The Flesh ov thee Eye [archive 001]

UPON THESE CROWNED AND HORNED AND HOARY HEADS: these heads of many, this head of one. THE TONGUES SPOKEN ARE MANY (but sound as one) AND ARE DESCENDING with viral sonics. THE SIRENS scream out binary codes. I return to the Thorax Data Morgue with ear plugs and the death and rebirth of Legion and its new human host. The influences of quasi-catatonic materials need a container of skin and blood. The influences of unknown spaces can now be felt. Conjure Red, White and Black ectoplasmic tools. Twenty seven seals can prepare and anesthetize the room for ritual surgery. THEN VIRAL NAMES CAN INVOKE HOLES IN TIME AND SPACE, and the governing towers of Enochian Adam will release angelic prisoners for hostage negotiations. Spiral hooks rotate beneath skin, and cabal papers jar in the night with written words that bleed. Animals that see and speak in the dark hang upside down. Strange animals with carapaces sleep during the day in the cities of Man. Nocturnal animals with carapaces breach all earthen contracts and become rogue agents. THIS IS THE ARMOR TYPE OF THE NEW GOD OF THE MOUND. THIS IS THE ANIMAL OF THE NIGHT OF THE LAST AGE. This is the nocturnal, armored, hanging animal shielded from the weapons of Man (including the atom). The dug up paintings, found in the first sunken city, painted by blind prophets, OUTBREAK and rage. Invader vampirical doors open wide. Destructor doors merge together to form one door. I know she made ointment from another's blood and rubbed a doorway that tore open like long cuts. Now, he (Legion) sits with knives through his feet. He is a FALSE OBJECT and will never be able to read or write in this world. For him, books are sewn together. Books have their own needles and thread. For her, only, there are many drawings on a small table and open books that cover the floor, walls and ceiling, forever. UNNATURAL CYCLES unfold and also descend with their directive to re-write the core of our world. Blood can be air. The sky can breakdown to see in hidden gardens of dust and despair through flesh that too descends. The flesh of the eye looks into the hole and calls the sky to amputate. Hands that descend can turn the sky and pull the skin inside out. The animals of the other believers will bless ground for their children. They will talk with curved fingers and never tell hearts. They will strong the ground and ground the fire and the catapult. They will HOLD. The old body will open. The body will become. The spaces in rooms without windows or doors are a new shelter to reside. EYES THAT ARE HOLES IN INVISIBLE BODIES will warp the wolf of the door of the doppleganger that sees the layers for what they truly are with its eyes of flesh. Wash with wood.

Table of Nine

Early table manifestation of simple formula for the number NINE. Formula has already transmutated. 

Nine

The skin, the blood and the bone make up ONE.

My left, old eye plus my right, new eye equals TWO.

The body of the wasp and the body of the bee are divided into THREE.

The earthen keys to the earthen doors are FOUR.

The daubs of the mud nest and the honey of the wax hive equals FIVE.

The barbarous names that are carried on the backs of flies, mosquitos and ticks are SIX.

The angels of Hell and the angels of Heaven total SEVEN.

The empty thrones of the upside down saints are EIGHT.

The secret symbols and the holy signs are always NINE.

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.