The Loopy Universal Multiplex

Good theatre is compelling beyond the artificial stage props, ostentatious costumes and dramatic flare. Moving dialogue and a gripping plot can lead the mind to blend the fiction into the neural canvas and recreate an entire new reality. Audience members most entranced can even be led to feel as if they and the production are one and the same.

The tears cried become their tears, abuse suffered by the protagonists is felt vicariously, and audience members draw inferences between certain characters and their own lives. When the emotional pandora is uncapped, it does not matter whether the production was real or not. What matters is that the performance held such a semblance of reality that it somehow ties into our personal experience.

It may reaffirm our belief in infinite second chances and screwups are generally wedded to this idea. An impossible romance may awash our delusion that the good guy always loses. It may concretize the curious idea that government is virtuous and it is our mortal duty to serve its end. The narrative and plot is collected in the mind and compiled there as substance and fact. It does not have to be true, but it is not judged on its veracity. It is granted merit in proportion to its worth in substantiating our own beliefs.

If the plot calls into question our beliefs, we make haste to aggrandize its alleged weaknesses or put it off as an intrusive anamoly. Many have resigned the conspicious evils of the previous administration as such, and are content with that karmic rust stain imbuing the flag. “Oh, it was right-wing extremists, not the lefties, we must move forward.” If the plot reaffirms our beliefs, a Persian rug is rolled out and it is welcomed to the throne of our egocentricity. Any social program or telegenic speech can alleviate the tension between the crimes and so-called philanthropy of the violent compendium of players. “Oh, sure the lefties are upholding totalitarian decrees, but listen, the spokesman for the empire has never sounded so good!”

When it was written “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players,” Shakespeare was not off. We are witnessing at present a production brought on by various powerbrokers, secret societies, banker coalitions, elitist clubs, thinktank groups, intelligence agencies and all of its complicit front orgs and ancillary committees. The object of their theatrical production is to convince you that you are free while at the same time monopolizing the right of force and robbing half of the world’s wealth. Venerating empty words such as “freedom” and “security” while ensuring that serfdom and perpetual debt will be the heritage of the world.

Multi-layered plots have intertwined with astonishing spectacle making the crimes of the production team forgivable. Genocide, economic warfare, and ecological destruction are sufficient collateral as long as the gravy train runs according to its set schedule. Sometimes the gravy train is behind schedule or it has to be reallocated for emergency war measures, making more bombs or overflowing the coffers of the already wealthy banker class. If ever the scene seems to be resolving to an end where the audience members would be dissatisfied by this heist, long monologues with seductive rhetoric is employed to plant the seed that deliverance is not far off, that the bureaucratic dinosaur will not face its own extinction, but the people will prevail! Waiting, always waiting.

Humanity’s servitude becomes more incandescent as days go by and billions are none the wiser. Elite groups who have long hidden their agendas of dystopian control have rolled them out with strobe light, necromancers and music. Signposts are there for people who set out on the aggravating path of self-discovery. To think anew, to hear the sounds emanating from multiple dimensions, to see through the thick wool that has been pulled over the eyes. To find that the production was like any Broadway musical or Disneyland funhouse. Nip-tuck has made appear adorable the contorted faces of reptilian specimens and carefully calculated costume switches have given the illusion of change, while the directors remain the same. They extend from a long lineage of self-professed illuminati. Former empires were mere dress rehearsals.

Unctions of this imbalance rise up in the gut like a harem of bats disturbed from their rest in the depths of the cave. An archaic instinct forebearing a dramatic shift in the scenery, a complete change of overtures in the soundtrack. The vampiric structure that even looks for blood in a stone, is on the edge of catabolic disintegration. Yet, “we the people” is a catchphrase to assure the frustrated and fed up that their grievances are documented while the “constitutional” professors and attorneys devise new schemes to shear the sheep without them putting up any formidable resistance. Culminating problems and legionious distractions render the majority helpless; and the overextended remnant and their nostalgia for liberty are viewed as an uncomfortable betrayal by those who have lost the way to themselves and look out to the Uniformity League to save them. How dare you oppose them when they are throwing crumbs called social welfare to disenfranchised groups! (Not to mention the millions they have maimed, murdered and wiped off the face of the earth forever at a price of maintaining those social programs)

Ignore it as you wish because the champagne is still bubbling; no one is required to hip themselves to the fact. You either allow the new vision to move from the edge of your periphery to the center of awareness or you don’t. Glimpses of truth are poking through the cracks of the debilitating structures that have imposed themselves upon the human spirit; that have lassoed it, wrestled it to the ground like a obstinate steer and hog-tied its legs.

With the sprinkling truth comes the growing assurance that waiting for salvation is a fool’s game. Expecting that political henchmen will break asunder draconian laws or that rapture will lift us away is to circle around the drain of an unquenchable hope. Hope is not to be found in conceding more ground and feeding an already carnivorous dependence on institutions that have empirically shown a disdain for human life or any function of the person that is not quantifiable or measurable. That humankind has been reduced to a mechanistic component for computations of algorithms and equations to determine his value would be an amusing farce, if it wasn’t so categorically true.

Those who are able, rot away in a Corporate slave labor camp designed to break wills, curtail free thinking and disband spiritual conductivity. The Corporation has arranged its rules to outlaw expression of the vital human energy and to ensure that depression and anxiety are the result because these negative, low-level frequencies also feed the machine. Astonishingly many, even those who express a visible agitation, are afraid of the alternative, to play with the idea that there could be a more viable schemata to the decaying imperialistic pattern in use for the past two centuries.

They walk forlornly through this house of living horrors knowing that the eviction notice has been nailed to the door and ultimate foreclosure is on the way. The cancer of exceptionalism gnaws at the curiosity of how this thing will last. What is practiced is the same arrogance of all fallen empires from the Babylonians, the Macedonians, the Egyptians, Romans, Soviets, etc. Chronocentrism and access to new technologies affirms the belief that we are beyond collapse. Others watch with a bit more incredulity at the attempts to pump life into the nature of something that has been necrophilous since its inception. With the unsustainable system weakening by the weights of its atrocities, the breath of life is being replenished in those who had forsaken it for the molding gifts of the institution. The theatrical displays of fancy and folly no longer  inspire them. The chambers are stuffy and humid and stepping outside is the clearest path to assuaging the suffocation.

The aromatic fragrance of new life is not welcome in a place fueled by dead energies and necrotic filth. Throwing the windows of the soul open to aerate the toxic past of self-defeat and fear, the foul Gremlins of the camp amplify their attacks. Chemtrails in the air, poisons in the water, genetic microbes in our foods and vile propaganda from the airwaves. And war, always war. Sickening and assaulting all who give them audience with grossness, smut and decadence. Pornography of all kind; media porn, political porn, Hollywood porn, war porn, new world order porn.

Minds open to new creation, it is easier to filter the foulness designed to siphon your brain matter. The high heavens stench can only survive in the heart and mind that is closed; it persists in the psyche that refuses to recognize evil as such but constructs dismissive euphemisms to lessen its vitriolic stain on the collective conscience of humankind. Keep the windows open and the fresh vision twitters in and out, removing, at least from the personal environment, the miasma of the materialistic “thousand things” culture and the dangerous ideologies that profit from a general social disconent with not having quite enough. Let the quintessence come and go. Do not try to capture it and docket it in a memorabilia album. Let it flow through as if you are a human tuning fork, the uneccessary tones dying out and left resonating is the harmonic concierta of balanced frequency.

The sharpest of instruments go dull and fall out of tune from time to time. The active, non-stop theatre, with its cheap thrills and cotton candy, is designed to alter sound vibration and to constrict it to a low-level operation. Everyday, as long as we remain audience members in the theatre, our own Project Bluebeam is carried out moment to moment. Holographic representations are misperceived in the mind because we are obsessively loyal to the Directors of the play even though they stand off in the distance aloof and above reproach. The results are disruptions in our etheric self from a theatre that knows only how to produce fear and melodrama. Tell the directors that reliance on fear and terror as object fetishes only exacerbates the problem, and they clasp their hands in excitement. “Yes! Yes! The people must know that they need us and the only way they can know is if we parade ghouls and goblins everyday!”

Unbeknownest to many of us, this content is stored in our unconscious and affects our operating system. Its virality is not known until it expresses itself in abnormally psychotic ways. Conveniently, the salesmen of the empire have an assembly line of concoctions and prescriptions to treat our every symptom. And if pills and drugs don’t do the work, there are trinkets upon trinkets to make us feel better about the constant tampering and altering of the “space show” in our daily lives. The paper machete characters streaming across the chatterbox tell us so. Focused on brain stunted celebrities and vacuous trivia, they drop endless confetti and banality, carpet bombing the world with horseshit. Prohibiting spiritual escapism from the clutches of the monolithic conspiracy.

Longing to escape this reoccuring reel is easy for some; they have a spark of light and follow it diligently. Others are torn by a vicious cycle of nightmarish addiction and withdrawal. Delving for deeper cognition, gathering reconaissance, seeking out higher gnosis, one cannot help getting sidetracked in the bowels of the beast. Decorated in magnificent garb, faced painted like Jezebel, the majestic array hypnotizes any who gives it attention, in spite of its putrid smell.

Scenes are repeated, recycled and retuned. The stagecraft is astounding, state of the art, noir, tour de force. Before we know it the bacteria in the beast collects on us like skin flakes. The smoke, fog machines and dust of the theatre cake. Mining for gold in a sea of cadavers and feces, we will come up covered in gunk. Evidence of this psychological operation is all around us, conducted with sounds of silence; silent weapons for quiet wars. Many in the chronic stages of their manchurian programming refuse to see the signs. No amount of facts, documentation or corrobative sources will sway them. “Truth” only applies if it is “their guy” saying it.

Arguing with people who refuse to examine their own paradigms is futile and we must relinquish ourselves of any messianic ambitions to “wake them up.” Extrasensory perception is needed to diffuse the lie, and as each person resonates according to their own level of current light, it is a leap they must take for themselves. Cease force, fear, coercion and debate. These are tactics of the Uniformity League and we must guard ourselves from adopting similar ones, even if the stupidity and foolishness is ultra tempting. We know that there is a clear agenda to massacre consciousness or at best, an attempt to constrain it. But the nature of the system will not be changed through direct confrontation. Like an experienced spy agent, it will change its story while stroking the coals of its insolence behind its remorseful eyes. Questioning its motives is to disrupt its function, while it may use torture, rendition and its favorite tactic, war, to force acceptable answers and concessions.

A delicate balance can be struck. Too much attention given to the pathological theatre outside of ourselves lead to emotional identification with the very messages we seek to dissect and diffuse. With the initial emotional investment, ownership is assumed over these substratum messages. With the assumed liability we tend to obsess over what we feel is our property and our unconscious catalogues the inundated commentary. Like any kind of investment, as long as we continue to give it value, it will appreciate within us.

Before long, a petty matrix viral attack becomes an unencumbered disease within. The result is a cacaphony of phobias and paranoia. The road to insanity is sure. Deleverage and rid ourselves of such “toxic assets.” These are not our messages, we did not create them, nor should be continue to give them value. Holding them hostage in our mind because we feel that we have to know every little detail about the game will eventually bankrupt us. Useless distractions of Aristolean comparison and analytics trap us to the two-dimensional rationalistic plane futilely looking for the ultimate answer. The infinite traveler must never settle into a consensus. Accept momentary truth but realize that truth is not static. Yesterday’s truth is burned in the inferno of new experience. Be open to the next dash of lightning across the sky of consciousness.

Moving away from the science of disinformation and propaganda and returning to ourselves is the true revolution. Disinformation is used to short-circuit the mind. Messages meant to lure the masses into a “waking sleep” will cause us to doze off if we swallow too many of its proscriptions. Lies, deceptions and propaganda are low-level energy frequencies. Low-level does not mean it has no power. On the contrary, this level of sorcery and darkness is strong if enough people are constantly kept on this plane of biosurvival fear and anxiety.

The more who move out of this plane, and there are billions that are stuck here, the less negative energy is at the disposal of the practitioners of universal control and uniformitarianism. Trying to track them all we remain in the dungeon of stupidity and inhibition. Entangled by the snares of this “brain-freeze” program, we are sure to be overwhelmed, heavy-hearted and easily misled. We become the sheep led to our own slaughter. Rebel against the desire to follow the folly. Rebel against ourselves. Daily.

Trained for servitude and conditioned to resist truth, there is a defensive armoring mechanism activated when we attempt a perceptual field shift. Cognitive cross-fade is difficult with deeply embedded memes, pesky little devils they are, telling us how the world should be. Most of these memes are not there by choice or free will. They were implanted there when we were young, easily trusting and most defenseless. Oppressive religions and prejudices, the hand-me downs of static brained parents or tutors.

The ruling modalities loathe change and deconstruction. Lies that have served unencumbered tenures will not give up their seats humbly. Sanctioned curriculum will fight tooth and nail against unstandardized infiltration. Our mind, fear its ruling ambassador, has accepted every meme that helps to fit us into the social equation. Difficult ideas and shell-shocking revelation are granted no privileges in this circus of conformity. Eccentricity wiles away inside like a contestant with an expired “golden ticket” waiting for his number to be called. The matrix outside ourselves is surely perfidious. But it is the matrix inside of us that is far more byzantine and instransigent. The cavernous world therein must be explored. “Know thyself,” not as we wish it to be, but as it is, and then it will be.

What would all the hoopla of a brave new world be worth if we are unwilling to induce the change that allows us to approach it clear and ready? We would be better off sleeping through the storm if in the aftermath the same oppressive myths remain to snake charm us into senseless conflict with ourselves. Rail as I may at the tragedy of a Darwinian social consensus that encourages collectivized cannabalism. Systems and ideologies be damned; they are not in need of breakdown.

It is the wrong system to focus on! It is not real! It is a concept, a fleeting ideal! It is battery-powered by you and I. We are in the need of the breakdown. All the forts we have put up to keep us out of the most subtle parts of our beings must be demolished. Outsourcing responsibility to entities foreign to the human experience in hopes of dramatic shift will find us wallowing away like the colonial slaves who “prayed” that freedom would find them. Prayer is like the expression “knowing is half the battle.” Our souls can intercede and collage with the uninhibited universal consciousness but the yoga of action is thus called. Don’t expect that the slave master will release you by his own volition.

We have damned ourselves if we refuse to be receptive to the moment, when we reject love and its parallel expansion, and when we operate by the fear incentive. The body, weakened by the refusal to uplift, is the perfect breeding ground, like cattle farms, for disease and psychotropic delusions. Congested by self-ignorance and willful denial, the sense that humanity deserves its suffering is lifted up as social dogma. The suffering encodes us with deeper insecurities, fears, phobias, and psychic ailments. Not recognizing the source of the disorder, and following errant diagnostics, it is easy to jump on the bandwagon of the medicine man offering the best cure, to give us all the recognition we need to feel alive or paying alms to secure our path to heaven.

The medicine man has a product and he must sell it. He is a merchant before he is a healer; and that is how the disease is sustained. It is far more lucrative for the medicine man to keep us in a state of crisis so that he can sell more of his product. Dependency on the stimulus to help us function perpetuates the cycle. Give no license to this usurious game being played in the temple of humanity and no second thought to the swine who come up with all kinds of studies to justify the exploitation of human health and the lie that we are cursed and incorrigible.

Do not seek the cure or mine for gold outside of yourself. The slight of the magician’s hand turns you away from the true issuance of your dilemma. It does not originate from outside of us, or from the system, nor its henchmen. No problem exists apart from the mind and going back to the source, we see that there is only one suitable measurement stick for value. There is one gold standard and it is you. Your Rapture is now. Eternity is now. Focusing it in the distant future or waiting for Messiah we miss the point entirely.

Moving from the base camp, do we not return? Or is life a ceaseles, listless tormented wandering? Or we engulfed in never-ending ontological paradox, unable to exit the wheel of suffering? As we plot the evolution of consciousness, we are convinced that infinitum is some distance out. But it is not. Our mind is a mobius strip dashing through a spiraling figure-eight dimension of growing complexity and inverse simplicity. The scenery of the universe does not change as the eternal is immutable. It is we who change and it seems all the more grand as we go into every room of the universal mansion, open the windows and let the breeze flow in. We have found our Narnia, the secret passage in an otherwise banal existence that opens up to the greater wonder of life.

T.S Eliot writes in his beautiful poem Four Quartets: “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” Back at the entry point, we may not recognize it as the door we entered before. There are millions of marvelous doors and each time our path is renewed we approach the door differently. A small slit in creation that upon entering takes on a grand escapade up and down the mountains of motion and electricity. It is the eye of the needle; a place where politics, caste, hermetics, riches and disinformation cannot enter. All things that separate from every other energy and function of the universe must be left at the this door.

Power structures standing between us and the “eternal now” are arbitrary. It is okay to reject them if they seek to ruin your own process; do not put the social process over the inner process. This is not say that greater society has no import. It is only meant to communicate that we cannot understand our relativity to all else until we understand ourselves at the most discreet level. The more we rely on the five-sensory realm, eroded by disinformation and propaganda, the more we will see ignorance, division and violence as a cherished card in the deck. It will always hold the Royal Flush. And North Koreas, Irans, Russias, Talibans, Al Qaedas, Hamas and endless enemies will be instigated and created to live out this misperceived division.

That social game puts us in an advanced stage of the strange loops matrix as we adopt all the manipulative tactics and competive schemes needed to participate in the orgy of dominance and acquisition. Wandering away from our source everything we acquire is used as a wall to divide us from the next man or woman over. We acquire so much and like to have it so that we forget from whence we emanated from. Our identity hidden behind a veil of ignorance, we see social position and prestige as something of value. The more we accelerate the more walls we put up. But the paradox is that no matter how far we go up and down in the hierarchical system, we wil always end up at the starting point. The feedback loop is one that is resisted like mother’s spoon of cough syrup, but it cannot be avoided. In some ways, the universe is rigged.

Each of us are at a different point along the mobious strip and the hierarchical planes of the strange loop. Acknowledge that the “others” share a common thread. Assuming egoic pomposity and messianic postures don’t much matter when we all must return to the door at “closing time.” We know that energy is not destroyed, only converted. That water is in continuous cycle from clouds to earth and ocean, flowing into rivers, creeks, channels, evaporation and back into the clouds again. Portions of the burning wood is reduced to ashes and other elements float into the air. The same cycle applies to us. Each life in existence is the universe breathing in and breathing out. It is an unavoidable process. Doing all we can to effect the outcome, we can’t. We recognize all parts of humanity as parts of us. In some way we have helped create it. We all return to zero point regardless of resistance.

And yet, none of us know for sure. We hear hoof beats galloping in the distance. We have heiroglyphs from ancient history, maps, calendars, theories and musical notations. We consume information, vivisect it, and at some point we have to discard the rules and live. Having entered the state of learning by form, we must exit from form. The reference materials and dead letters no longer dictate how we shall live. Returning to the root of the root of our souls, reconnecting with the source. Recognizing in the pattern inscribed in ourselves a pattern that complements the entire holographic universe. Inner galaxies and solar systems, circuits and cycles shifting on their axis, and reversing the negative polarity. Disinformation theatre and stagecraft no longer hold sway over the production. Windows open in the etheric multi-dimensional framework of the universe, we discover that we are not separate from the rest, but a piece of us is contained in all positions and characters of the Loopy Universal Multiplex.

2 Responses to “The Loopy Universal Multiplex”

  1. Publius Says:

    Wow – amazing stuff. This essay gave me hope and actually seemed to illuminate something, a possible way out of the dark alleys I’ve been in.

  2. questioneveryprecept Says:


    Thanks for dropping by. The apt description of this blog, “confusing but amazing thoughts” is much appreciated. Many of the thoughts here are a process rather than a conclusive worldview. Tend to approach writing under the “dark alley” metaphor. Using the tyranny of words to find the way out to something, staying curious about those dark flash points…funny how following them eventually lead to light.


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