Control

Between sex and greed, mankind is clamped down to a prolific preoccupation in a cesspool (of activities), like a tribe of apes at a jungles corner.

Subservience. Predictability. Numbers. Emission in life force. Minimal damage. Zeroing the market. Wipe out. Intimidation. Power. Reign. The self. Daisy chain of selfs. The primordial conscience. Minuses. Naked man. Natural technologies.

Internal demons are there to keep one in line with the big dance. Struggle seems like the chief regulator of the survival factory, an economy in itself. Like termites who must man certain tasks, cut out for their species at a specific time in a specific form, people perform in a predictable pattern. Attraction. Human beings swaying thru this system, that is neither good nor evil. It just bears a contentious, single mode of being.

The only way one can manipulate or break through their destiny that seems to be dialled in cosmically at every instance through manifestations of energy from minute and outward dimensions, put forth by the celestial order of matter and energy, like satellites that amplify or redirect signals, the divine order prevails and cannot be overridden. The will then functions on the principle of flowing water. It always finds its way, runs into obstacles and looks for a lower podium. Nevertheless, it carries its own kind by force.

What is hope that dawns and births new men in me at each fall? How much does the human chance amount to? The trophy is to be aware, yes, everyone knows, but to serve others with your sole purpose of being is the game itself.

The owner of the system will never be fathomed. Human form is still a sacrilegious passage on to something far more intelligent, synthesising intellect by the vitality of nature, beginning to appear to us as technology. A state where emotions are even bypassed because communication occurs omnidirectionally.

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