Demiurge

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“In human tongue we’re apocalypse

For we bring with us obliteration

Through spectacles tuned to infinity

You will see our coming for a thousand years

You will know us then for what we truly are

The realization of every fear.”

(From a song by ‘Meshuggah’)

I am Satan, dark aspect of Saturn, Old Man Time/Grim Reaper/Death

The old man in robes and grey beard.

St. Thomas, Tom, Timmy, Tammuz, I have a thousand names and a thousand faces.

Like old newspaper fragments, shredding in the wind.

I am Humwawa, Lord of Abominations. Lord of filth and degeneration.

All things decay in me, because all things die in time.

Thus I am also Lord of the future. And my futures are cold and metallic.

I get you to play my deadly game. Like a pestilence my Archons spread themselves out across all points in your timeline, all the while mimicking human behavior. All parasites know that their survival depends upon not making their presence known to the host.

We offer you every pleasure of the senses – each one a double bind leading to obliteration.

It’s a plague of the mind, for that’s the only realm we can exert our influence without reaping Karmic Consequence.

I live in the million tiny (ear)worms. Burrowing, eating and defecating, laying our eggs.

I am the mother spider, poisonous, toxic.

I am spoken of in your scriptures, I bring every plague and pestilence known to man, I bring a new Dark Age.

I will only say this once: YOU HAVE TO REJECT US.

Those burrowing earworms will encourage you into every distraction away from my Adversary.

I have technology on my side, and if you don’t reject me by the time I turn up the 5G Grid, you’ll be ‘saved’ – as in the way you save a computer file, uploaded and reabsorbed into my hard drive. Every time you sin you add to that file.

My greatest trick is making you believe in No God.

In randomness, chaos. You can’t know that this is all scripted, by Artists. That’s dangerous knowledge that must be held by a chosen few.

We wear many masks and appear as your leaders, celebrities. Masks belying the hive mind beneath. My hive mind, the mind of Chaos.

If you could see my hoard without their masks… dull, lifeless insectoid eyes darting this way and that, running on fumes, followers of my treacherous frequency.

No Holy Ghost left to animate them.

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