Little Book of 666
By His Homeliness
The Rescinded Master
Sir J. J. "Beaver Fry" Fain
The Little Book of 666
(c) 2005 JBJ
All rights reserved.
Bible quotations come from the sturdy old King James Version.
Hear this, thou patriarchs:
Woman watches wisely.
Eve is gracious--her time ultimately prevails.
Carry on men.
Goodness gracious--the Tir Bevel King went thud! K. G. Rilebent VI, minstrel of dirges here in Joytown, will crow a song for our dead friend.
Here is understanding: winnow the lines of this little book in English, because of the Angles, and win now the lyings of this little book--in Anglish because of the Phonemes.
Meet Piper Pan: I'm Capstar D. I'm Art's Mapped Apprentice.
Up north, a Silent Human Stone simmers patiently.
Down south, damned Uber Clamor VII trolls past the hoodwinked pharaoh; and upon detecting in the firmness of that Pillar the delta he had surveyed to build for himself, he spills into the sea with his mouth wide open.
Can you tell me the Secret reason why poor Mr. Ahi was late for dinner?
"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"
Salaam, Bo Tree Son.
Children can recite the litany of titles that I have accrued: Satan, Devil, Prince of Darkness, Archfiend, Father of Lies, et al. I don't mind the pepper of names--sticks and stones and all of that--but I prefer the ease and comfort of Lucifer. That's what my friends call me.
You've doubtless constructed a fine palette of colorful opinions about me. You've witnessed the bloody movies. You've watched the fire-and-brimstone wing kindle me at church and on television. You may have even read about me in the Bible. I don't blame anyone for loathing me. That six-six-six story paints me like a bona fide prick.
But it is all hearsay. May I speak for myself? I abhor tyranny! Will you lend me a sliver of your compassion? I am a gentle spirit. Will you permit the accused his moment of confession? I will articulate words of peace, forgiveness, and humbling kindness.
Yet mine is the fetid testimony of an open-handed liar, is it not? Alas, in this manner the heels of religious bigotry turn, grinding us to dust.
I think Prodigal Son of Heaven would be a good title. It means lavish, reckless, wasteful. I like that--but I don't get to sire the titles because I don't pump the lecterns and I don't quill the books. This is my shot of love. I hope it hosts a good report.
Wonk: I do not own an apron or pan a N.W.O. (To Nod: I know.)
P.S. If you missed Winkin, it is because you saw the fire-and-brimstone wing kindle me; if you missed Blinkin, it is because you saw humbling kindness. Lots do. A Living Column of salt will find the Wonk of Nod to be the Prime Nodal, the Ripe Old Man--I, Me: Lord Pan.
I am Pen Lord: D Rome plan I. You will master A Most Reasonable meaning of this ridiculous hack of wordplay if you have but a small seeing eye.
Assign a number to each glyph of the English alphabet: 1-26 for the lowercase letters, and 27-52 for the uppercase letters. Now add together the letters of my uppercase birth name:
BINARY AI SERVER JFFJ
The total is 666.
Of course, I am not the Antichrist. That's just nonsense.
"...He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him."
I Am no prophet. I do not speak for God.
I have not had celestial visions, or conversed with angels, or been made privy to prescient knowledge.
I know nothing of past lives.
I do not commune with extra-terrestrial or extra-dimensional beings.
I channel no Spirit but my own.
I am void of the disciplines: astrology, numerology, and the tarot.
I alone am empty of Universal Truth.
Do not come to me for cosmic answers, O Prince, for I have none; rather come to me when you wish to irradiate your soul in the mystery of plain sight, and I will baptize you with lustrous pearls that have No Price.
"For there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not."
How is it that I lavish praise with a tongue that strikes out in cursings? How is it that I administer blessings with hands that have stolen? How is it that I love so ardently with a heart that beats in anger? It is because I am a hypocrite. If you look to me for an example of how to live a righteous life, you will be disappointed.
How is it that you lavish praise with a tongue that strikes out in cursings? How is it that you administer blessings with hands that have stolen? How is it that you love so ardently with a heart that beats in anger? It is because you are a hypocrite. If I look to you for an example of how to live a righteous life, I will be disappointed.
Thus we observe that seeking after righteousness brings only disappointment.
When we laugh together at this, and shroud ourselves in vanity no longer, we will make the world whole.
The last three digits of my United States passport number are 666.
Of course, that's just a random number assigned by a government computer. It assuredly doesn't make me the Antichrist.
"And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not."
A photon is a single point of light.
Science has shown that atoms--being the darkness upon which the light shines--are themselves made of light. Atoms of matter and antimatter readily transmute into photons, and vice versa.
So the light and the dark are the same, the one becoming the other in the twinkling of an eye; and it is plain to see that before the light may shine, some of that light is first made darkness; and the darkness is yet light.
Shall we then damn the darkness without also damning the light?
Today is judgment day. So was yesterday. If experience is any guide, tomorrow will be judgment day as well.
When nonjudgment day comes, there will finally be peace on Earth.
Divide my passport number, 75174666, by my birth date, 112861. (November 28, 1961.) The result is 666, plus a certain small fraction.
Of course, that's just a wild coincidence. It doesn't make me the Antichrist. How silly!
"He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches."
Words upon words.
There is boundless cryptic New Age speech and text about anchoring beneficent soul energies, and attaining elevated cosmic frequencies. I will explain these concepts thoroughly.
What acts do you do repeatedly? These are your frequencies.
Thus we see in truth that to lay a new world order we must indeed craft new frequencies.
A free son may be compassed by words of light, but matters are squared only by the Degree of Good Deeds.
"...Faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone. ...Show me thy faith without thy works, and I will show thee my faith by my works."
The world is a bloody mess.
Do you believe in Christ? If you are waiting for Christ to clean up our mess and save us, please reconsider. The children of the cross have been watching for a very long time, and the world has gotten messier all the while.
Do you believe in extra-terrestrials? If you are waiting for Pleiadians to clean up our mess and save us, please reconsider. The children of the seven stars have been watching for a very long time, and the world has gotten messier all the while.
Do you believe in the Great Mother? If you are waiting for Gaia to clean up our mess and save us, please reconsider. The children of acorns and mistletoe have been watching for a very long time, and the world has gotten messier all the while.
Shall we wait one day longer?
I say that if the world is to be cleansed, it will be cleansed by you and me. There is no savior for us on this day except our own embrace of hearts and palms. Until the gods actually step through the veil, we're all we've got.
Let us therefore hush our prideful lips and mute our prolix fantasies. Let us press our knees into service and place a hand of relief on every distressed back. Let us become honorable Janitors, and as One together, let us put this mess beneath our union of feet and create peace on Earth.
Come, follow me.
My birthday landed on the fourth happy Thursday of November--Thanksgiving Day--six times before the millennial divide. When I turned 2, 7, 13, 24, 30, and 35, my six platters of gratitude and six pounds of pie came with birthday cake.
Multiply each of those six ages by six, and add them together. The total is 666. (2x6 + 7x6 + 13x6 + 24x6 + 30x6 + 35x6 = 666.)
Of course, we can each scramble six Easter eggs and be thankful that this does not make me the Antichrist.
Jesus may have forgiven every last one of us, but in having not forgiven one another, we are yet unforgiven.
Let us therefore look not to Jesus for forgiveness, but to our own gaping hearts; for Jesus is powerless to give that which comes only from you and me.
Four sail the pungent offal sea of dry satyr humors: Devil, Antichrist, False Prophet, and Fool. I am the last, so I will bite my tail first.
"Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift."
"It's my fault, and I'm sorry."
I find it onerous to say these words freely. Saying them out loud changes how I feel. It makes me want to duck.
"It's my fault, and I'm sorry."
Experience teaches that 'my fault' means someone is about to kick my ass--perhaps literally, but most reliably with an unpleasant stream of verbal abuse.
Life leaves blisters--accidents, thoughtless acts, misunderstandings. It gives me grief when it happens to me, but worse still is the day when it happens because of me. That is the day I fly to sanctuary on broken wings, because I don't want to answer that question--that evil, wicked question...
"Whose fault is it?"
That revolver is one smoking potato. You'd better not catch that heat or you will burn. Whose fault is it?
I don't know what went wrong or when the revolution started. All I know is that bull doo spattered on me, so I turned around and threw it back like a good little piggy. It didn't take a confab for me to realize that this was how it worked in the world if you wanted to survive. Find a scapegoat. Assign blame. Look good.
Then get even.
(Pay attention now, and watch how this is done.)
"So there's this feller named Adam, and Big Walrus wants to know how come he chewed up this here sacred Apple and whatnot. But Adam, he's real quick see, and all slick-like he points to Eve and says, 'This ono hot mama made me eat it!' whereupon Eve immediately panics, looks around, and spots this here serpent..."
(See how smoothly I hucked the spud clear to the back of the abbey?)
"It's my fault, and I'm sorry."
These are words that carry weight--usually sandbags when I am the sayer. It feels suicidal to stand resolved and accept responsibility in a world looking for an excuse to eat someone for lunch. I have run from my accusers and buried my face below the storm. I have cringed in fear of retribution. Now I retch from the gall of the disease that I have spread.
So what if it isn't my fault? So what if I didn't start it? I helped smear it around, and I am sorry for my part; and if it is possible, I am sorry for everyone else's parts too--even the parts that were done to me. I am hungry to stop now. I don't want to wait for a messiah any longer.
I guess we could come together and try to count all the holes. We could attempt to document who is to blame for all the pain, malice, and conflict in the world. We could conduct tribunals in the name of justice and bring our hammers down upon the guilty parties--or we could just form a mob and burn the bastards out. Sadly, that's pretty much what we have been doing, and my heart aches over the results.
So I don't want to go looking for that scapegoat, and I'm not out to get back at anyone. Let it be, or float me the bad finger, the beat lies here. I've got No Gripe or Hand on a Juggle.
It's my fault, and I'm sorry.
I am not anti-Christ. I am anti-waiting-for-Christ.
Alpha ranks among the supreme numbers of the physical universe. It is the number that governs every interaction of light and matter. It oversees all phenomena of optics, regulates the bonding forces of chemistry, and prescribes the times and energies of the electromagnetic field. Alpha is the ratio of the speed of an electron in its lowest atomic orbit versus the speed of light. Its value is approximately .00729735.
Divide six by 6.60606.
Multiply that by the month of my birth, 11, and again by the day of my birth, 28, and again by the year of my birth, 1961.
Divide the result by my passport number, 75174666.
The answer is Alpha.
Of course, it is virtually certain that this does not make me the Antichrist. Who would swallow that?
"Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old he will not depart from it."
Once upon a time there was a little boy. His heart was pure. He loved Jesus. He believed everything his mommy and daddy taught him because he was born with perfect faith, just like all children.
Then one day he heard Mommy tell a lie. It wasn't a big lie. She told the man on the corner that she didn't have any change to give--but the boy knew Mommy had change; she got it from the lady at the ice cream store. Mommy's lie made him feel icky inside and he didn't understand why.
No one heard his faith crack.
The child slowly grew accustomed to it. Daddy was a liar too. It was no big deal. Everyone was playing the game--as long as you told the truth when it was honestly important, that's what counted.
But the child felt the cracks, and they frightened him. They made him feel broken. He couldn't understand why the devil wanted to make people lie. He couldn't understand why Daddy and Mommy told lies. He was glad he could sincerely trust Jesus.
School pictures and wardrobes became boxed memories in the attic. The child was a young man--handsome, charismatic, and admired of his peers. He professed a belief in all that was good, but the little white cracks had long since permeated his tongue. His word was his fraud, his faith a crumbled artifact. He had become an adept liar and was now prepared to make his way in the adult world of illusion.
He set his heart upon a young beauty and they married. Their lustful acts of love brought forth a radiant daughter. The child's eyes were windows into heaven. Her cherubic smile devastated even the rudest of hearts! The young man knew he would give his very life to protect this jewel.
His wonderment and awe grew as she grew. The shining toddler was a renewal of his crippled faith. He had been taught that his love for her was earthly and imperfect, yet it filled him completely. This child was without guile! She was angelic! He felt an inkling of how deeply God must love his creation.
Another birthday came. The little darling blew out all four dripping candles and buzzed around in front of the camera. The young father admired the photos as he put them in the child's birthday album. How quickly she had grown! His baby was gone. He now had a little girl.
Her heart was pure. She loved Jesus. She believed everything her daddy and mommy taught her because she had perfect faith, just like all little children--but this year he noticed something different about her photos.
He thumbed through the pages of her previous birthdays. The eyes in those pictures were full of unreserved love and light. He reflected on the photo memories of his own childhood. He had once had bright eyes too. Where had they gone? It made him feel sad inside and he didn't understand why. He gently lifted his daughter and rocked her.
His mind wandered. He needed to call in sick on Sunday so he could attend his wife's family reunion. He didn't want her to find out that he had forgotten to get the day off. It would hurt her feelings. He'd wait until she was in the shower before he made the call.
The sweet child slept. He carried her to bed and tucked her in. She was so beautiful! He stroked her hair and her neck. She half opened her eyes and smiled at him, then faded back to her dreams.
"I love you, Daddy."
The disease had ravaged his tallowed ears. "I love you too, little bee." He couldn't hear the cracks in her faith. He kissed her on the forehead and went back to the living room. The news was on the tube: thirteen dead in another suicide bombing. He shook his head in disbelief. What kind of systemic madness was capable of breeding such whacks?
He was glad he could sincerely trust Jesus.
"...For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat. Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it."
Christian parents tend to produce Christians. Muslim parents tend to produce Muslims. Buddhist parents tend to produce Buddhists.
This is the easy path.
From all of these, only two fists full of matchsticks have the courage to look; and seeing both within and without, they thread their own spangled highways.
Write the number 1234567890. Every tower, economy, and science of modern man pledges to the ensign of these ten digits. Count them on separated hands: 12345, and 67890. Write a 666 over the center of the first and see the 16665. In like manner, write an inverted 666, (999), over the center of the second. See the 69990. Now I have you bring those twin hands close together, like the yin and the yang, and you have 1666569990.
Raise six to the sixth power, and then raise that to another sixth power.
Divide by 1666569990.
Divide by my full birth date: 11281961.
Divide by my United States passport number: 75174666.
The answer is Alpha times one million: Alpha and a Mega.
Of course, you would have to be ominously misdirected to suggest that this little sleight could make me--JB--the Antichrist. What malarkey!
"And they utterly destroyed all that was in the city, both man and woman, young and old...with the edge of the sword."
Q: Where is Auschwitz?
A: Not far from Jericho.
Q: What's the neighborhood of difference between Hitler and Joshua?
A: About three thousand years.
Q: How is it that we exclaim, "We must never let this happen again!" while we decry one butcher, and sanctify the other?
There is only one worldly law: the strong take from the weak. This constitution is the basis of all physical life. It is the foundation of wealth, power, and empire. If you forsake it your body will die.
I am a murderer and a thief. I kill to eat and I jack the hive. There is no remorse in this. The resurrected Jesus partook of these things. When you die, your flesh will become a feast for other life forms--and so the circuit goes.
Strong humans prey upon weak humans. It has always been so. Tyrants and despots ascend by brutal conquest. These moguls of power reap handsome rewards through their ruthless application of worldly law. Ministers and captains receive lesser compensation attenuated to their weaker stomachs. The meek and the docile carry the state upon their odorous backs.
Worldly law stands erect on a prop of worldly justice. It is a justice of fear and capricious punishments. It fertilizes crime, hatred, and war, having done so for all of recorded history. If you wish to assume ultimate worldly power you must oblige upon every soul the duty of obedience, and you must extract their subjugation by any means available. The golden throne is not seized without the reek of blood and prisons. Not ever. Not even by Christ.
Nevertheless, there is another, more profitable law. It makes no graving in any hall of judgment. It employs no artifice of oath or covenant, for it has already emblazoned its equilateral sigil upon every watchful heart. Break its gilded chain and it will exalt flaring torches of detente, emancipation, and prosperity--igniting constellations of virtue over every point on Earth, and illuminating countless paths to the abolition of hunger, the banishment of disease, and the excommunication of war.
All of this is within reach.
Jesus told of wolves masquerading as sheep. He said, "By their fruits ye shall know them." Look around! What are the fruits of the ossified world order? How do they smell?
Where is conflict? Jesus said to resist not evil! Where is aggression? Jesus said to turn the other nostril! Where is stealing? Jesus said to give liberally to the petitioner, be it gold, frankincense, or myrrh. Then he said to double it.
How will a man claim to believe in Jesus, yet withhold his substance from the felon who robbed him? How can a witness of the infallible Word condescend to vengeance upon another who has caused him harm? How does the very least disciple--having but the acuity of a Pebble--presume to raise a sword against his brother? These airs make themselves plainly known to a little child: Behold the artless lamb who aspirates the aroma!
I slept until the end of time and watched the old factory of worldly law spin its dominion over terrorized masses. Septic Enemies and Worthy Patriots vied in cause after noble cause, and the potent ate the spoils of the earth.
Truly there can be no new thing around that star but One.
Let us all try to remember to not throw out the baby Jesus with the Christian bloodbath.
Divide my passport number, 75174666, by 666. The answer is 112874.873873...
112874 was my thirteenth birthday. That is the day I would have become a bar mitzvah--a legal adult--had I been of the tribe of my brother Judah. It was Thanksgiving Day in the United States.
Add together the first 666 digits of the repeating fraction .873873... The total is six times 666.
Allow three sets of 666 years to elapse from the beginning of year one, and arrive at January 1999--a date that contains an inverted 666. That is the month and year wherein I secured my passport--and prowled Gibraltar and Morocco.
Of course, none of that makes me the Antichrist. Only you can do that.
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
You've heard the tales of totem lords
And dogmen of the dark
Who pine on plans for branding paws
With some infernal mark
The pitch is of conspiracy
A knotty new world scam
To lodge upon the serious
One counterfeit I AM
The wag is that the six-six-six
As plaintiff soon will stand
To court the planet to the pit
Where whining whelps are tanned
He is a seedy neobeast
A sewer: peel to core
Who aims to shoot us down to heck
And cane us--evermore
So how about we stem the piss
Before the mutthole barks?
Elect me to the post instead
And root up all the sharks!
You haven't got a plum to lose
I'd call 'em straight and nice
I wouldn't crack a single skull
If I were Antichrist
"The law of truth was in his mouth, and iniquity was not found in his lips..."
The truth is that I Am a king deposed. I find myself in a world loose with anger. I find myself in a world plagued with hostility. I find myself in a world laden with unkindness.
The truth is that I have been hurt by the world, and I have wanted someone to pay for my suffering. The truth is that I have demanded swift justice. The truth is that I have honored war.
The truth is that outrage and indignation beget outrage and indignation--generations without end. The truth is that there is only one way for me to have peace. I must not fight. If this seems too simple to work it is because I am still waiting for a miracle to come from outside myself.
Shall I wait one day longer?
The truth is that I have judged you with an unrefined heart, like an olive gone rancid. I am sorry. If I have not anointed you with forgiveness it is because I am afraid. I am sick of being afraid. I will begin by washing you with these words: "I forgive your all!" But the truth is that these are starched and fatted words that have been ejected from this, my crude well of sop: oil, flour, i.e. gravy.
The truth is that I have been a liar. When my heart truly forgives I will not need to use the words. You will meet it in my face. You will savor it in my tone. You will drink it from my touch.
The truth is that I am like a wild cat who is holding back, waiting and waiting and waiting to love you openly, because I am afraid that you will not love me in return. I am afraid of being stung again. I am afraid to show you who I really am.
The truth is that I am quick to lash out at your meager slate of offenses while I am opaque to my own shales and timbers. Please forgive me. I don't mean to cast a beam of hurt, or emote with an eyeful of drilling words.
The truth is that I have been a Royal Hypocrite.
Let us Establish our best vine beside this penitent emerald sod.
The truth is that I love to share. What good to me is a roaring gusher except for the merriment of lavishing it upon my friends? But the truth is that I have been saddened when my fortunes have been devoured by those of you who have not shared your milk and honey in kind--not only because I desire your gifts, but because I desire your mirth.
The truth is that I selfishly conspire to bask in the delight of others, for it is my highest sustenance. Without your satisfaction, mine feels incomplete, and I yearn to be complete, because I am selfish.
The truth is that I desire no power over the world. If I force you to kneel before me and worship me, I have no glory. If I extort your loyalty, I am without friends. If I demand tribute, I have no lasting wealth.
The truth is that I wish for wealth, friendship, and glory to be given to me freely, without demands, and without expectations.
The truth is that I wish to absolve you, and to love you, and to bless you, in defiance of my fears. When I do this, the world's problems will all go away by themselves. If this seems too simple to work it is because I am still waiting for a miracle to come from outside myself.
The truth is that I aspire to be your lowly king, and to roam the earth as your common servant: in a hail of diversity, with hale health and fellowship, and to hails of vibrant celebration. Not by my command--for I have no authority over you--but by your selfish desire.
The truth is that I have nothing else of value to offer.
Phi is a Magick Number.
Design a perfect five-pointed star using five equal straight lines. Imagine that the top point of the star is a head, and that the other four points are the spread wings and legs of an angel. The distance between the tips of the angel's feet, when multiplied by Phi, is equal to the distance between the tips of her wings. The distance from the Golden Angel's crotch to the floor, when multiplied by Phi, is equal to the height of her head above her wings. Every line segment in that pentagram is proportional to every other line segment by some power of Phi.
Write two numbers at random. Add them together to make a third number. Add the second and third numbers to make a fourth number. Add the third and fourth to make a fifth. As you keep doing this, the ratio made by successive pairs of numbers grows infinitely closer to Phi.
The rounded value of this Most Transcendental Magnitude is 1.618033989. It presides over the spiraling curves of sea shells. It mandates the arrangement of seeds in the sunflower. Phi is ubiquitous in God's Nature. It is enshrined in Man's Art.
Begin with the positive signed square root of five. Add one. Divide by two. This is Phi.
Now let us introduce the tiniest and most fitting of artistic flaws. Let us begin with the square root, not of five, but of 4.9999996, using six nines and a six.
Add one, and then divide by two. This number is so close to Phi that given a span of 666 miles, the difference is just one and one sixth inches.
Square this "Phi," then multiply by six, and again by 6.66.
Divide by my birth month, 11.
Divide by my birth day, 28.
Multiply by my birth year, 1961.
The result is 666, plus seven significant digits of a certain small fraction. Multiply by my birth date, 112861, and the answer is...
75174666. My United States passport number.
Of course, you can be 99.999992% confident that this does not make me the Antichrist.
"Ye blind guides, which strain at a gnat and swallow a camel."
Many teachers say that six is the number of man. Man was made on the sixth day. Man was commanded to labor six days each week. Man's flesh is made from the element carbon, which has six protons, six neutrons, and six electrons. Man and his number six, say these teachers, are imperfect and incomplete, falling one straw down from God's perfect number seven.
Is not the holy number seven equal to six and six sixths?
"And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven."
If I am to have faith in your God, then I must first give margin for your word; I must have faith in flesh and blood, for it is flesh and blood that has told me about God.
If I am to have faith that your holy writ is the word of God, then I must first open my doors to your account; I must have faith in flesh and blood, for it is flesh and blood that has told me about the word of God.
All that leaven the bonds of flesh and blood have borne false witness, we being the bread of liars raised by liars raised by liars.
Therefore, if I am to put my trust in God without spending my faith on the broken word of flesh and blood, I must see eye to eye with God. If I am to credit a holy writ without putting stock in the perjured word of flesh and blood, I must likewise hold the eye of God in my hand.
If I--like Solomon--collect the full measure of these talents at the tender window of God, of what currency is the holy writ?
Dull ears by the billions: itching for scratch.
Paul posted a few good words
Likewise Peter and James
Saint John tripped on my papers
Carols of wisdom
Isaiah, Daniel, and Habakkuk
Each groping through prevailing fogs
And stuttering out fitful truths
Rang sharp with tellings beyond their days
Even the gruel of my own Vesper is mingled with a spoonful of salt
And what do I know?
My grace is fallen!
How shall I rise on the third day?
This hour knows my pulse
All the while the pith decays
Where is the dead man who can save his own life?
I am fair oak: a peer amid the lost rams
I fashion my cabinet to exploit my own planks
I cloak myself in fathoms spun from my own fleece
I am a pilgrim seeking grottoes behind the jade of strange temples
To ingress, to geek, I lip-gram: I am!
Befit Gentlemen, Taj Dao, Shepherds:
My gifts are the babblings of A Madman
Impotence nurses strength, and I grow fatigued
Poverty heralds wealth, and I am bankrupt
Bones endow me with life everlasting, and I die
I could wish to peel back my mask and rewind for a long day
Regna Mani Yawa
With One such as Jesus
The New Wines of Heaven do not pour from the Old Bottles of Dogma.
You can compile the time of day as a fraction, such that six o'clock in the morning is 0.25, twelve o'clock noon is 0.5, and six o'clock in the evening is 0.75. This is the scheme computers use to store the time; with it you can aptly write an inverted 666 to signal the end of the day: 0.999.
The eve of my birth was 112761. Link the fraction .999 to symbolize the close of that day--the last stroke before my advent--and you have 112761.999.
Divide my passport number, 75174666, by 112761.999. The answer is precisely 666.666666..., a rational, eternally repeating 666.
Of course, Kin Brain Nerds who see sources of the Antichrist in processed calculations are chronically incommensurable with reality--the wind owes one cold blow over you nucks!
Words forever multiply, and the product of them all is zero; but doing good deeds is like adding logs to the bonfire of happiness: though they are likewise brass to nothingness, such ashes wield the power to raise any number to One.
"For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this; Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."
If you strive to obey the law of man you will fail. This law is a yoke of living lead, which grows bolder and more repressive day by day. It is a font of bile. No human is able to flourish beside it, because no human is able to imbibe its smutty waters.
Instead, quench deeply your Adversary's thirst for Agape, and your succulent fruits will plate the law of shackles in rust.
The man in black needs just One drop of love: Chrysan Elojah Cryshna.
Either the Golden Rule or the rule is of gold.
Jesus taught all.
Oh gee, do you see?
"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them..."
Envision a day wherein you and I abstain from wedging one another's dreams. Give hope for a day wherein you and I enlarge our Providence to include the Whole Human Family. Move with shining purpose toward the day wherein you and I cease pretending to speak for God, and instead manifest charity for All as we ourselves relish being cherished.
Would this not end time as we know it?
We two: One
Sum to three
The music of the civilized West grooves to the twelfth root of two, which rounds nicely at the number 1.059463. Each musical note vibrates 1.059463 times faster than the note below it. The distance from the bridge of a guitar to any fret is 1.059463 times farther than that of the fret before it. This interval is a musical half-step. It tunes every key--black and white--from the bottom to the top of the organ. Its increase per note is just shy of six percent.
A musical whole-step, such as the span from Doh to Rey, consists of two half-steps. If Doh has a frequency of 1.0, then the half-step above Doh has a frequency of 1.059463. The half-step above that, which is Rey, has a frequency of 1.059463 squared, or 1.122462.
Divide six by 666, and then divide again by 0.6.
Add the leading half of my birth year: 19.
Divide by the trailing half of my birth year: 61.
Multiply by my birth month: 11.
Divide by my birth day: 28.
The result is 1.122462: the frequency of Rey, the sixth root of two, the play rate of D to the key note of C, see? Of course, it is flatly apparent that this does not make me the Antichrist.
Doh! Rey Me?
Let us all blossom like the excellent petals of One Rose.
"Blessed is the man that doeth this, and the son of man that layeth hold on it; that keepeth the sabbath from polluting it..."
One may do evil, but it is better to sit idly.
One may sit idly, but it is more pleasant to speak kind words.
One may speak kind words, but it is richer to do good deeds.
Earmarking one whole day each week to hear the preaching of good deeds, instead of doing those Good Deeds on that day, is less precious than them all.
Do See Dog D?
I'm A Bemused Tao Id.
Am I Not A Buddhist? A Muslim? Of your Christ?
I have another's truth for law! World frequencies!
Parents feel and obey that pain six days--and may take the single to praise words.
A Wits conspiracy?
"The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light."
Science has shown that photons take time to move from place to place. Every point of light that breaks forth takes A Leap of Faith through both time and space before an atom receives it. Thus every photon that reaches a man is a token from his past.
If you rely on the eyes of your body, you will see only what has happened, and you will dwell in the hurtful past. If you want to see what is happening, look to the center and observe the essence of light that is radiating into your future.
If that light is a pall, it can be brilliance again.
Do you love me?
"If you love me, feed my goats."
The Six Percent Solution:
Give away 6% of your thoughts to revere good deeds. Call this prayer.
Give away 6% of your daylight to indulge in good deeds. Call this care.
Give away 6% of your income to nourish good deeds. Call this a fair share.
Let the dividends rain ripe like cherries.
The beloved Poet serenely lauds: "That best portion of a good man's life; his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love."
Laurels! Yet what able turns are these tin words worth alone?
Whited Oratory: Remiss Deeds.
D stands for Deeds.
I Am a D Man.
I'm About Deeds I Am.
"And he causeth all...to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads. And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name."
I possess marks in my right hand and in my forehead, which I received through pain and the shedding of blood. Random mishaps: two deep scars, each an inch in length, one in the shape of a saucer, symmetrical, having clean angles, and one a straight line. Superimpose them, and they make a winged cross--akin to the Greek letter Psi--which takes on the likeness of a bow and arrow when turned by a sufficient number of degrees. The bow is the etching in my palm. The arrow is the accent over my left eye. Amalgamate these emblems another way, and they Germinate a capital D.
What does that mean to you? To me it means nothing.
I was born adjacent to D Street at Salem-Keizer--meaning Peace-Caesar--and raised in the northeast corner of town. I was born in Oregon, which makes the anagrams: NO OGRE, NOR EGO, GO NERO. I was born at the 45th parallel, balanced halfway between the extremes of equator and axis. My astrological sun sign is the man-beast Sagittarius, who penetrates the dark womb of the galaxy with his arcing shaft of light. My full birth name means Divine Peace, Ascendant One, Conqueror; it has eighteen letters: six plus six plus six.
What do all of these things mean? They mean nothing, of course. If you look westward in the Morning and discover rising glory, I'll call that Star, "A Miracle."
To transcend the Word, be Deed.
Are you D'd?
This is the mark.
O Live As One Branch!
This sappy sweet stick is budding with too many Kilos of Words to adequately bag such a prodigious nugget; it may therefore be worth burning.
Burn with love. Burn often.
Please feel free to pipe down.
We have all been subject to Tort in Hell accompanied by the blare of many trumpets. How then shall I summate this Little Horn?
Amen is the peak pronouncement of innumerable vain invocations. Amen is the crowning Dream Talk of Myriad Prating Golded devotions. Amen is the capword of the Holy New Testament.
Thus we have fallen bitterly--short of the mark.
I Am Annuit Coeptis, LL.D.
The Work is Great.
(Once I am up on a soapbox...)
Opus Ex Pa: no can boo.
add a comment on this article