Graveyard Famous

If you ever had a liability incident where someone drags your face along the pavement just because you breathed in the same room, you’d probably agree it’s unlikely you’d bother to breathe near anywhere anytime soon.

To get proxied interrogated through the phone. Pauses to fill in more questions and you’ll learn everything you say will be used against you, even single words — every single word will be twisted. Take a paragraph from an honest man and you can hang him. Clip, reorder, throw up an iffy context and you’ve got your execution.

It is precisely these burdens which drives a large part of how I exist most days. And uplifting indeed, when you enjoy living a ghostly cadence — even if it comes with the uncomfortable neurosis that you won’t delete any of your iMessages on the off chance you have to protect yourself from forgery.

After college I should’ve became a three letter agent, drink from the globalist’s chalice — because then you get to delete your entire existence. If I could I would have a new name for every person I interact with, with plastic surgery to match, or a holographic mask to change the contours and eyes. How freeing it is to no longer have to cart along the baseline constants. You can’t hide your essence, but you can discard it and maybe something new will take place. Maybe something from God.

If you wonder how to not let the psyops drill themselves into you, the best bet is probably to have nothing drill into. Being the chameleon means you won’t have to guard anything or believe in anything, as long as you get your vegetable fix. Cowardly some could say, but zip up another suit and I’ll take up an HOA position with the winning grin only Gavin Newsom could contend. Even if you build a local stronghold on top of a local world it all withers; who wouldn’t want to be Faust when you feel the weight of generations forgotten?

So no, there’s never a point in being famous unless you enjoy adrenaline of wondering how long you’ll last til the next scheduled gallows. To love how the strings suture into each joint, powdering a face no longer yours. For your upper shadow only.

Most fun it’d be to be the spectre maybe; maliciously guiding every population toward your ends. It’s either that or rotting in the house. Knowing how the echo moves through every corridor, dust colliding. A child’s footsteps only last so many years before you’re boarded up alone and stuck with progeny thinking they’re smart ones becoming city businessmen, but could you blame them? The public will forget you quicker.

And the house rotting isn’t that bad honestly. Peace is a tough thing to sell surprisingly, but if one day it’s unknowingly sold and there are foreign footsteps to listen, then one can eject into the next place to haunt. I sought only peace and friendship, to teach if I was called upon, to be taught if I was fortunate — but I didn’t know anything.

Well, one can still seek such things. After all, the best way to infiltrate anyone is being an upstanding friend. Discard the motives to backstab your employers, backstab yourself, and drag everyone along as the innocent leper you are.

It’s real easy to vastly underestimate the terms and conditions of this existence. You get your plans and so ensured there’s a place to persist in, that you won’t surely go insane, you know what you’re doing. You’re a well adjusted one, on a Proper track, you just know what you’re doing. If you roll over your Roth IRA, reinvest and don’t let the market play you, take the blood money happily — if you secure the mortgage, if you cultivate a circle to exchange recommendations, football match drinkings, then everything falls into place, surely. Surely this afternoon eating at Chipotle adds up, loaning a $200 because of course it’s Brotherhood. But why I am here rocking back and forth?

It’s hard to comprehend, but everything is devoured. This website is devoured, you are devoured, we are sloshing in the blood of the universal machine, born once more.

There only seems to be the fireplace crackle to stare at. However much you try to outsmart the world.

And you can try, you can try to outsmart this world. The same as the fish darting around while the water drains. Maybe you sew up your gills. But it seems a surer bet to marry the graveyard.

Only by never existing do you have a chance at being.