Balancing Self

Purging Old Frequencies

The fucking cameras and surveillance all around. I was a caged animal. What good is intellect or awareness when all I felt was the incessant spying on every fucking thing I did or said or tried to do to move away from the interference. Even my magickal workings and generally creative efforts to keep moving forward were commented on and became part of the themed street theater. And all the friends I’d honored and treated with respect. The loving thoughts and actions from deep in my heart they had shit out with black tar that was dripping down all sides of me. It may be relatively easy to see that they are just not as developed or whatever it is that has them acting like elementary school bullies with grown-up weapons, but it’s decidedly another thing altogether to work on developing my ideas of respect. For as long as I can remember I’ve walked around respecting every person I meet as a fellow being experiencing this life adventure. Obviously we all have different agendas which color our perceptions which can make us seem extremely different from one another, but the similarity is that we are all here interfacing with each other and this unique experience of human life. So when it came to friends, as long as we had a thing or two in common, whether interests or could share a laugh or whatever, I figured all the other respective bits would stay in their respective places. I could empathize with so-and-so’s shortcomings that made them controlling assholes sometimes because I could see how their life experiences had helped create such reactions. As time has gone on I’ve learned to distinguish between empathy and sympathy, but it seems that this whole section of awareness wants for further development because something like sympathy is what made me overlook: I have done more work on not letting the negative experiences of my life bleed through into my interactions with others than any of the friends-turned-stalkers have. They haven’t bothered. They had even claimed that my sharing my creative ideas and hypotheses is my forcing my perspective on to them. GROW UP you sick little sycophantic false front retards, cuz no one is going to do it for you. If you didn’t understand what I was saying when we’d hang out and we’d share our ideas (or so I thought it was about) before your leader turned all your shadow yuck into harnesses, that’s your bag. If you pretended to care rather than adding your own opinion or perspective to the mix, and now claim that I was trying to dominate you, that’s your bag. Then you have the nerve to come over to my home and taunt me with words said during the covert drugging that I don’t even remember (it’s all you playing in a hall of mirrors), or your take on my words that you will pay for what you’re doing. I wasn’t talking about revenge, what I communicated is that the only fear I have related to you is fear FOR you, for what you’re doing to yourselves. Being so caught up in trying to damage another you neglect to see the damage you are causing yourself and every-one/thing around you. And that’s yours, not mine.

Creativity Battery

The first thing that comes to mind are the undercurrents of the culture in which I live that has boiling lesions like gang stalking, how the more unconscious covert methods of control are transmitted, received and likewise reinforced in daily interactions with strangers, loved ones and that fickle character, Friend.

I see the ways that I pass along the little notches in tone or emphasis, without really thinking about how it is that I picked them up because I subconsciously noticed how it got another person to notice and listen for a minute rather than straight off introject everything I say into their own mindscape.

I see the ways that purposely and covert methods of control, the malicious variety, like all evil, have a trickle down effect. This is evident in the shortened patience and peace of mind, so tested and tried during the previous few years. I see how I’ve passed along lashings and cruel tones to the main person who’s stuck by me though a lot of it. Outgrowing these relationship patterns has become it’s own struggle. I mean when is a leader/follower type of dynamic balanced, and is there such a thing? Or maybe I was just yelling and directing my way through some tough times and patience was the model offered. Is the masochist evoking sadism from the sadist as much as the other way around? There is truth to that and so I’m patiently isolating the little devils out of my patterns of interaction. Interrupting patterns / not responding to invitations to reenact dynamics now weary.

I see how amidst my willingness to take on my own devils I’ve taken on others’ and this tendency has made me somewhat blind to those stalker beasts etching away from the edges in myriad details. With the stalking-critters it’s been about the details in the form of props, themes and such minutiae whose sums are evocations of black hole memory me, some times, when/if critters show up to try and get my attention. One minute it’s now and the next things are on their side with tangential mes reconnecting, telling me of their journeys back in the room I never did remember. It’s funny cuz whatever my response (or lack of response) the ringleaders appropriate it to feed their puppets’ desires to be led.

And so it’s not too surprising that the Ohgr>dimd event included a revisit from amped stalker girl. She’s sooo evil (<sarcasm) it takes meth and a cool malicious conspiracy gang to get her to come out. how her little gang gets her to come out instead of them doing it themselves. yaaaawn. i hear her sucking limremev

Chad paved the way, stay stay… and connect, he said. And so I did, a more formal coming-round of sorts. a fine marker a more solid proof all is word is all sound, beauty is truth> resonance leads the way> sounds out a clearer path with more vibrant connecting material to those others also growing more conscious of and less directed by the dimd.