The War On Neptune

by AE Reiff

Estimado los conversos visionaries todo quemados,

I misread the phrase as though I was reading a text in the air. This registered and I went back to find the place, but of course it wasn’t there. Words like Caligula and Troy, Saturn and Caprice were, but as though tradition had barbequed on a grate all the Old Testament forces, the War on Neptune was removed. Ideas hung around it where scientists tortured the rabbit, tiger and the bear.

It shows how orders carried out by the depth giants are against all form. The Colossi assaulted in the science of black an earth myth where Neptune rams down the lusts of the witch of Endor into Midian. The worship of Mammon, book of Enoch, giant tortures, supernatural emperor worship, architectural testimonies on the Capitol Mall, scrabble against their enemy in the moment of death. The oldest conflict between the serpent and our seed, Bohemian Grove Paints Balaam says one canvas, blooms, darkens and spalls.

Those who know the future outside the lines walk the tracks as I used to at ten, with a gun, “they sink a shaft far from the inhabited surface, go down swinging to and fro, hanging by a rope.” No explanation to those not old enough to fathom Neptune caprice. The words are rods and cones that speak. Currents of light circulate the brain. I don’t remember any particular prayer, any formula. In fact there is no explanation at all for what happened. It took years to say this much. Every day electricity fills the cortex. Up on my feet again in the back of that tent with no explanation, I floated, walked out after maybe ten minutes changed, inside and out. My hosts must have seen somebody stoned out of his gourd, as when the last Neptune is sunk in a fiery lake and Jesus is king.

“What do you make of this?” There were street meetings which suit a walk-on type, where you lounge on some corner with Jonah and engage whoever comes by. An open face saves lives. The same thing is true of the good and the bad, recognized and known. So when I read Charles Finney’s account how he was caught up for days of intensity I was wrong, it was for years, a lifetime “like a wave of electricity going through and through me. Indeed it seemed to come in waves and waves of liquid love for I could not express it in any other way. It seemed like the very breath of God. I can recollect distinctly that it seemed to fan me, like immense wings” (33).

Once upon a time, at the very beginning of time, a fictional war began between the ancient origins of man and some force opposed to him. It would be like introducing German words into French, for the French pride them on the purity of language, or the introduction of Celtic into the original pure Latin, but these are only analogues of the Vulgate that occurred when myth was introduced into science, but that is not our story either, because these are all analogues to the introduction into the human genome of hybrids we shall say. The intent of these forces was to corrupt culture, mind, thought, being into something foreign to its birth. The ultimate skirmish at the last was the genome. These forces were known as gods, but there is no such literature of the vulgar hybrid of the streets of Rome, so I saw genome and language as analogues. Since it had to do with the processes of thought I called them beheadings of the brain.

When the words are rods and cones maybe listen. Hear the words, but the mind disassociates provoked by the unremembered, the unthought, the unbelieved in the ear, shouted from housetops. The last paintings on the plaster of the walls of this house were transferred to canvas. They are of the last presumption. I pass over them to say I wrestled incomplete travesties so as not to celebrate death, but after much pondering saw these giant forms transfer to the thought of the age. The frescoes bloomed and darkened, cracked and spalled, as though a war with Neptune and all fight in that moment had been lost, except for the patient’s restoration.

Borges transforms his blindness at 46 after months of delirium. He runs up a stair into a glass door of the mirror world. The cuts get infected. His mother reads Out of the Silent Planet, published then in ‘39. The next thing he knows he is Pierre Menard in space. Forced looks transform. Youth before the face is transformed; none know till after. Daily touches shape the mind. In the world alleviated only by compassion of those who serve with sponges and rags, do not pray to be touched, bowls of water, devastations in graves.

What is the collective unconscious living entity that personal consciousness is to lose itself within like cells in a body? Face to face with this alien entity of billions of soul-stolen minds we have entered Old Testament times, but not as a united nation at war with another ethnic, as Israel at Jericho. No angel goes before us to drive out the Canaanite scientist, the Amorite artificial intelligence, the Hittite invoked alien ET demons, the Perizzite government manufactured super soldiers, the Hivite DNA revived hybrids and the Jebusite systems of GMO, chemtrail, HAARP technologies, but at least we are a stiff-necked people and can “put off the ornaments” of the world we wear, and expect “the cloudy pillar” to descend (33.9). Alters for altars, EMR for images, NLP for groves. The collective unconscious Zarg is insane. But as for temptation of riches, absorption in the drugged over mind, oblivion and acceptance by the mass, some will whore their deities. No molten  (34.17) refers to “all that opens the matrix” 19 and so the law given again is analogous as we go up to this new Jericho, in the first battle of a war which ends at the opening of the seventh seal. Ai and Jericho controlled the ascent. Had Joshua asked his advisors, no one would have come up with this.

I felt like words on a page create states of being, but that these are not obvious, which is why I didn’t understand how the world could be the same after Hopkins. So this effect, if true, is not inoculation into or out of a thing, which is to say it is not a drug, but its advantage is that, in long term emerging, it is more permanent than a drug. But still there is a disconnect between the apprehension of beauty, the rhythm and image of the word, and emotion which easily overcomes it. That in itself tells us who we are, that we have measures to counter the rapids of anger and whirlpools… the word itself. The word is efficacious as principle, witness what happens when people learn, read or hear something that changes them. This is called education, but the touch of the word ignites in them a change. This is getting religious indeed.

OK I need to say more, I feel like the word is a coat you can wear over your inner being, that it is a clothing to nurture and protect, that it not only gives warmth but confidence, and that you can give it away. It transfers by your will to extend it. You’re going to say you’ve been praying all these years to extend the word and that you have done it. Possible, likely. Do you think there is a word written in earth’s center? This exceeds metaphysics. You are thinking of a word made flesh? Well I have this to ask: what if it’s true, true in the absolute sense of it and therefore true in the relative sense. We have now an inner and an outer word. A written and a spoken word. Please stop.

Little Boy, Little  Bomb, the little American Auschwitz of Otaku, in a matrix of bomb democrats aborts babies, calls a drone strike on pilgrims. Condemnations mount up against bodies deaf from words. The Giant above and below appeals: “If the primitive is too much, take the bodies from the trunk of Jackson Pollack and get a job,” or, ‘I think nothing alien to me.”  Nice water boarding, semi erect Saturn rites of Blood Presidents reshape the man who offends. These symbols Tatham burned behind the house Blake’s, but not one word Cheney was burned, Cheney, Clinton, Bush, Obama, believed to be Blake’s tormenters. “Truth is more tormented than tortured,” he said. Who is unscathed?

The tauromachies and traumas of Kubler-Ross’s five lies are a medium’s open mouth that devour a scream dripping blood. “Any trauma makes you think of worse. It sets the mind fantasizing about what else might be in store.” You hear infant mortality gabbling, “Purify my heart!”  disease, poor nutrition, child snatchers, kidnappers place ads in Diario de Madrid.

All institutions are demonic, even trash pickup. After Hawthorne hidden government of ecclesiastical, social witches lends programs. The roof is falling. The previous owner died in the middle of talk. Neighbors come to cut his lawn. Each pickup the can and rag pickers get something from the trash barrels outside the gates of New Jerusalem, but when the witch dismounts around the barrel, rag pickers die.

You probably think it symbolic, but I used another barrel the day that Ruskin burned his copy of the Caprichos. Who can blame him? That giant raised threatening arms in clerical death. Bats and blackbirds flew above the heads, at Zaragoza, at Bordeaux, Uniontown, Maricopa, the asylums. Women knelt before. Friars gorged their flock. Desolation monkey made them students go twit, tu woo. How many trips has O’Brujo made to Denver? Einstein’s head has a pedestal on the parapet of the unraised airport. Demons reburied nearby, missed the skull, are enshrined.

The raised dead in under paint look at over paint in dress. A man’s head reaches up an arm. Clergy, politico, seminary?  Read those sites. Neptune’s empire presidents. Murderers weave a tapestry in the essence of pop. Bandit Stripping a Woman, Bandit Attack, Cannibals Beheading, were all favorites on TV. Comprachio society comprehends its bottom. We thought it was you guys. Cannibal pop is fine, horror Conrad, we like. Mistakes make money and futures venison. Eyes come out of minds: Babylon, Rome, Washington.

Each must take a stage that depends on time, place, mood and perception, and if they offer their insight have it rejected by their fellows, who however have their own, equally rejected. So the placing of the two fingers against his neck as a tell suggests that the whole speech is staged, not impromptu at all, universally disputed as arbitrary.

Compartmentalization, walling off the sense from the intellect because the conclusion is too horrible, in this case is staged with the whole event too. What greater subtexts that question hides were better lost forever to consciousness, so I cover it: “I hope that over the next several days, next several weeks and next several months we all reflect on how we can do something about some of the senseless violence that ends up marring this country.” If the simple detail of fingers against a neck questions, it is important to know the impossibility of bringing railing accusations against higher powers. Michael could bring none in his own name against the covering cherub, but the detail opens the eye.

I knelt down on both knees and then occurred what I have lived thick and thin since through thought and act, the disappearance of the whole world. The physical manifestation was a lightning strike. I am still being struck. I felt it when I applied for a passport after being frisked on entry for weapons, just to display the birth certificate to the window. Surrendering the water bottle after waiting a good hour among the poor, the sick, the lame, the blind people with hospital bracelets on their wrists and private security guards, the meditation arose that all these people were loved. I thought about that love, the thoughts it came with, and in 10 minutes I was floating, praising. Talk this way and people are going to ask if you believe in healing and peace or whatever, but that so and so wasn’t healed or pacified. Do others have this experience?

Doesn’t the negative replace the positive? I don‘t know what they have or don’t, but negative doesn’t replace the positive.

It’s all to hide, which means reveal, the nature of the hidden, because it is either too big to see or we are too close to see it, the hidden thing meaning ourselves. They are saying global warming might be a cycle. What does it take against all the forces of commerce, to conclude smoking dangerous? If we cannot see smoke and feel heat we will not see a more salient and degenerate consciousness that has produced far worse. We want to show the beast for what it is while people say “what are you talking about?”If one escaped the shadows of the cave and somehow got to light and came back would he be believed? People think Kafka and Swift are writing fiction, but it is the revelation of the human. This is not psychology.

The avant-garde disquisition of words sleeps under logs, to “discover more apt social and aesthetic forms for a radically new moment.” The avant is going to have a baby. Then it can shut up and let someone else do the talking. All the shibboleths of aesthetes will do, as opposed to those who talk about doing. Sum up in this: failure to care for another being. Self centeredness is the key to being an intellectual. When full grown its daughter will be one, not one meaning an intellectual, but one meaning one year old. This child leads them.

In this massive ruin Van Gogh extrudes from a violin. Carefully comes out between the strings, gets only a few cuts on his arm. This can be taught in high school, how to kneel before the firing squad in a posture like devotion. It is an act of charism to praise as the bullets fly. The only difference between carceral torments, secrecy and anonymity is apocalypse. Will they never fire? A forehead stumps the mind. Populacho’s ditty is now sung. Neptune etches the Inquisition in the board, as prophetic as Blake but more bloud. Blake without the vision, outrage loud. The prisoner wears the blessing. All descend from the conversos of the Old Testament, all are visionaries todo quemados. Tristes presentimientos calling, “master.” When you say here, is to say si. Listening to the voices of mass transit, the world pain of sadness, joy and love join. We hear beauty and sorrow for the sins of another, our sons, the sins of the world.

I am still your devoted

Giambattista Marino Rubino del Sur

 

 

 

 

 

AE Reiff happened by accident upon The War on Neptune described here and elaborated at HistoPossum and Opiomes. His investigations of art, fiction and  ceramic sculpture are indexed at Encouragements for Planting during business hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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