The evolution of the revolution will beat the heads of the televised

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On reading Jung, post reflection on the excesses of barbaric revolutions.

Or, the evolution of the revolution will beat the heads of the televised.

Or, I drink the blood off the streets of revolution and oh, what foul wine!

Curved as it were, I read the following lines:

That religion was devised as a mechanism to sublimate wild unconscious currents that would flow through humankind as it does the elements! The weather! The atom! And the universe! That the psychic reservoir was moulded to particular blueprints; to reign in the pressure; to wield chaos to order; to dilute and freeze to ready made analogies and algorithms that may forever remain unapprehended, ontically, by apprehension of itself through the forms of shadow beings.

And now two thousand years after the birth of Christ; perdition's sedition - Mammon's markets thrive, religion corrodes from prostituted insides and forbidden fruit is but a corpse filled of maggots and flies, Afghani heroin shot through the needles eye, waiting for the anti-Christ! Religion and law that keeps their mouths and lips tied and the subjugated psyche's bought a brand new crisis, the shutters rattling; chaos is in the winds, the veil slips, the pillars of the ornament chip and the humans relapse into shadow superstition from the anodyne trance in paranoias prism, cash buys ignorance cash is happy ever afters march to the scaffold, behold we spare no prisoners, a face called oblivion on a ball of decaying dirt sail the depths of the heavens. Kill them! Screech the world leaders, what the hell, their memories are film! Music mists their minds in psychosomatic imprints, foul stench, living meat, fodder for images; sex markets death's iterant dreams, chop forests, kill the trees, marching droids of desiring machines, children of the new spirit in the church of thee electric invoke Lady MacBeth, elect killers to parliament, hail technology the barbarian machinery, life is good life is easy, mass murder military surgery and in the vulgar face of this humane decay; what is poised but ragged revolutionaries… Art and its mercenaries…  (Free agents yonder the matrix of post Homeric travesty.)

Exorcise the horde the conditioned urge of television's whores, to save society unthought. Shattering absolve through imploding mirrors the tainted dross through the Angelic blast of demonic unconscious, that the conscious mind, in symbolic labyrinths toiling neath, the sceptres of language, on the tongue drenched, so dastardly spent, was holistically left, completely unawares, a junky, an addict to the time-addled spell of its decaying habit; an evolutionary anaesthetic. That, which, they call, the measure of all things! ...

Old man Zarathrustra!

Kali, destroy temple.


Trample illusion!

Act as interlocutor, bury history invoke the future. For this no hatred, scorn, bombs, guns or fists necessary, no cowardly denial through projection of some outward enemy, all these things - manicured illusions stitched and instilled by the scourge of times history, which now and hear this ye...

History bears the charge of negative causality.

Lance it from the self so thou canst now serve beauty.

Beauty beyond seeing.


To procure her secrecy

To swim through the Elysian folds of Tao cosmic mystery, acquiesce the sublime symmetry, know this, know reverence and than

Thou shalt know freedom!