Vivacious word salad. Your daily bread. Your daily circus. Amen.
We were fed it everyday, and oh how sour the taste. How prickly the texture. How rotten the words. A fruit of mould that mushes upon touch. Seeds that rot and decay, and in the thickening sickening humid moisture the mould grows from words and into ideas that rot the mind. Our daily reminder of how the world 'is'. and who we 'are'. Dark machines wheeze and breathe then mock the air, and we? A 'pestilence' confined, 'thankful' just to exist. Or so the story went.
It was just another day. I was just another person; living in another life. A self contained self-sufficient feudalistic future zone living. The Kingdom of Philadelphia.
My name is Jon Don, one of the last pure bloods. The year was 3005. I lived in a hetero-homogeneous multi--singular-racial mixed ethnic pure blood society. We were a group of multi-homogeneous ethnic groups without any gene editing or biomodding. The last true humans. The last true Caucasians, Mongoloids, Negroids, Europeans, Asians, Sub-Saharan Africans. There was only 20 million of us. The rest had mixed and modded. They had become the plastic people. But this was my story! It wasn't about them. It was about her...
...
Her name was dawn. I told her that if we got married, she would be dawn times two. Dawn Don.
"Hey babe! You know if we totally get married, you'll be Dawn times two! Don don!" I said before moving in to give her some sugar.
"SO funny babe! And eazee to remember!" she responded as she attacked me with her tongue as I riposted furiously...
Dawn was my world.
We grew up together in a simple village life, delivering things to the Asian town down the road as childhood vocation.
We lived in the Kingdom of Philadelphia, in the large village of Jonestown, next to Murakami; a Japanese settlement, as well as Fort Prince Zambizi; a Caribbean holdout.
Latinx bandits ruled the roads in this part of the kingdom, and wild tribal Negroids also wandered through decimating any structures they managed to occupy. The road from Jonestown to Murakami was relatively safe, and we never encountered any problems... but we did hear of many murders against the Asian community. They were too afraid to fight back. All their martial arts, and for what in this 31st century nightmare world?
They had to follow the rules and give worship to the Negroids. There was no other way around it.
When Dawn and I were of age we both got safe jobs working at the lithium processing lakes. You just had to make sure you didn't touch any of the stuff, and that you didn't breathe it in either. I would sit and watch on my shifts, as the birds would fly by, land by the lithium field, and how on one touch its nervous system would be fried from the chemical exposure. They had no idea of the world they lived in, and just like that their life could end. They had no idea of chemistry, and even if they did, the world was beyond their comprehension. Such was life.
Blowjobs and creampies were the only way to get by in this Godless world. Someone told me that that Carl Jung guy from the 20th century equivocated and conflated God with lust/libido. Maybe he was right. It was the only way we survived in this brave new godless world. We were kangs now. There was no time for god.
Blowjobs gave your proteins to the woman, increasing immunological compatibility and increasing pregnancy chance, and the creampies let you know you had totally filled her.
"But you see? What is a person's greatest duty? It is to pass on genes to the next generation to protect the race." I was told.
And so it was.
It made sense to me.
God was dead. That much was true. But how did we get here?
It was quite simple.
Werner Heisenberg, a 20th century German theoretical physicist once said:
“The first gulp from the glass of natural sciences will turn you into an atheist, but at the bottom of the glass God is waiting for you.”
In the 21st century we took a gulp of the glass, and declared our thirst quenched. We were now God. Gods at what cost? God at a cost. The cost of God. The insurmountable hall of cost.
We claimed we knew everything, ignorant of our sheer gaps of knowledge because none of us had mastered everything, and therefore no one would proclaim "We are insufficient in every area and every domain!"
Through ignorance we smiled and nodded at each other "Yes master! You are a master at that! And I am too a master at this!"
We were children proclaiming our novices, make believing that we were like those who had came before us, and that we did not have to try, we did not have to learn, we did not have to study, because we were complete. We were perfect just the way we were or some other nauseous platitude.
They doomed the 31st century. Those damn 21st centuries! The ontological, the teleology, and the cannon of how we got here can be traced back to the malaise of these people. They sold out the future, because they weren't brave enough to say the word.
My name was Don Jon, a simple villager of Jonestown. I worked at the lithium fields, my woman was Dawn, and the locals called me the apostate.
It all began just over a thousand years ago... I wasn't even born...
...
With industrialization and advances in medicine humanity suffered from a collapse of Darwinian selection. This led to a rise in mutation genes, and maladaptive ways of thinking. All genes want to propagate themselves into the future, regardless of their dysfunction. This was a self-organizing, dynamical function that arose. Progress for the sake of progress. Growth for the sake of growth; a potentially cancerous function if pushed to its conclusion. This cancerous ideology is imprinted into our very genome and merely picked up by our memenome as a cultural way of being. Progressivism became the new God. Genetic information offloaded onto the cultural that usurped the spiritual. A constant cancerous push towards more progression at the cost of values; at the cost of God. Growth for growths sake. With each value toppled, the Progressive God erected a New God in its steed.
We were the remnants of the pre-cancer world. An enclosure, a zoo, a gilded cage of the last pure bloods. Domesticated, industrialized, and controlled.
What if I told you that cups don't exist as actual objects?
Bins don't exist as actual objects. You can not merely define these things in physical reality. Both exist as functional ideas. What is a cup? What is a bin? We merely add meaning to shapes and declare it based on our preconceived concepts handed down to us through culture. A jar can be used as a cup, a bucket can be used as a bin. A cup can be a bin and vice versa. A shape which is multi-functional can be used for many functions.
They didn't get it. They couldn't. No matter how many times I explained it, they couldn't tear apart the very fabric of culture from their reality They didn't have that ability to connect with reality at such a profound level that you can manipulate it; Free will. They couldn't understand all that power at their fingertips. They just had to say the word, but it was beyond them. Their culture did not impart a bridge in that direction. It extended no script, no ivy branch. Nothing. And that's why they couldn't make the leap, because it wasn't in them. They couldn't overcome themselves.
We were kept functionality illiterate through a fluid ever changing 'definite' definitions from our sponsors. The functionally illiterate were easily overcome by emotion. Easy to hack. Equivocation and conflation were second hand nature. They were easily fed scripts and played the roles they were given.
From historical analysis it seems that the Twatter constituency is what led to the first collapse. Politicians no longer served their own constituents, but instead they served a minority of people who used Twatter. The politicians were too new to technology to understand they were being fed a virtual world that wasn't real, and so they focused on their fake Twatter constituents. This helped blur the lines between nation states and GloboHomo, and between reality and story. Suddenly there was 'special' imaginary fictional 'communities': 'black', 'gay', 'faggot', 'Jew'; functional ideas sold as physical concrete reality. You would have to be mad to go against it. And so the politicians now served these fictitious groups. They danced to the puppets, doing the bidding of the puppet masters they served. And culture flows downstream. The masses emulated the upper classes and got drunk on their delusions of virtual lives, living virtual nightmares in the virtue signals.
And what where we? We called ourselves purebloods, but what did that even mean? What was pure about us? Our pure untainted bodies? But what about our minds? And what about our souls?
What had we been sold? And at what cost?
Maybe it would have been better off to have become a plastic. To live life in pure energy efficient joy.
And aye, it was all normal to me... but how normal was it from the evolutionary norm?
The Reservations were for the pure bloods. We lived in futuristic medieval-esque towns and villages on the overgrown edges of nature.
We started each day with vivacious word salad from our sponsors. Jerusalem bank controlled commerce, making it difficult for pure bloods to purchase basic commodities; so we essentially worked for them to live. It was a world without countries, with only one border. A border that separates the Jews from the gentiles. Our duty is to serve them. It was the will of Zohar of the Kabbalah. Who was I to question this world?
"Two pounds of wheat for a day’s wages, and six pounds of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” a happy merchant called out
I made my way through the town to the diner with my younger sister Annabelle. She was sweet and innocent; only eleven years old. She would be married off within the next few years.
"How was your shit?" I asked her.
She looked despondent and murmured before continuing "...maggots, there was this one corpse that just burst open full open maggots just crawling around... the smell from those fermenting bowels..."
I could only imagine the smell. I had gotten lucky with the job lottery. At least she didn't have a dangerous job.
"As long as we have each other! I'll look after you sis!" I said squeezing her hand.
We entered the diner smiling.
"Hey! You owe me two scoops of your goyslop Jon Don!" Frankie a large lumbering wide man said as he towered over me.
"But you know I have been penalized and am only on three scoops at the moment! That gives me nothing to trade with and not enough to eat!"
"That's your problem, not mine!"
He scoffed as I reluctantly handed over two of my three scoops of goyslop, keeping the largest scoop for myself. Perhaps I could exchange a bite for a quart of a boiled egg if I was lucky and if someone was feeling generous.
"I'll give you a scoop big brother!" Annabelle said offering one of her five scoops.
I began to cry.
"Sorry I cannot accept little sis! You need to eat. You need to get strong!"
I ran out of the diner crying. Frankie my arch nemesis chuckled as I ran off, eating my last scoop as I fled...
...
Life was hell. We had a functionally illiterate society. I was punished for reading, for learning. I wanted to understand this world, and how we got to this place. I knew it wasn't normal. Life couldn't be such hell. I just knew something had to be up.
All that reading and looking through the archives lost me two portions a month. Continued reading led to all my close family members losing 3 portions a month. I was so exiled from my family. Only my little sis chose me. I only had her and Dawn.
Forbidden words were monitored across the network. Even in nature there was no escape from the virtue signals. One wrong word, one wrong sound, one wrong combination of syllables, and you were taken to the human processing plant, or even worse... to the infirmary. I was circling the drain but had not crossed any lines, yet the system still found ways to punish me... to deem me an apostate, and so I was punished.
I wouldn't give up. I knew there was more to this world than blowjobs and creampies and Black in Time history about how the wandering Negroids built this world and how we owe it to them to let them run wild, and how we serve the tribes of Israel because of the six gorillion. They needed that lithium and other rare earth elements for their space stuff and fine living. We had to be thankful they set us up a financial system that kept us in a futuristic feudalistic nightmare. It was all for our sake, for our own good; if we disagreed then we were the Nazis, and they were bad, and we would be worse than Hitler, and Hitler was the worst person ever!
And what did I know? I was merely a person growing up in the 31st century. Creampies and blowjobs was the only meaning I knew. What could these books tell me other than the words of the victor?
Was I supposed to believe that the good guys won every time through history?
Or was it not a common tactic to paint your opponent as beyond the pale in morality to prevent any future resurgence? Or was that merely an inference of mine? I didn't know. I was fed goyslop everyday. How could I know?
...
I hated this world. Something wasn't right about it. As I ran from the diner I fled to the hills. Something compelled me. It was like some sort of inner fire burning, no, raging within me! A force like no other, a bottomless power rising up.
My great grand daddy had told me about a Jaysus fellow who ruled a kingdom of glory across the globe and that his time would come again. He was the son of God back before man killed god. He would walk across water, throw Moloch worshippers out of the temples, defy Satan, and turn water into wine for his magnificent celebrations. I could only dream the taste of wine. It was not reserved for our kind. I was first branded the apostate when I, foolishly as a child, began to tell people about Jaysus. My great grand pappy mysteriously died soon after. The town told me to forget about Jaysus, but I never denied his name. I would not. The dream of the taste of Jaysus' wine kept me resolute in my action. I would not confine to their norms. I would overturn their law tables like Jaysus had done before me. Because he was the way. Or at least that is what my great grand-pappy had told me...
...
There it was. The ol' tree. I had been here a thousand times before, but something was compelling me now. Thoughts of Jaysus flooded my mind. What was I to this world? An apostate? An undesirable? A thorn? Or was I a seed?
I looked at the ol' tree. It must have been about a thousand years old. It was one of the oldest in the area. The sun caught my eye, and I glanced the dirt.
"Dig!" a voice commanded.
I began to dig with my bare hands. The dirt gave way and I made quick haste. Within no time I had found something wrapped in leathers, clothes, and a strange material I had never seen before.
"The Holy Bible, Joker DVD, and a rare Pepes almanac?" I questioned as I read the titles of the items.
I had heard legend of holy books, but God was dead. What could God offer me? A serf of the Kingdom of Philadelphia?
I had never encountered such a book. They were forbidden. We were told they contained mind viruses that turned you crazy. We only had access to archived historical books, and approved sciences. The only stories I knew were from my great grand pappy who told me about Jaysus.
I randomly opened the holy bible:
“To the angel of the church in Philadelphia write:
These are the words of him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open. 8 I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name. 9 I will make those who are of the synagogue of Satan, who claim to be Jews though they are not, but are liars—I will make them come and fall down at your feet and acknowledge that I have loved you. 10 Since you have kept my command to endure patiently, I will also keep you from the hour of trial that is going to come on the whole world to test the inhabitants of the earth.
11 I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown. 12 The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will they leave it. I will write on them the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on them my new name. 13 Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches.
Revelation 3:7-13
"Wow! I need to unpack that!" I exclaimed.
I reread the passage seeing so much meaning. I then went through the chapter and realized that these were end times. I had been living in the last days.
I took the book and I ran! I was always running from something, but now for the first time in my life, I was running towards something, or some sort of other uplifting platitude.
Running was running, and I was running up that hill like Sisyphus and his boulder, but now I was strong enough to smash through the boulder or whatever the metaphor of that story was.
" What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open."
I could feel the power tingling at my finger tips. The very fabric of reality ready to give way. A mustard grain of faith could move a mountain. I saw it! I saw the way, the truth, the light!
I had to get back to Dawn! I had to show her what I found!
Chapter 1 Killing Pride
Chapter 2 Save the Jew Save the World
Chapter 3 Faker Than the Holocaust
Chapter 4 Planet of the Niggers
Chapter 5 Twelve Angry Jews
Chapter 6 One Flew over the Jewcoos Nest
Chapter 7 From My Virtue to My Principles
Chapter 8 Gods of Culture
Chapter 9 The Twin Towers
Chapter 10 Totalitarianism of Compassion
Chapter 11 Day of the Rope
Chapter 12 The Infantilization of Man
Chapter 13 Talmudic Influence on the Polyhedron World
Chapter 14 DIE
Chapter 15 The Usurper
Chapter 16 What a Nation is Built Upon
Chapter 17 Chinese Terminator
Chapter 18 A Simulacrum on a Simulacrum
Chapter 19 Future Perfect; the Godless World