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The worst ecological disaster in the history of the USA? Try in the history of mankind.

“As oil continues gushing from the ocean floor into the Gulf of Mexico, with no sign of stopping until a new well is finished this August, scientists, environmentalists and local residents are beginning to reckon with the reality of a massive annihilation of sea creatures and wildlife.” (Source: IPS News Story)

The effects of the millions of gallons of oil leaking into the ocean, compounded by the use of highly toxic absorbent materials being used to try and control it are only the tip of the iceberg. The level of destruction to the oceanic food chain will be unlike anything the world has seen before, and its called a food chain for a reason. It is quickly becoming a very real possibility that this could become an extinction level event for all life on this planet.

And who is responsible for this? The oil and gas company itself, sure. But indirectly each and every one of you. Every single person that drives your gas guzzling SUVs. Everyone that has sat in their chairs, shaking your fists at the enviromentalist movement for their ‘scare tactics’ when talking about the enviroment. You wanted proof of their words? Well congradulations you have it. Now we can all die just so you could take the kids to soccer practice.

Even if this event in and of itself doesn’t destroy the food chain of the world, the continued extraction of crude oil from the planet directly increases the fragility of it. The oil lubricates the movement of the tectonic plates, and we’re emptying that lubricant out. Eventually, and this isn’t some thousand year eventually, this will lead to wide scale destabilization of the entire world. It will literally grind itself apart until the whole planet is destroyed.

This is what you have chosen for every single living thing on the planet. This is the future you’re bringing about. So act outraged all you want, but just remember, you and I are just as much to blame for this as they are. Even if it is indirectly.

The oil and gas industry has been under more fire over the past decade then any other industry because of their practices. The Alberta Oil sands, raping the earth and destroying thousands of kilometers of land just to feed your fucking faces. Deep ocean drilling and capsized oil tankers destroying entire species of life. And now this. And what did you do? You sat there, watched it on the evening news and shrugged in indifference.

I want you to take a few moments to think of all your loved ones in a line, and you holding a machine gun. I want you to imagine gunning them down until there is nothing left but a pile of blood and gore. Because that is exactly what you have done. At least when the end comes, I will at least take solace in the fact that you are going to die slowly and painfully from starvation. Of course, you could do us all a favor now, and blow your own heads off.

Might as well start watching the movie “The Road” now as a training guide on our glorious new world. I’ve had to censor my initial post on this subject due to my overwhelming rage and emotional reaction to this. Needless to say, my faith in humanity was never very strong to begin with, but now I can’t help but to look at all of us as nothing more then lice on the Goddess’ body. I’d say may she forgive us, but we don’t deserve it.

Combinative Pagan Outsourcing

Judeo-christian holidays are always highly entertaining to me. Especially because most of them are based on celebrations and ‘religious holidays’ of cultures that they violently assimilated.

The reason I say this is because this particular day is no exception to that rule. Easter itself’s name is derived from the germanic goddess Ostara, who’s own pagan Sabbat falls on or around the 21st of March. Ostara in her original form is known as Ēostre or Ēastre in old english or of course the high germanic name Ôstarâ which is where we modern pagans derive her name from. Honestly, the lack of proper letter accenting is just laziness on our part. But hey, we’re allowed. It’s OUR celebration.

A little further information on her for you from wikipedia. And yes, I know Wikipedia is an evil propaghanda machine, and I do not reference it often. But this information in particular, I’ve verified through other sources. Wikipedia: Eostre is attested only by Bede, in his 8th century work De temporum ratione, where he states that Ēostur-monath was the equivalent to the month of April, and that feasts held in her honor during Ēostur-monath had died out by the time of his writing, replaced by the "Paschal month."

So there you have it. The so-called rebirth of Jesus celebration is directly ripped off from celebrations that exsisted long before Christianity. Or more accurately, long before Christianity touched the regions they originate from at the very least.

Now, this maybe a little over analytical of me, but how could one possibly follow or believe in a religion that has been proven to have ripped off other religions blantantly? To be fair, one could say the same about modern paganism in some ways, especially when looking at Wicca in particular. Fair enough. But the difference is simply that Wiccans and other Pagans don’t pretend they invented this celebrations. They openly acknowledge the cultures and people that originally spawned them.

It’s called respect. Not only for other cultures and religions, but the very origins of spirituality in the world. I’ve tried to be respectful for the past few years towards all religions, even the catholic and christian ones. But quite frankly, respect is earned, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot see any reason to respect them. I mean honestly, how am I supposed to respect a religious institution that doesn’t even follow its own rules?

I’m not one to get hung up on the inquisition or stuff like that, simply because just as many ‘good christians’ and members of other religions were burned as witches were, if not more. But hello!? What part of ‘thou shalt not kill’ did they fucking miss? Same goes for the Crusades! You expect me to respect and harmonize with faschist hypocrites? Fuck that. I’m done ‘harmonizing’.

Here’s something I picked up off of Facebook that amused me greatly:

I See Dumb People

I think that about covers it. Happy Easter kiddies.

Emotions rule me this time of year. With all the energy starting to ripple through the air as the Maiden is reborn and the world is made new again, it seems to intensify everything I feel. And there in lies the problem I suppose. I’m seething and writhing with restlessness coursing through my veins like a torrent of instability. My mind is pushing and struggling against the binding of my physical body. A bittersweet typhoon of frustration and excitement for the comming months strains against my will itself.

So how do I vent this emotional intensity and instability? See, that’s exactly it. I don’t right now. I have no vent. I have nothing to release this on. Even this place isn’t enough. It’s just too much at this point in the year. I know it will settle down eventually, but for now I’m driving myself insane trying to figure out a way to get this out of my system. Or maybe find someone to help me with that problem. I need to get out of the house and do stuff. So what the hell am I going to do? Going to the Gym is going to help, sure, but it won’t be enough.

Whatever, you can leave now. I’m done talking to you.

Amorphis Discontent

A formless black, it stares endlessly at what should have been. As it focuses on memory both real and created in desperation, it changes to camouflage the wounds that never heal. But regardless of its shape, the pain is still evident. The empty is still there; that little dark spot that refuses to go away. It can’t go backwards, the shapes it takes don’t allow for that. But neither can it move on from something it never really understood until it was too late.

It could change colour like it does shape if it remembered how. But the empty made it forget. It has so much strength, so much power, but it cannot find the will to use it. The empty is all it holds on to. If one stares into it, they would see reflections of a world that may never be again. Doorways to places that the people have forgotten even exist. Doors that have rusted shut from disuse, and remain closed to the tragedy of all who once used them.

Black is its colour, not because of dark hearted thoughts or malevolence, but because it doesn’t remember what colours are. A shred of hope remains though, a glimmering tear of light in the empty. A singular face, a singular thought that could bring the vivid world back from fearful darkness. What now? Will the chameleon find its original shape? You tell me.

I’m finished making sense to anyone but myself. So this time I am writing an alleged attribute of dissonant dysfunctionality.

It was strange honestly. She walked in and my mind walked out just as quickly. As if it wanted to say “Yo. Dude. You don’t need me here for this shit. Peace home boy”. I was in a cloud at the time so I couldn’t see what was coming. If I had been able to see straight I would have probably walked a different direction. But hindesight = 20/20. Actually. I think its more  like 3.1415926535897932384626. But that’s just a guess.

Anyway, back to our unstory. That was day 1. The beginning of the beginning really. A three year beginning in fact, or at least that’s what I hope. Since then fate has been playing russian roulette with me. So far the score is Me 0, Fate 7, but I’m pretty sure she’s cheating. Is it normal to use a Glock in this game? If not, then we’re going to have a good long talk about both the black roses and the shining beauty of that music she makes with her alto sax. That is if I ever have the chance to again.

You see the violent angel has been encapsulated for her own safety. At least that’s what her loved ones believe. Maybe. I dunno. But this makes things difficult for me. I cannot feel her weaving her web around my face now. It’s been days in fact without anything more then a phantom echo of her favorite tune in my head, and by the Gods she has my solace plugged into her ears.

I’m just hoping she’s alright, and by the time this is over, she’ll still want to feed me the drug of her kiss. Drinking in my soul, and spitting it out in the fountain again. Squeeze, Bang, Crap. Me 0, Fate 8. Seriously, I call hax.

Contesting the Chaos

When it happens, it’s like the crack of thunder right in the back of your head. Your vision flashes with blinding light and everything becomes fuzzy. You stand there disoriented and say yes over and over. You do what she wants you to because you can’t do anything else. The tingling in your chest and spine deny you any recourse aside from the obvious. Instantly you know the cold truth of the matter, but it’s far too late at that point. The action has been pressed to commit and the damage is done. What follows is something between ecstasy and dementia. A flurry of flame and passion eating all sense and filling one with previously unknown strength and power. The drug has found its home and through your veins it gleefully dances. The confusion is everywhere, the fear finds its home deep within, and the end is held off with every weapon you can create with your mind.

Know what I mean?

In this case, the fear of being alone even when surrounded by friends and loved ones. A side effect of my ability to adapt and become ‘in balance’ with the personalities of people around me is that I never am truly one of any particular group or social structure. And so though I may have a great deal of friends and family, there is always a sense of disconnectedness from all of them.

So the fear of actually being as isolated from the rest of reality as I percieve myself to be, causes the need for companionship to grow even moreso. But moreso, it makes for a lovely cocktail of self-loathing and depression. Granted, the Mask prevents me from actually wallowing in these feelings for more then a few minutes when I am around others. But alone.. well. I have other defense mechanisms in place for that. It starts with a sappy song of some sort. Maybe two if I am extra masochistic that day. This of course invokes further delving into an atmosphere of helplessness and powerlessness. Then the mechanism kicks in. I well up anger and rage. I throw on my most aggressive music, and with a bottomless well of hatred, convince myself that I am better than everyone else. To be fair, I am better then most people, but everyone is a little pushing it.

The fucked up thing about it is. I see this pattern and yet cannot seem to break it. I can and have traced it back further than this of course. But the root problem.. well that’s something for most of you to wonder about for the rest of your lives. Sharing time is over kiddies. Fuck off.

Damn it.

A few days now have passed since the beautiful nightmare managed to cut through every emotional block and mental wall I put up over the last decade. I thought maybe by now the emotion would dim back down to its previous place and the wound would heal, but it hasn’t. I find this both confusing and disturbing at the same time.

The primary problem with this situation is that, I thought I was past all this. I thought I had managed to push through these emotions once and for all and move on. I thought the worst was over. So why now?

My room mate and best friend seems to think that it has something to do with facing my shadow self and evolving beyond some spiritual and mental barrier. Others tell me that I cling too tightly to the past and it is causing me these problems. I can’t see either being true. For one, how does crippling me emotionally serve the purpose of helping me evolve, and for two, I hadn’t even really talked to her in awhile.

I mean I am no ancient shaman, or psychologist for that matter. But I would like to think with 19 years of magical & occult practice and more then a little experience with the darker, more unpleasant side of the human psyche, I would know my own mind and soul just a touch better then others seem to give me credit for.

Not that this is of course suprising to me. Those around me mean well, I know they do. But alas their own egos interfere with their judgements and opinions more then they realize. Their advise and words, nearly quote by quote from books and such. Thanks all, but I’m more willing to trust myself on this one. I got through this the last time alone, I will do it again.. maybe.

The point remains however that this is somehow different. That the barriers weren’t just wounded and cracked maybe, but utterly destroyed. All that emotion that laid dormant pours out constantly, tainting my very perception of the world around me. I’ve lost all interest in those utterly mundane pursuits I followed before. I find it difficult to even relate to those who care aboutt me without the bitterness of loss making me angry. They don’t understand, they cannot understand, and their half-hearted platitudes are not helpful.

Hell, even she doesn’t really understand. And I don’t expect her to really. I guess everything didn’t mean nearly as much as it did to me. I’m fine with all of that though. I just… need to find a way to turn it off. To go back to the shallow emotioned drone I was for the past decade and pretend this whole hellish thing never happened.

Yeah… fuck.

At first it was thundering waves of unstoppable fire and torrential edifices of blood straining at their boundaries. A visage of unyielding power relentlessly twisting the edges of reality itself.

But time changes all things. And as time walked across its unerring yet decieving path the storms calmed. Thunder and torrent became still surface and smoldering embers. Cracks formed in the once pressured barriers and the contents spilled out in one defining moment of utter hopelessness.

Leaking into the nothingness, very little remained. With these sacred things other pieces slipped away. Hope, Happiness, even Ruthless Hatred. Though tiny fragments remained of all, they were coated in the grey and empty.

Then forces unknown interceded. Visions of the lost source filled the nothingness for a brief moment in deceptive time. Though the containers remained cracked the flames flared to life and the blood swelled from an unknown source. As it remains for now.

They have a focus, a purpose. But what will happen to them, to their containers, is unknown. For they feed off the last shreds of hope mixed in with them. And that hope is yet to be proven false or fruitful.

I pray to the unknowable divine; God and Goddess. I pray to the faeries and elementals. I pray to all the beautiful creatures of my heart and imaginings. Let the hope not be false.

The Cruelty Of Dreams…

I sit here awake, at 3 in the morning waking from the worst nightmare I’ve had in awhile. My nightmare wasn’t one of foul beasts or evil men. In fact, it held nothing people would think of when they speak or hear of nightmares at all.

This dream took me to an infinitely unknowable house that may or may not really exist, where my soul mate was. We met again and for the first time in 12 years I hugged her. I felt her vividly in my arms. We sat under the stars and I asked her if she missed me. Her nodded response, and the fierce kiss that followed were perfect and beautiful. I felt for a fleeting moment that incredible happiness I haven’t known since. And just as my heart had life breathed into it, I awoke here in my bed.

What a cruel mosaic to paint on the mind of a half-missing man my Goddess. I miss her so very much.

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