Log 002

Though I found my journals a couple of days ago and I almost had total recall about the purpose of their construction, I still have feelings of complete and utter loss. These spells of amnesia associated with my work have really taken their toll this time,  and if not for a hovering, aggravated  sense of trying to desperately remember something I know I have forgotten or lost, I would have chosen not to pursue this project any further many, many years ago. This maddening impulse to seek out hints of recollection offered up like bread crumbs on a trail of what now appears to be a pathway toward my own mental destruction is completely out of my ability to control. This might have already been the case for several years, but I have just become fully aware of this situation, as though I have  woken from a haze. Can I be doing this to myself on purpose? I realize I have been blaming external forces such as hyper-tension or lack of sleep, but now I am extremely concerned that I am intentionally plotting against myself to prevent the completion of this project. But, then again, there are  these new, strange physical signs as of the last two days that something abnormal is happening. I just started finding insect wings all about the house when I brought my journals back home to clean off the dirt. These are the type of wings that would belong to a large cicada-like bug, but I have not found a single insect body. I decided to collect these wings in small baggies. When I hold these wings up to the light they turn a ruby red. Usually, when something new is introduced into the house, it winds up in one of dogs' mouths, but all of the dogs completely avoid these wings and keep a good distance from them. Outside, I have also found many mounds similar to ant hills surrounding the house. I know that if I did have a secret self, there is no way I would have had the capacity to fabricate such a large scale hoax. What I need to do now is find out who is attempting to take advantage of my current state of paranoia. Most likely a neighbor, who has been observing my irrational behavior and became proxy to my work and is interested in capitalizing on my research. I must hide my work and make sure no can find my journals.

Axiom 002

Three times three times three is a holy number.

Axiom 001

The headless ape body of the decapitated body of God that de-evolutionarily rambles mindlessly across all places and all times of this world while the head of God sleeps in Darkness at the centre. The head too, is a (new) body and it pierces the skin of heaven with its horns as it tears the throat of hell with its teeth and drinks its blood.

Log 001

I again lost the formulas. This is about the ninth time over the past thirteen years. Sometimes, it is more than half a year before I even remember to start looking for them again. Usually though, portions of the formulas have just disappeared right off the pages I wrote them on. On other occasions, no matter how or where I store my journals, I find the text and diagrams smeared as a result of some strange condensation of moisture and mildew.

Tonight, this time, I actually found all my  journals outside and buried far away from the house. I have no recollection of them not being where I last placed them (or even where I had kept them, or when I last wrote in them), but this has been a malignant issue since I began this project. Coincidentally, tonight, I was out in the local forest preserve experimenting with geomantic digging, basic properties of holes and micro-leylines and their relationships to Sirius B and oddly enough came upon my journals about three feet down and about a mile away from the house. Even more odd, is the fact that this was my first test excavation of the evening. Needless to say, I did not return to the task at hand, but frantically returned to the house with my work. 

I have been unable to open these journals and prefer to re-review their contents after the sun rises in the morning.