doing. This tracks with the notion of using lower/middle class abused kids who have unusual powers and abilities.

(One of the worst inventions of modern comics is just this notion – of the invisible/secret school (no doubt founded by the controlling entity) that picks up poor kids with special abilities) as tools of “occult” forces by initiating them, the initiators being old families guarding the secrets and truths of reality and human history.

• Why did it take so long for AOS' teachings to make it into the mainstream? Decades passed. And why him? Because it seems that he is at the core of, the power source of, chaos magic. “Loss and gain are the same” seems just a renaming of vacuity/exhaustion, circumnambulation of Spare's concept of Kia.

N had said drain sounds like vampirism, “drain the night”. To me it's the amoralism of chaos magic → also fits the predominance of post-modernism, is basically that.

Bladee's record label is Year001 – a break from the past. No more/old traditions, only this one with Bladee as its priest. All lore of “a new man”, starting from zero, civilization, starting anew, is just a ploy to make people forget their past... their inheritance... their family legacy, the most important thread of all, that true source of earthly wealth, and in no mere abstract way: generational wealth. The founding of nations is the union and collaboration of families. Clans (small) → then with education, clans surpass their rivalries and particularities, join and form nations (as the US did early on). It would make sense that there is a host of invisible people, the dark matter of history; from among those are ones who pushed Bladee/drain to the forefront (he doesn't feel organic at all).

[end disregard]

~

• WRT “year0001”, I also feel covid was a part – only a part – of this cultural break.

  All to create a break as fully as possible. It worked with zoomers; they think so differently from millennials, who were pushed into the crevasse. The other ledge of the crevasse is year 1.

• WRT AOS being the energetic source that was used to program so much of this generation/time/zeitgeist: his magic may be actually shallow and weak, when compared to Christianity, because it is pleasure-seeking. It is people reveling in skirting and skating along the edge of the void. It is “results-oriented” (poisoned by modernity, that background of thought).

N said someone he considers to have a close beat on the pulse thought 9/11 was a declaration of independence by a group of private interests/actors from the world order/from their nations.

As far as sources go, people may simply not take credit for their own work. They may choose to put it under someone else's name; they may erase themselves from history entirely, make themselves invisible people (context creators/Interloper – who then has to hide his association with Tress, thwarting her wish (of love), which drives her, which drove her to him – then they were able to do something). They must also hide their influences, erase their influences from history – break off their closest people.

~

I was surprised a few days ago to have received a letter from N. I saw it lying in my mailbox at night and felt a sense of both dread and knowing. Dread because I dreaded the formal goodbye note, knowing because I knew as soon as I glimpsed my handwritten name and address on the envelope that it was from him. Inside was a letter explaining his wish to do good for me, “a wonderful person”, as well as an apology for misleading me on our trip, not to take this as a goodbye note, that he'll keep me posted about signs of life and hopes I'll do the same. An apology for not being able to give more definite answers than a few nights ago. He'd sent it just 3 or 4 days after we parted.

I laughed when I read it and couldn't stop smiling.

He'd set off a slow release bomb with this gesture that made my psyche pass through phases about it, from feeling relief and protection, to perceiving the subtext of his letter: you aren't good enough for me. You are a mere mortal, a “wonderful person who still has the courage and vision for genuine human life” and good luck with your human life out there. To my facing my middle class status and being embarrassed of it. It's less about money than about a code of behaviors and a guarding of history (in the upper class that is). The middle class has nothing, built nothing, has no refined behavioral code, mixed with foreigners or were foreigners with their family legacies destroyed (such as us). What we (my family) have is a kind of specialness that sticks out (being all left handed and artistic), tendencies to have known famous musicians, and even early on N commented that Baltic Catholic is a powerful type – teutonic knights. But here I am zero – I am nowhere – I can enter the invisible world, be taken up by the invisible people, a perpetual outsider with very few peers.

On a deeper wordless level it was also a test. It's always at least two meanings simultaneously. A test to see how I would respond, who am I (and like it holds up a mirror before my class so it held up a relief of a wish in N's heart, secret and hidden and inaccessible. After all, when we were together he'd shut down his heart, but for a few moments), and was he doing it consciously? No, probably not... but maybe just consciously enough. It probably did manifest in his conscious mind as a desire to do good, but that isn't really what wants to be communicated. The wish will always make itself communicated. And maybe there is another aspect to it, a desire to start a correspondence of letters. I wasn't sure whether a letter in response would be unwelcome or desired, but ultimately I rewrote my draft 4 or 5 times and over the course of 2 days realized how I should respond. I nearly sent a draft earlier that contained some unnecessarily personal bits. The draft I did send, I think was perfectly written. I dropped a bomb back to him. Said thank you greatly; I'm not mad about the trip; my own expectations hurt me; you've impacted my mind insanely; and then an esoteric paragraph on genuine human life in which I laid out some of my theory on that and called out that I know how he thought of me; a note about liking letters, and a wish to hear back; thank you again, I won't forget all he did.

All this to say, know who I am, who you're dealing with. Immediately after sending it I felt liberated, deep in my heart

My dad said, based on what I've told him, it doesn't sound like there's anything to be upset about, but I've been in a very strange, unpleasant state since we said goodbye. He said this story in particular is very cool. After this the terrible feeling is completely gone. I've passed the test. My heart feels purged and I can move on. This concludes our interaction, at least for this round (from our first conversation/interaction → now); he gave me what I needed (ability to finish MM, worldview); I gave him back his energy, transformed. [11/20/24 unsure I gave him anything positive; maybe an example]. I immediately felt a lightness, a relief; like a burden was lifted, even though of course he has not seen the letter yet. This convinces me that energy exchanges are far ahead of us, are shared energy. Maybe my karmic debt was just repaid.

~

I took a walk immediately after. Emphasizing once again, how purged I felt. I can do and be anything. Have to take the tension off of “I”.

I drew tarot cards and got, in order, the sun, the Ace of Swords reversed, the wheel of fortune, the king of wands, the page of wands.

Then I had a dream of being on a date with a tall, thin, dominant man who looked like Matt Smith and acted like his portrayal of Daemon, very in control and self-confident and reserved, he finally started tracing my fingers around with his own when, at the place we were wandering around, old friends refused to see me.

~

Kay Griggs' husband chose her, after all, a woman who just can't keep anything a secret. In photos he doesn't look like he has a darkness about him; he looks like no one, like you'd never know. Perhaps (things you can't say) it was his soul's secret wish, to bring it all out, and thus you have him choosing her as his second wife after murdering the first.

~

Now the character N was is fading from my mind – but I just had to be found by the invisible man again. I can't wait for scraps of attention, for the chase. Maybe we have little in common after all. A ghost worked through him and showed me some things I otherwise wouldn't have been able to see, under pain, my only drugs. Now I must capture them before they fade completely. It was no one that I talked to, and no one that I interacted with on such a deep level.

N's reaction to my response will determine whether my own theory has merit. Whether the veil will at all part. 

~

What the real weapons are are not spells or rituals – they are money, language, the art of naming, the deployment of ways to shape mental/psychological functions (myths and myth-making). No myths are necessary, no idolatry, no imagery, no divine feminine or divine masculine (but as attitudes in relation to the void, the all-creative unshaped source). The power of attaching beauty to myth to make it appealing, sticky in the soul. N at one point said that money is the greatest weapon in the world. Beauty is the second greatest weapon, I think.

All this is known to many people who have paid more attention to the world than have I. The problem is that I have now seen that my influences have been biased and taken up by me very blindly. Yet, tracing one's influences still doesn't tell you about an artist's heart.

You can “see” it or you can be a pure heart, a dumb saint. Perhaps, at this moment, I want N for his secrets, and that is even worse than any other reason for which I could want him. I wanted him because I was drawn to him, because I felt such a strong and inexplicable reaction. His symbolism, intellect, and aura matched up so well with what I had ready, and he was able to organize it all for me, to pass something on. I look at him and see a serious person, and I myself am not. A pleasure seeking woman. Stories of people seeking the good life, or any life, and there's nothing wrong with that, it's beautiful. It's what it's all for, the development of the soul (no, there is more – the development of traditions). But it's hard to parse truth from stories.

I don't need to be initiated or part of it; I just need to be aware that this level exists and walk among it, or see it among us (as Tress come to. What does she see? She and Interloper uncover that they see people in charge – the invisible hand)

Truth seekers don't need myths and stories. They give up living in stories. N's suggestion to me that living abroad would be a cool story felt insulting – because who is it who needs stories? Mud people. Hylics.

 

June 25, 2023

Time passes and I understand it more clearly. It hurts more specifically and bitterly. I have to write him off, because he doesn't respect me. He sees me as a saint, or saintly, a fine person, but not from within the pool with which to continue his line. I think he could perfectly easily marry without love, but with similar priors and principles and understanding, and, most importantly, stock. That's very old school. There's truth to the saying that love is delusion. Given that all that the middle class has are myths and no sense of personal history outside of being a tool of forces of the universe, this makes sense. Of course, this is all about myself. I should be grateful to him for the long overdue disillusionment. He doesn't need someone who shares his perspective; he needs someone who intuitively understands the importance of “the true aristocracy” and can act accordingly; I have acted against this my life long.

I must write him out of my head and my heart. I predict he will find C online anyway. Something tells me.

My letter yet continued some fumblings, some personal affectation whose lack of restraint and global perspective is the hallmark of being an uneducated soul. C can say anything and she knows her value and social position; this is evident. And she is American. Northeaster. And blonde. She is Rowena; I am Rebecca.

(They'd be a good complement; she's opinionated, loquacious, popular; he's quiet, intense, in the background, dark and weird; she's attracted to such; he could do with someone who brings him out socially. I'm just like him, but not American fully, a true outlier. Social reality always wins. The world always wins. But he hid it from me, his reality. That's the rub. If I had known, I might have had some of these thoughts... but not as revelations, not through my bones and cells, forever).

What can be my place in the world? Everywhere is painful to be, everywhere I'm no one. Every event such as this indicates further that I have been set aside for something else, and why? Real destiny is the kind of thing that keeps proving itself to you over and over, if it's not the fantasy destiny we romanticize and color with. Real destiny is “knowing thyself”, know who you are (in context), know your destiny. I have to acknowledge my own relationship to social reality.

~

[begin disregard]

It doesn't work out, the magic and delusion I, as a true woman, need to want to be with a man, aren't there. Maybe only the physical attraction. I think true aristocracy comes from the earth, that is, is born of legend, of a man living a legend, as kings were converted to gods. (But then there are the unseen: “philosophers” converted into the background. Kings became gods; philosophers became philosophy.  The occult has long, or always, been the domain, the knowledge of it held in, the aristocracy that have been its keepers. Not the peasantry (must research this). Within families. What is the most precious substance to man? Blood? Jesus had them drink his blood, through wine. And eat his flesh, through bread. Flesh, raw flesh, is the most energy-giving substance we can consume. And it is the law of Earth, that we must devour other life to sustain our own. Nowhere do we feel this more than when eating meat; not doing so makes us weak; and consuming raw flesh is the most efficient form of this rule. 

[end disregard]

~

What N really gave me was a clear synthesis of the occult + class and how our world is shaped by this. He did not tell me anything; he showed me everything. I came directly into contact with it through him. But it must be said, N chose to be with me for weeks and didn't know how to explain himself; now I will incorporate this into all my writing. His work is also an attempt to help free the average man from tyranny.

Some people's energy will pierce you. Some people transcend class right away.

Same deal with certain people online; for me, it's always people who are light, who radiate light, who send out light into their surroundings. They may be deep thinkers, too, but they simply exude lightness; that's their effect on me. They take some of my heavy energy. Perhaps they are sensitive types; taking, absorbing, darker, heavier energy, they must keep on playing, or singing, or drawing, or whatever, to channel it through them, out of them. And I feel better.

I think I get it now; nonsleepers are energy benders. They bend and influence the atmosphere around them. They don't need symbols – they maybe just need tools (guitar), stage, surfboard & sea, whatever....

A delayed influence of reality.

They (he) can never stop

But even for me, the train just keeps on moving. So much passes through; nothing I can do.

What else N gave me was a near-total disillusionment with myth. These notions were already nascent within me, particularly myth being a weapon, but he greatly clarified them. He also provided some orientation on the occult and how often/easily it is for one to be blindly used by certain forces, which I think is very important to me. A correctly sorted and understood perspective on the occult, Christianity, other religions.

I think N is a very strong person who has cultivated his energy via solitude, and what he has is “wish”. He contains a wish. And, possibly, he put it into action through me, or passed it onto me, and at the end was exhausted. Said he has to be alone. Said he'd be mostly unreachable for a few weeks.

And now I've spent all day processing terrible thoughts and feelings, an awful reality, about class. And now it's gone (because I took a walk and went to the bar and came into contact with some other people). Thoughts are shared between people who have a connection. Not my burdens, thoughts, leanings, not his, but between us, to be used and accessed by either. Each has a different role, usage, for this shared material. This is something more on the level at which “real occult” takes place, I believe. It's behind visible things, behind the mind.

The level of wish is far deeper than most. Beyond the body's doings of good/evil. An exchange not everyone can partake in; but anyone may have a wish. It is carried through behaviors and circumstances. Its deepness shields it and also makes it inaccessible.

~

Social dynamics is not a legitimate field of study (because it is not based on anything objective; it's based on the reality that people – upper class – has constructed for people. Thus, why would the constructors need to study it? That would be laughable.

Literature, classics, language, theology, astronomy, math, chemistry – but especially anything which confers/builds literacy – are fields of real study. Music (I was lucky to study piano), history (of x subject) are real studies. Business, perhaps, is one of the only present-day pathways into anything real, if only to glimpse the fakery our world rests upon.

~

It's a wish, a wish, a dream of love, and I have to bury it, in the place where wishes reside, and walk around the world carrying this wish.

~

Leaning to make my heart patient. Very moved by watching the first episode of Jam by Chris Morris, one of the greatest things ever made. It's still ahead of its time, or our time. I realize that something that great cannot be produced by impulsive short thoughts, by short impulses. My heart is very impulsive. It cannot let things just sit. A feeling or thought yearns to be spat out as soon as it's born and does not sit and ruminate in silence. The fear of time passing. The result is premature, incomplete, aphorisms.

N influenced me but now Chris Morris has also influenced me further, and will, if only to further change how I process, to change the shape and patterns of my mind.

My heart is so impatient, and demanding, and scared.

~

Phrases I

my heart is scared

wish is currency

keep your wishes to yourself

a man who has no wish

a girl who has seen the end

but must keep living in the middle

she delivers

Middle Phrases