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What follows is a [ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ] primal draft chapter; “The 1984 Interviews” from the book ...

“The Genie Amanuensis”

インダス

𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙲 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝙿.𝙰. 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼 𝙽𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛: 𝙼𝙲𝙼𝙻𝚇𝚇𝚇𝙸𝚅 𝟸𝟾𝟷𝟷𝟾𝟺/𝟸𝟻𝟸𝟾

“Anyway chief; what else ...”

“Anything goes Gēëė

The Genie pulls out an oldē hat; throws it on the table; then swigs from the Kraken with a smile like a raptune raptor.

“We was Pyratin’ on tabs, bɛduɪn & vapour techa, the åLCDā followed the XR Glass, it was real source magic and the box float talkies would be there even without the glass, showing the multiple optimal realities of 5D to 12D Earth in real-time that we were able to travel to and I would watch the activity like logistics operations, distributions and various mission on the field in actual via an advanced planetary mapping globe the Arcturians supplied. I had seen that kind of tech in dream visions before I began work on the ships. There were many variety of gemstone we used while scrypting, I had a couple of long Earth blade books, a few chapters I wrote on marakata sphaṭika javā, a few more in lapis lazuli and one of them books was bound with plants from one of my fav’ patches in Eden and a wood seal in center. It was how Genisis briefly mentions in our number 2:8 gan b ē'den mi qe'dem. The pages while being written projected fresh streams of source hexcode from the river in various languages that appear in long reels of hexagrams rolling down a page, to the touch as if braille, similar to Morse with frequencies while it uncoiled lifting from the tab recoded as maps, spells & the latest indhexes.

We would quill from thirds all day & night between road trips. Using the glass most of the time often taking amon breaks into the jungle to sit with tribes and olde visitors who were passing through. We also had traditional brushes with us and those were really impressive lifeforms that followed the path of celestial objects operating in ink as 2:23 “bone of my bones”, I used to rhyme with them when I wrote, “pearls for my curls”. We had planetary rings crafted by Kali Ginn in technics magic. Rãffå would wear such amulets on his holy dreadlockhs and rolled in the rock-like Orbs with ancient of jewel perceptions reflecting inside; unlocking in circles and linking with the Quill spiraling round through the long tail trail in a dance with feather minds bello’wing echo lines; those moulted flight feathers were primary wing feat of hers that fell from the paradice birds on route from their travels, the Quill body was 5D intellapathic liquiform transfounder and would wrap round hand over hand which was the reality alined with “flesh of my flesh” and like I said, “pens are the friends of my ends; as their love is the dress of my death”, as in the much older gen Quill there were Hyperdermic needles that jackedinn to the writers palms down into the bone marrow.

Quills had the most extraterrestrial names and were matched with writers by the synchronicity that brought them together as word from stone before arrival in source entering to origin & mode of formation; they had a inter-reama connection to creation. “She shall be called Woman, for she was taken out of man” was a tattoo that many of the writers shared when first biopsy was carved; that used to be an invasive procedure especially in Adam’s day, but during my years it had all gone super tech and was more akin to the repairing you would see in films during the 20th, those rolls were kinda on point with that technology, the tattoo had many meme trails, and I would see various others variations of scriptures from the holy books tattooed on the more rebellious writers from the river, Rufio had one that read “O man, listen to the voice of wisdom, for she shall be called woman”. We was always gettin new tattys chief and Adams' bone re:animations became highly potent amulets that the monks wore in the higher river beds. Most of the Quills I was paired with were female and the verses would write in wild prose; it became timeless, I was just the driver for the diver, get it?

They were never able to control ayurvedic technology and from the beginning that was what saved us. Xeno Quills came in and were able to write in 12+ optimal timeline reality in a reverse rapture process, which was necessary to deal with the clandestine activities of corporate entities on Earth at that time the complex had grown so out of control. The courts in the higher realms at the source of rivers sore it as the fall of man at the edge of the new age that would leave the old world behind. Everyone on the field that made it knew the plan for long olde time and the Grin Reaper did rounds in Arcadia unlocking the hearts of empaths in deep-field with those magic keys.

[ Paradigm removed ]

I want to tell yuh more bowt the nib of these Quill lifeforms, chief. They are like an eye that opens in void to look at the source, its as if a celestial object is rolling across the åLCDā, carving out the cosmic symphony in sync to the unified field, there were many names for the LCDs and it stood for this process of live crypting in akashic records on astral liquipress with crystal definition of words in the abyss, using source as an inkform from the body of space or dark matter as we think of it on Earth. It would find light even in the depths of voids in the age of Aquarius who was Zeus' vine receptor from the river, so they obtained the first contact from “ink to Earth” and interpreted straight from source. The other Quills I met had more alien genius aboöt them huh chief ... and I liked to write with the animal Quills in the butterfly realms and the Mantodea were famed for their raptorial features to practice mudras with and some of the others like the xeno gothic period Quills were highly graphic in visual esoteric quality, many of the past masters had written with the same Quill order for many lifetimes in source. It was many years before I could keep up with a poet like Blakey in the field at Optimal Reality in 12D.

“How long were you out there for Gēëė?”

On the river alone circa 300 vapoureals of Underworld active service; more than it sounds as vapour paths follow the incarnation cycle. I was an amanuensis for most of that time serving in the lamps of Rãffå, the Ραφαήλ order spent the seasons mapping Arcadia for utopic sentients on Earth while journeying across the Universe; we could chant celestial sphere all night long chief; Boötis & Andromedia, Pleiades & Aquarius; Aquila where many of the origin Quill are found; or Delphinus so famed for their sonically harmonising stars as frequencies in the Dao roll toward the concrescence with the Dolphin as they reach the depths of Orions rings spelling the names of the elements forming in previous incarnations of higher diamond dimensions that float on the echos of cosmic waves, and we sometimes hear those echos in Eårths seashells. You know them words of Longfellow chief, “Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels”.

We followed those numbers our whole lives, during the early’ears I would study the poets on the river, recording details of synchronicity, the number of lines, the words on those lines, the timestamp on each manuscript from an artist & other observations made such as the number shots taken, I would go into the record of rings that were worn by many travellers, and see the code that was echoing to the collective in the nature scripts to source that revolved around celestial orbs while the elders would follow the traveller from higher planes of existence, fresh sentient scripts and languages were being relayed all the time, and once translated by higher realms, hats would go on short missions to those paradigms and bring back old dynasty artefacts after walking though the various mirrors that led to those dimensions. In the sky we would observe Aquarius pouring starcode liquidia the sound of celestial songs and fish often into pairs would jump from the river to Andromeda. As we observed higher and higher dimensions in source you would see that the definition between concepts of male and female would merge into one, and there would be no real separation between and it was all frequency that would appear as it wished or just naturally, into the tops of known experience, actual sacred geometric communications from the furthest lights, that we would only be able to translate or understand as language to script once we could hear or experience the frequencies of it. We were pursuing things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime.

I always found writing easier at night, I enjoyed the colour and light from all dimentions that light up the mind, during days I would write poetry that flowed in paradigma along the river while walking & meeting sages in busy periods searching for lost souls to save with the river gangs, we ate & smoke’d various plants from the river in the evenings, always in syncronizen flow, a wave from central, the wolf spirits always appearing in groups of 4/20 packs, that was how connected we all were, the river gangs. All along the river you would meet various tribes of Zeno, the Rōdentia, for example, travelled Earth following the Rōnin across the patterns of ripwaves they cleft in their wake, wild clouds that drifted in the skysun, they were like the Rice that when plucked in bunches carries across the fields leaving shimmers of tracers that settle for long periods on keys, along natural stairs that would never a witness would have seen and those trails floated into tombs, just like the sand, they travelled so far, many oases on route. They would live peacefull lives, some of our favourite fokes, the ZodiZenos follow these wide orbiting links in the Dao, they create the super wide circles of magic that often rests on those holy arches, the ones that you see across Eden. 

I used to enjoy sitting at local shrines reading original Pyrate verses, watching them notes dance across the fields as zen flutes would come sing during the afternoons into the evenings & often they would play with many other mystical instruments from distant galaxies, in union on the meadows across vast distance, it was those nights I would wander into worlds, those paintings appeared as souls to realms. The first time I ran into a canvas was around 2555, but it could have happened earlier chief, in terms of just standing in front of one within a muse. One time I was able to see the aura of the canvas as a tear in the fabric, the air rolled over the rips into waves, there was a vast invisible landscape world within it, and a frequency alone my soul had entered in sacred dance with, long gone, lost into the insight, with a trail of lucidia ribbon threading out from the frame into the many locks I carried in my poems pockets, the same type of wood locks the Grin reader gave me, that hang from the lovers bridge. The widow Goddess & friends would sing there, the bridges were always in festival. There was a ensemble of riverboats that would slowly sail under it’s world of sound, dancers & illuminated flags. As they went through the dao would open various doors in the celestial visions and there many familiar faces would be ready with gift from adventura beyond known experience, carried on by wild birds of highest dimensional para’dice and they held in silk road weaves, orbs, scrolls & other magic treasures with loops that tied infinity bows in complete works of uni’verse, those scrypts had been key’d in live sound source code by the gods, it was prose by stars ...

The One;

Who chases & rides with the Buddha; in the Dao toward the concrescence; to be able & to live in the light of its anticipation

is Wild indeed.

  • Anarcho Zen Liberations ii.ii.iii

Red goldenya & rye Do not make me cry As myn eyes bleed black And myn soul hollows holes Cutting into thē skies & thē skin While thē oceans & sand sea firebow Sould animal stire & poison ash; a cross Igniting flesh ofmyndthlost enemy within

Technics eating dust Echo of rapture in trust Rage of agen for oldē pagan Watching thē solarhymns beat Onto thē wireless skull of thirdye Rattling dolls starving; ghost shine Running in screens & reeling in spit Awakening thē crypts & DNA of trickh

Howls Moons ago in bloom Empaths flowering at thē fear Corporeals burryed alive in eyes Vortex breathing intwinthexenoch Source lifting over thē deep doomen States blured dead to voices rizenthra Even bees screemth into thē nightlights Thē nitro & satorigen of holy apple sendti

“ ... “ + “Blood Field” & “Edens Revenge” Thē Anarcho Earth Verses ii.ii.iiii [ 8 ] [ Book of Arcadian Fighters ]

  • 11:11 6th Feb 2563 [ E ]

...

Many years have tears bee shyde In the fields of folly swide  As eyes roolover black in white  Those colour of endless dreams hide Forthe into full view of mirror seen But never scroll; by the soul of kindness As deep wells of corporate military dig In dust of their lost doomed rowk  Them without keys to deathe or lifempt Just endless deeds of dead entity agendt Woth none a passion or drop or moral Not even heart or soulsown wollown Never learn’edthier lessone to go all Happy to watch their own fall on sword 
 Despite the warnings we gave them all. 
 “Red Skulls & Black Flags” Thē Anarcho Earth Verses ii.iii.i [ 6 ] [ Book of Arcadian Fighters ]  


  • 12:12 9th Feb 2563

Mynth weakness; is'lā jokē Ofth light; ōrc darkness; Dēëpėndingōng witch sideydew stand.

If Eye worth; Burmused fort Eve å moment; Save Eden ... Them eyes wood spell; In åges ovf Heavengen.

Lost intrå twine thē Count ofāh word; A blūöwdēë mėss; nowrhyn eyeshadune crieden hōld; Circles of rågēnd Angēls; Witōut påges j’estå pågān.

Thē Rēbël whō fålls Nēvēr diēs åt āll. Forthē Ride or Rips; Andthē Seventh Wōödopen Gates. Asthē river weavesong; Mynth arms rollalongon ...

  • Twēnter Thryē; Wheåreamourye?”

As we walk in rounds; Open many gates in sound; To find what we love; And preverse witch matters most; To hear Gaia speak in dreams.

短歌

1 February 2563 at 23:28

I will Drip in Blades agin     And Fawk Ink in new Sky To Find you, blind     plenty tears Ears Wrapped in Ringtail

    While I end your own Bloody demons As we play cleft with the left     Blackest Crows, Funniest Dances Thems Eyes Do Spiderellåquinthian Deem     And Diamonds sing at 5 over 10

    Whirl we left Wood Circles Beehymns, Talkies,     Box Float Thoughties And Thread, Rhymes & Times     Wraps And Rounds in Twined Founds Mounds Fols’y     Folding Rhythm     In Chocolate in Rolls in Minds

Even thou’se most Rare     if boxes that was never seen bones     Or any skull

The Rarest indeeds that round in Rings     them Keys to the Clocks & Locks with Hårpwheels Slinging Pouring Drawing Moons ago Singing alone, Drivin Blinking     intune to the Fire of The Found. The Souls The Tombs; then webb’d Paves     Connected     Chases across Ripping     to Dance upsungth thyn flames Longon into the Night, Smoke Rings Burning Thyme, Blowsin in No Fear

Howling in Dreams     to tell the Flowers of Time spun endlessly.     On the Belts of Wild Åuromass Star Cross’d & Fearless     Whisp’ring Pattern to Purls ʜᴀʀᴍᴏɴɪsɪɴɢ

Of you     the one in most         I would chase             and run for in Neon Dreams     Eyes Red, Paved'th ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪᴄᴇ’ʀʜᴇʟᴍᴀ

Talking whispers     Sent from Edėn in Rips Across the Earth’t Sage Weed     Fow’ Souls own Twirlin’ Holes     Stairs, Stars Racer, Crash into Eye     Roses Explosions Hearts Echos

    Oceans. To Bee Win the One

  • Of Love