Apocalypse Porn

As we lounge around in Bali casually discussing possible targets and abstract commitments, con trails criss-cross the sky enmeshing the planet within an industrialized net of waste. The earth goddess, bound and chained, quivers in anticipation at the prospect of cosmic reconciliation. Our industrial efforts have availed little other than temporary refuge from the elements. Elements which are now changing, adapting out of necessity to the continued insult posed by humanity's awful grip of subjugation. Unwilling or unable to understand our being as one and the same thing as our surroundings, we insist on dichotomizing subject and object. Through our perpetual objectification of our surroundings and each other, we destroy whatever good we attempt to create. Through misinterpreting ourselves as individuals, we have destroyed our environment. Believing that all negotiations are conflict based, we've lost sight of the big picture. Indeed, according to the big picture, the cost of the modes of transportation that modern society has institutionalized are far greater that the benefice they afford. As we drive our petroleum guzzling vehicles around in circles, nothing really changes from the perspective of self in the little picture. From the perspective of the big picture, the climate is really changing. At least that much is agreed upon for the most part. The cause of this change is what cannot. Is it a natural cycle of flux, solar flares, industrialized waste? The petrol executives say it's natural or cosmic in origin. The cosmic executives say that petrol combustion is the impetus. It's hard to know who to trust these days. The cops are criminals and the lawyers are thieves. Everything seems the opposite of what it is presumed to be by the limited human understanding we allow ourselves to be governed by. We talk of victories in Bali yet produce more poison in order to survive. The industrialization of socialism has created a slave race of consumers, automatons with only one thing in mind: assimilation. If you can't beat it, join it. Feeling defeated in our quest to dominate the elements, we now dig our own grave. Ironically, we have only ourselves to blame for glow bell war ming. Even though we habitually pass the buck and abrogate responsibility for our actions, the fact that we seem unwilling to change ourselves quickly enough to make a concerted effort reveals our guilt. We are guilty of global bondage. We are guilty of criminal negligence. We have collectively allowed the earth goddess to be shackled to the crumbling wall of industrial technology, enduring violent torture and rapine. She patiently files away at the chains, knowing she possesses far more time than us. Her contempt for us grows day by day. Eventually (12/21/12), she will liberate herself and the human race will understand what it means to get fucked.

Ave Haides.
The winds of reckoning are howling loathsomely as the planetary orbital of Earth enters its accelerated stage of progression toward equinoctial precession. In precisely 5 Gregorian years (1825 days), the star we call the Sun will reverse the magnetic field of its third rock. The Sun will rise on 12/21/12 in precise alignment to the galactic center, from the perspective of inter galactic cosmology. A vortex in time space will oppose essential elements of the four dimensional illusion we've become accustomed to and render all asunder. The only logical solution would be to plan for space hospice for some time. I don't believe tunneling underground is going to be a possibility of security from the event of the baktun. While those skeptics who remain entrenched in industrialisms bore themselves with routine paroxysms, the rest of us should be concentrating our efforts towards planetary migration. Pop culture will remain affixed to the belt of Satan and the 5125 year Great Cycle will terminate with most oblivious to its significance. Hence, most will be unprepared for the end of time as we know it. Fortunately, the plans have already been architecturally initiated, now its a matter of integrity and utility to ensure inclusion. The gods have a master plan of species preservation. The genes of the hybrids will be commissioned to another planet in some distant galaxy to perform mineral and isotope mining operations. We will keep pillaging our resident host planet until witch time we will have completed our mission, our purpose of planetary parasitism. I think we finished a little early this cycle, as evidenced by the gross disregard we enact toward the planet. Through an active insulating social environment we are encouraged to ignore the obvious consequences of our industries upon the planetary equilibrium and focus our attention to the illusion of individuality we're forced to adopt as we adapt to the totalitarianism of technological time.

Concealing his tracks in the sand, Azazel's presence is difficult to determine. His spirit is like a wisp of smoke, a trail of blood, a dune of sand, an arc of fractals. Benazir Bhutto's assassination was perpetrated by the seirim, an ancient species of goat-like spirits, archdemons whom dwell in the desert. The boon of democracy in Pakistan was murdered by the evil djinn, Shaitan. Suicide bombers and zombie assassins in allegiance to Hassan i Sabbah make quick work of whatever potentates the powers of liberty and justice in Islam. The fallen angel, Azazel, bides his time covering up the intentionality of his subjects and lusting after the corporeal form of mortal women. The assassins of democracy in Pakistan will have difficulty concealing their tails and cloven hooves in the days to come as the world watches while they conduct ostentatious democratic reform. Women will always be regarded as inferior by those who are intimidated by their grace. By revealing eternal secrets to the human race, Azazel is the betrayer of fate. He has lain open the gates of Hell and lured mortals towards them with the promise of temporal potency. Of course, what is hidden from the view of mortals is Azazel's secret intent of betrayal toward the subterfuge of time. The fourth-dimensional double helical vortex of defined time, having reached its physical limit, is beginning to collapse upon itself, its essential substance being revealed as eternal. All fabrication will manifest itself as erroneous as time purifies itself and prepares for the grand cycle to begin. Azazel's arc is the fractal tangentially erupting from Earth's orbit which has reached an impasse in the cosmic electromagnetic structural lattice and has reflected back upon its progenitor. It is the lights in the sky. It's the pain your soul experiences as you descend into the abyss. It is the inevitable outcome of a life lived in shameful solipsism.