History repeats itself

History is a doppelganger and a ghost that wanders restlessly back and forth through the portals of  time,repeating itself like an old dusty record.
What we learn from history,is how easily we forget,and how poor our memory is.
History is allowed to repeat itself simply by our forgetfulness and ignorance of the past.
History is wholly dependant upon our loss of memory,and could not terrorize us,where it not for our focus on future plans and our disconnectedness from the very moment itself.
Reflection is the enemy of history.Who reflects upon the evils of past sins,are to be considered a fiend and a living threat to the blind ignorance that is required for history to continue haunting us.
The world in witch we live is an old ghost house of unrest and cobwebs covering our furni ture of time and space.
When awareness of the ghostly realm arises,many phenomenas will be observed and experienced firsthand.Awareness is an open door attracting its opposite,wich is the unconscious realm,and all who dwell therein.
Awareness is therefor a mystical state of mind wherein the mystic contemplates upon the obscure and delightful loss of time.Euphoria,ecstasy,these are byproducts of harnessing the lifeforce through meditation,entheogens,rythmic dancing and more dancing,later perhaps,or continued as it where.
Observe the many things that leads to unconsciousness,and the way it introduces itself before one who`s awareness is updated.Pay attention to the reaction thereof.Strange phenomenas occur,when the forces wich are supposed to be unnoticed,come under the light of a clear consciousness.
There are forces wich are wholly dependant upon our ignorance.Awareness is pure blasphemy to common stupor .Evil forces require our full unconscioussness,during our ugly operations.
Plants and drugs that raises our awareness of the invisible world of primitive forces,are also illegal. (!)
How far would the unconsciouss world of man go to destroy the world with ignorance.?
Oh they will push it. You will read the newspapers,you will hear the message,and you will know
just how far they will push it.And if you cup your ears,it will not have the desired effect.

One day you carry awareness in your mind,like a crystal clear mountain lake.
Then during sleep that night,ignorance sneaks under your covers and under your skin.
Upon not really waking the next day,you find yourself not a familiar being,but a stranger of your own skin,while  forgetfulness does its thing.
Awareness is a force on its own.Shortlived,but that moment of clarity,when it arises,can be memorized,and through memory it can be summoned back,to the utter terror of common stupor and it`s drunken master.

Awareness can be likened to  the flickering of the candle flame.One strong gust of wind,and there is no more awareness.
So must he who`s mind is aware be ready for  the strong gust of wind.Knowing with every beat of his heart,that his bliss summons the legions of chaos and their kin.

The ecstasy of one man must duely be paid for.Glimpses of the heavens come with a price.
This world will not go easy on any man or woman who have seen the Gods and converced with them directly.
Accidents will occur with anyone who speaks of other worlds that other men have never seen.
Jealousy and hate  is a force to be reckoned with.Like love,it goes far to work out  its miracle.

He who experiences bliss and ecstasy must therefor practise silence.
Silence is the language that chaos can never truly understand.
It is the one place,that  chaos cannot find on its map of the world.





 

sannhetens prins

Han var ein lygnar og treivst med å fortelle skrøner om seg sjølve og verda rundt seg.
Ikkje mange trudde på han sjølvsagt,men det brydde han seg mindre om,for han levde seg slik inn i fantasiane sine, at for han var dei sjølve livet.Og slik levde han,og slik døyde han.Men han sverga ved dette:At om han fant vegen attende til dei levandes verden,skulle han ta kontakt via eit spiritistisk medium,og fortsette lygnene sine frå den andre sia.
Og så.Ein varm dag i juni,sit ein eldre herre og slumrar i ettermiddagssola då kroppen hans plutseleg rykkjer til som av elektrisk straum.Augnene han vert svarte som kol,og når han opnar munnen for å seie noko,er det eine lygna etter den andre  som flyg ut or han,lik flaggermus og kråker.
Ja,heile lufta vert stinn av flaksande vesen som synast å varte opp om lygna som blir servert.
"Kven er du",spør den eldre herren seg sjølve foran speilet,og kjenner at ansiktsmusklane byrjar endrar fasong.Då ser han med eit for seg,kven det er.Det er sjølvaste lygnaren.Forfalskaren av sannheten,og fordreiaren av det me kjenner som virkeligheten."In your face" seier ein stemme,og han kjenner at latteren er på vei.Ikkje ein slik latter han kjenner som sin eigen.Men han ler,og det er ein slik rå og befriande latter at han må slå seg på låret og trampe i golvet.
Frå no av skal du følgje godt med i timane,var beskjeden han fekk.Og dagane som fulgte hadde fleire vitjingar frå den andre sia.Lygna var aldri langt vekke,kjende han,og rett som det var,tok han seg i å lyge for folk som ringte til han,eller dei han traff i butikken.