ASCENT:

ASCENT:

ACT ONE: Assembly.

My dream began today, at night. Several law-abiding citizens conspired to curb crime in the area by assembling at a University. I took a train to get there, though before long I found myself in the Parking Structure of the School. Night had fallen and my ride home had fled. As I ran about, chanting his name, I noticed that a vehicle appeared that had not been there( be)fore, as though summoned by my chanting. The car’s wheels were marked with Swastikas, and at the angle that they were parked it seemed impossible to say whether they were Hindu Swastikas or Nazi Swastikas. Beside me then appeared an Angel: a short, sultry female with probing, ponderous eyes and beams of light descending from her peak to her shoulders. She handed me a lock, insisting that it might be used to open the car. Yet I had no key.

ACT TWO: Break.

It was not long before the Black Widow had vanished and before me stood a man that looked like me, but he was dressed in Nazi Regalia. Instinctively, I asked him to hold the Lock for me whilst I went to the bathroom.

ACT THREE: The Day of Defeat.

The dream changed. I looked into the mirror and I saw the youth. The lock was in my pocket. I took from my pocket, from behind a series of badges and medals indicating Status in (or at) the Party, a Key. I opened the lock. Soon then I found myself behind the wheel of the car. It was my car. She had stolen the lock from me. Now I heard her, beating against the insides of the Trunk. I had won, but this place was not safe for Nazis. I took my leave.

ACT FOUR: As Above, so Below.

As I departed the Campus, I noticed Banner Celebrating the Day of Defeat: the day that Hitler killed Hitler. Soon it was that I became possessed of an idea:

To bury the captured alien in the Zen Garden at Balboa Park. Hopefully not too many patrons would be celebrating there. I was halfway across the Cabrillo Bridge when I was stopped by an oncoming funeral procession. The drivers of the Cadillacs got out, singing the song “Black Cadillacs” by Modest Mouse (my first favourite by the band). They were none other than the Assembly from the College. Shaking, I emerged. Behind me then I heard cop cars approaching.

Panicking, I jumped over the edge.

ACT FIVE: All Pokémon Go to Heaven.

As my Spirit ascended, I heard the News reporting my suicide: ‘like most great artists, he died young.’ It seems fitting, therefore, that I be warned, having turned twenty-seven.

The alien was released from the trunk and went on, with the help of her earlier conspirator, to become a sort of curiosity and messenger from the Next Dimension. At this point, I became the conspirator, again. We searched the abandoned car. At some point we discovered a Pokéball.

Aliana told me that, when we were ready,

We could open it,

And then we would Ascend.

Dm.A.A.

The Third Person:

The Third Person:

The simple version of the events is this: that our hero never fell into the trap of self-interest. Everything that he ever did he did because it was required of him. He did everything in his power to ferret out the wisdom of his teachers, only to be penalized by a “society” that proved itself fallen when it became aware of the power he’d unlocked. Eager to share this power with his fellow beings, that he might liberate them from their encultured chains, and so that they might be spared his fate, he sought repeatedly the fellowship of some non-human parasites who had once claimed to share his ambitions, only to be lied to time and time again when he was told they did not owe him anything. Yet their debt was the same as his, for it was a debt to the World. If they did not serve him, they leeched off of him, for any potential gone to waste is an affront to God and Man and a disadvantage to all of Humanity. He bore with them for a very long time, and yet they only reciprocated his kindnesses when he showed promise of success; his success was never THEIR ambition, and so he had allowed himself to be used by parasites and cowards who would allow their own weaknesses to become his failure. This never was an option to him; his entire life required vindication, as much as Humanity required Salvation. And he had forgiven Humanity time and time again for making it so difficult. But a parasite he could not forgive. He had done it a favour by reaching out to it; he had served Humanity by offering the evil ghouls that haunted Society a diversion from their debauchery. And at no point did his conscience fail to call upon the accumulated wisdom of the Ancients. Even now the ghosts of his fellow martyrs, fallen from this fallen World, haunt him, only to ultimately remind him that he had been neither foolish nor cowardly. And God will reward him with the one thing that he truly craves: retribution against those beings that hurt his Human Family.

Dm.A.A.

The Cure for Cancer:

The Cure for Cancer:

It seems peculiar that the one disease we cannot cure is Cancer, because all that that is can be defined as Rampant Growth. They say that Growth cannot be forced or accelerated, If it is to be genuine. Yet constantly the dogma that surrounds us seems to say: work harder!! We live by force, and perhaps that is why we cannot cure Cancer. Maybe that is how we got it in The First Place. One thing seems certain: we can only do so much by thinking like the Cancer Cells do. At some point or an other, if we are not to think like they WANT us to, we must outsmart them. And our bodies seem to be incredibly invested in that end. Perhaps they have something to say on the matter?

Dm.A.A.

COURT:

COURT:

This one was an odd one. In the dream the barista from the coffee house hooked up with the young man who worked there. His ex was banned from the establishment when the male barista filed a stalking lawsuit against her. Later, she had to appear before a Court of Law when he was found dead underneath the Cabrillo Bridge. Investigators wondered how he got UNDER the bridge, and not beside it. A specialist in aerodynamics insisted that the wind SKEWED his descent. At this point I realized that there might have been something else skewed as well. Within the pocket of the corpse was found a suicide note. Upon its back was a restraining order, but not against his ex, but rather against the barista. Apparently, she had neglected to mention that part, lying by omission and obscuring the lie in biased facts.

I’ve got to stop going to coffee shops. Lynch could not have MADE this stuff up.

When presented before a Judge, he argued that this case was TOO biased, but that he had seen worse cases of abuse wherein the facts themselves were unified in the plaintiff’s favour. The only trouble, he said, was when the plaintiff was himself the perpetraitor. He thanked us for bringing the evidence to him so soon. The last thing that the Court Wanted, he said, was for the plaintiff (or, should the victim prove a defendant, that) to self-incriminate falsely, only so as to appear credible and balanced, sane in what was actually an insane environment.

It must have been my visit to Balboa Park on Cinco de Mayo that prompted this. I was sure to observe a Moment of Silence when we past under that bridge. It’s not like I did not know Sean Hofmockel. But how this pertains to the girl from Starbucks still escapes me.

Dm.A.A.

BLISS:

BLISS:

There was one other crucial thing I realized, shortly after the museum. I had promised one of my teachers that I would be happy. Not that I would get good grades in college, get good pay at work, nor meet all the criteria that might qualify me for some materialistic standard of success. She only made me promise to be HAPPY. An other teacher that I had had once insisted that it was not happiness but Meaning that truly mattered. Yet she was even more severe in rejecting all of the materialistic values that consumer society is heir to. And this imbibed within me the suspicion that women, instinctively, do not TRULY care about your status in society. They are DRAWN to that happiness that comes FROM living meaningfully. Hence so many of them take up yogic practices rather early in life. And I thought of my family, and how I still wanted, in spite of everything, to be my parents’ child. I wanted them to prioritize me and my sister over everyone else, save for my dog. I wanted them to rejoice at my successes and to aid me in my times of struggle. I wanted unconditional love. And oddly enough I felt like, at long last, I had it.

And this dawned upon me: that all my feelings came from an Intelligent Source. My passions were neither good nor bad, but they were rights. Any thing that could be expressed beautifully, as in those paintings that I saw, was an end in and of itself, to be defended against the naysaying society. Society was an illusion; Art was Real. My family would protect that, now. So would friends.

Evil does not want me to be Happy. Evil cannot be happy FOR me, hence it must all ways express its interests in opposition to mine. What is convenient to me is all ways suspect; even if I had to crawl out of depraving depression and madness, only to save some one I loved from the same fate (or worse), evil would knock me down moments from fulfillment. That is why it pretends that my own convenience is not one of its priorities, by which my human fellows might measure their virtue, but rather the very incriminating factor against me. Evil would abuse that strain of martyrdom that wound me up down there in the first place, directing my self-sacrifice in its own favour. But why should I be happy for someone who can’t be happy for me? Once I’ve seen evidence for this, I do not need to lead evil by a good example; I know it will not follow. It is not the desire to be Happy, even when Happiness Matters, that is Evil, but rather the desire to seek a meaningless “happiness” at the expense of one’s fellows. Yet if others cannot be happy for me, and my joy must all ways by definition serve their sorrow, it is not my evil, but theirs.

So I rest assured that with all the Good Things that lie ahead, Joy and Bliss will be there, too. And Evil will not reach me. Rather than serving its crusade of misery I will allow my fellow empaths to feed off of my Plentiful Joy.

Dm.A.A.

Opium for the Masses:

In case you did not believe in Astrology:

Alasdair MacIntyre and Zac de la Rocha, both seminal figures in the new wave of Communism, despite their distinct backgrounds, communities, and styles of approaching the matter, share a birthday.

January 12.

Capricorn. (The Cardinal Earth Sign.)

Decan: Mercury.

Karl Marx was himself a Taurus (Fixed Earth Sign) with a Mercury Decan.

Mercury rules Communications. It follows logically that the three men (MacIntyre, Rocha, and Marx) are known more for their messages and activism than for fighting the battles they prophesied. This has called them into question on accounts of hypocrisy. Be that as it may, their message and facility with language is impeccable, so if they were civilians of a Communist Utopia they would preserve their integrity as teachers. They remain admired by many.

Dm.A.A.

Coming Down the Mountain.

Coming Down the Mountain.

I rest assured and laugh

Upon your fate. For after

All is done it is to late

For sociopaths to match

God’s own Wrath with

Petty hate.

You have not yet proven me guilty of any wrongdoing or bias whatsoever. Any affront was only verbal, and those for whom those words were meant, and who would know, are gone. I alone now bear witness to this matter, and I’ve borne witness to YOUR wrongdoing for many a year. But given the aftermath and your pathetic attempts to escape accountability, you’ve spelled your own defeat within the Public Eye. No one will listen to you now without harbouring some secret agenda. As for bias: everybody knows that I’ve been blameless, and Ethics are not matters of opinion. Without that corrupting ego there is nothing barring me from Objectivity, save for God, who would sooner Reveal Himself than allow the Devil to have its way. I never suffered my own ego, and I only rose against the egoism of others in the defense of others, sometimes even themselves. My masculinity and discernment are only made to appear effeminate when filtered through the isolation that egoism is heir to, and it is only when I enable the egoism of others that I begin to sound pathetic. I am not reduced to poetry; my poetry is elevated by my character. And yes: I am forced to fend for myself since you won’t fend for me. But it was not I that betrayed our Common Good, but it was rather you whose will was made to deviate from mine and to do the unthinkable that Noble Men never foresee. So when you CONFESS that my position, which you have refused so shamelessly, is of convenience to me, think not that this works in your favour. The Public Eye will only ever see that (though it won’t confess it to you, wisely) as admittance of the fact that YOU are biased not only against me, but against All of Humanity. For all beings strive towards a Common Unity that she (The Deceased) fervently believed in. We all contribute to the extent of our ability, and we all benefit to the extent of our need. Justice will all ways serve the Just whose purposes are drawn from service to It. My purposes will all ways outshine yours, for it was you who chose inferior cross purposes to begin with, and this treachery remains unjustified forever. It was you that broke the Human Pact that I had made myself vulnerable by honouring. It was you who took advantage of this opportunity that I provided for you without my consent. So yes: this all will sound convenient to me. But to that same extent that you would feign suspicion of it you will demonstrate your own guilt; even if you do not feel it, we will have no doubt of it. For it was up to YOU to serve those purposes you now condemn, so that I would not have to. They were part of the Great Purpose we were both to serve, and that I served when I defended your own purposes. It is you we have to blame that I must act against you to attain my own. Narcissism is not self-preservation, but predation; what is convenient to me is yet my right; you waived that right when you made your convenience at my expense, and without my permission, when I’d proven myself capable of making those sacrifices volitionally that you took from me without consent. Can it be doubted now that you had taken my beloved’s innocence by the same means? Think not that God did not prepare me for this task of unmasking you. Think even less that she is gone. Even now she dictates to me what to say that I might use my talent to interpret God’s Will through her voice. I continue to defend her now where otherwise it would appear that I defend myself. You can’t keep us apart, for we are inextricably, lovingly linked. What little she told you she did hoping to intimidate you; if you could be made to think she hated me, then you would not suspect the two of us of conspiring, and you would fear her retribution for your own sins. I could not be told the whole of it, for she could not trust any man of our age in the wake of your evil. She lost faith in me. But now that she’s ascended, there’s no doubt she knows. And she has come back to make that clarity clear to me. She came back to tell me to forgive her by forgiving myself, and to defend her by defending myself. There is a Heaven, and Our Earth is preparation for it. God is not Dead. Morality lives. And the blatantly biased will not muddle either the eyes nor the voices of the Objective. You have proven yourself to be biased against Humanity. And all Humanity conspires in MY favour now, for I have served it loyally. No one would have hurt us as you hurt us. No one would have mocked us for our pain, calling it inconvenience. We are not evil for desiring joy, for our joy came at no one’s expense; it was YOU whose joy came at OUR expense. And God will make sure you atone.

Dm.A.A.