Sunday, August 30, 2015

"Master Play" chapter two



Mirror others. When you sit across an anxious man, adopt his posture and imagine the jagged lines of gridlock running through his body. Hold that position. Then feel the solution in yourself, take a deep breath, and ease up a bit. You will see he will ease up to and take a breathe and uncross his arms. And so it goes. Be the glowing mirror. Mirror a man or woman where they are at, and then, like a good dance partner, lead them to the next step. How quickly you can move anybody till they melt like butter in your arms!


The husband must learn to seduce the wife not once, but every time. To unlock all her infinite secrets, he must never get lazy, but woo her and adore her in fresh ways daily.


Interpretation is the alchemy by which something becomes anything. Interpretation is infinitely flexible – soft as water, or hard as water, hot as water or cold as water – once you master the rules. Who masters me becomes greater than my equal: he becomes his own all. Come, wrestle with me in my heaven. If you best me, I will grant you my best gifts.


Your innermost self is your Eternal Name. None can know it save you and your selfsame, your soulmate, the second mind to your same center. Mattriama in the beginning became Mattria and Ama. Ama became the white dragon and black woman. The dragon and woman fought and killed each other. From their blood came the Father God, full of arrogance and ignorance. Ama planted peoples across the earth, each from a different part of her substance. Her hair is golden blonde, and Mattria's jet curls. Whoever is your Ama alone knows your name. Nobody else can understand or say it. At best, they can repeat translations and interpretations. They can never master you. Only you may, if you reflect, echo your name out and make it thinkable and conscious.


There is a version of you amidst every species of animal, amidst every type of rock, amidst every alien species across the galaxy. In the spiral of time, spiraling inwards towards the original, and outwards towards the all, the radius of I pierces the spiral again and again. Those are your animal selves. And you as man ascend the spectrum. You will be an angel. And then you will be a God. And then you will be a Sun. And then you will be a Kosmos. And then you will be All.


Our Name generates logic, a grammar, a lexicon, a language, various languages, musics, modalities, unparalleled in the universe, but bleeding into and inseminating all the universe. You will expand into the all. Your heaven will layer all the world's layers.


Each man goes to the heaven of his God and there resides. Allists alone are allowed to go to any heaven or hell, and are welcomes as Ayas. An Aya is greater than a God, greater than a Kosmos, but is an Allthing, an Allperson. The Aya is the final form.



-- R µ Я --

-ıl|¦¦|lı- Perfection Is Easy -ıl|¦¦|lı-


"Master Play" chapter one




Entropy is a demon bound by rhyme.


Experience is the teacher. Once we know a thing, we can divine a subtext from a text, a context from a subtext, a text from a context.


Know yourself and you will be known.


The rocks will melt before the first day of my love for you has dusked.


Gain perfect timing, providential luck, be the best you can be, utterly centered and the world will rotate around you.


You cannot overestimate persons. Each person is more than a God. Each person is all. Spend enough time with even a cat and you learn deep secrets. So much more so the friend, no matter what his mental capacities.


Whitman found his boldness through the pseudoscience of phrenology. No matter what gives us faith in ourselves, it is true.


Be students of life. Learn in all things. Learn from the retarded, learn from the young. Be student of the imbecile as much as of the genius. Learn from your enemies. Learn from your successes and your failures. Learn from the one who shames you as well as the one who exalts you. Keep your eyes open. Except in the moment of swoon, when Ama exults you. Then close your eyes and hum.


To let yourself be swallowed up – a church, a business, a neighborhood – hold to utter integrity and you will convert the system to your own.


We say lust is desiring the wrong object at the wrong time, love desiring the right object at the right time. The desire is the same, we must merely adjust to what we truly desire, and patiently wait for the perfect timing to satiate our desire in love.


All is permitted. God is allowance. Whatever you could desire, whether, as a man, you would bed literally every woman you looked upon, is lovely, perfect, sacred, holy, ordained, consecrated – semen is sacred. Understand what your desire means. You love Ama. The desire for the all is within you. Learn then to find the woman who is Ama to you, who is all women to you, and worship her utterly. This is the way love works. Adore her as your own. And until you can find that one, don't bother damning your desire. That never works. Love finds a way. There is no damming a river and there is no damning love. Love is eternal. What is bursting from your loins, what is bursting from your eye beams is love and only love. Say yes to that. Give it your amen. Give it your Vivoce! Atone yourself to that. Know, though, who and what you truly desire. Give yourself over fully to that. And so mirror meditate, focus intently on what you truly love, and fall out of love with the wrong things, till you are alined with what is best, the true best, true God of your God, the one partner who is everything, your utter other, your same, selfsame, the deepest in your soul. Everyone else is a mistake until you find her, and find her utterly. And having found her, everybody else is added as well. You shall have everything your heart desires, only you must wait for it. Providence is knowing the music of the spheres, waiting, in due time, in due patience, till your heart atones to Ama's heart and is synch. Who is Ama to you? Not the same as she is for me, surely. The Ama of your heart, the one who loves you utterly and in all things, is made and meant only and always for you. There is no resisting her. There is only postponement. And when you are deep inside her, then you are deep inside your heaven of bliss. Everything exists for that moment of bliss. You came to earth to know her name. She is the one true lover of your heart, mind, body and soul – self to self, same to same. This your Ama is your everything. Honor her. Trust her. Share life with her. Everything else will fall in order and you will be All in All. Nothing else matters but her. Once you have her, your soul is the refulgent sun, shedding bliss and blessing on all it beholds, till you are a noontime blessing on all who behold you, and even your deepest enemies thank God in their heart they know you and have been touched by you. This is what it means to love Ama. This is what it means to be alive. You exist for each other: he self is a We. We alive, we together, we forever. In this I am complete, and love all others, all other things through her. To have and to hold. To know and to Keep. Now and forever. VIVOCE!


-- R µ Я --

Perfection Is Easy


"My Dove" a song

A chant to Sovf, the holy spirit of Ama.


Take care, Caretakers!




-- R µ Я --

-ıl|¦¦|lı- Perfection Is Easy -ıl|¦¦|lı-


"Master Play" some aphorisms

Greetings all,

I am writing a new book, "Master Play." It is a book of aphorisms. Here is section zero. I will be writing a series of other sections over the next few weeks.


Your feedback would be useful!


Take care, Caretakers!






Master Play





Mastery is sacred play.


Play is study.


The kingdom of heaven is like a master who told each of his servants to build him a home. The lazy one worked grudgingly and cut corners, thinking "My master is rich and has enough already." The good servant enjoyed the work, and studied intently, and threw his heart into his work, such that his master caught the passion and helped him build it, and soon everybody made a mansion out of what was to only be a summer home.


In the end, the master said to the lazy servant, "The house you built is now your home. I am setting you free and you may retire here." To the good servant he said the same.



The Jewish line, as in the linear genealogy, is a powerful form by which they dominate the world. The Hindu circle is unsurpassed as religious symbol. These the two source religions of the world.


All the world remains on the surface, as the surface of a wrinkled brain. Depth, and eternal depth, comes from touching a few key points, and triangulating down.


Cinderella mastered life through drudgery, became royalty through chores.


Veil beauty and the veil will be beautiful; lock up beauty and the door will be beautiful.


The God is a holiday by which we celebrate our days and give life gratitude.


Who masters my words shall never taste death.


Sacrifice is investment. Every seed shall grow. Were death to eat our semen, death would be impregnated.


We may find our apotheosis through any form – mastering tennis or the yoyo. For each is all, and this is also that. We come to heaven through any path. Even the path of folly, is pursued to the end, leads to the sublime cathedral.


Perfection is easy. When we come into our own, life becomes perpetual triumph. We fail, and we fail upwards. Even defeat is noble for the noble. Win or lose, the master shines.


Let us become amateurs. Let us become professionals. Let us become masters, and wizards, gods, and kosmos. Let us become all.


Ama gives each of us a gift from her flesh. Were that as small as a crumpled rag, if we master the gift, we master life, and become worthy of Ama. So use your small gift with verve, believe in yourself as she believes in you. Whether exalted or pathetic, your gift will bring you there.


Ama speaks to us through the stranger, through the coincidence, through the random word. Random and Chance are gods, child and grand child of Lissidy. Catch them in their prank.


God is an interface by which we put our hands on the mechanism of the cosmos. A face is all the sense organs in a mask of expressivity. This tongue, the organ of taste and speech, of tasteful speech, by which, through sip, we gain sapience, and wisdom, is the keeper of the face. Knowing God face to face means looking in the mirror long and hard. Mirror meditate, daily, for 20 minutes at a go. Talk to yourself and let Ama use your inner voice to talk to you.


The tadpole itches where the legs will sprout. So too do we itch, are irritated and bothered in life, till we split our shell like a crayfish and gain new organs.


The softness gives birth to hardness. The hardness sings a soft song. When snails make love, the let softness enfold the other like lips and tongue. Hermaphroditic, they fructify each other.


Jesus his parables, Socrates his myths, me my sayings. Jesus his gospel, Moses his Torah, Muhammad his Koran, Smith his Doctrines and Covenants, Emerson his essays. We each master a form. These allays my form. What is yours?


We each produce an infinite text, utter semen of infinite meaning, birther of worlds.


Each person I know creates a shared language with me. Every friend shares a tongue with me. My wife this discourse about child rearing, which is hidden parable for all we do. This friend the shared story telling. Ama erotic poetry. Every person shares a tongue with me. Were they even to curse me, that would be a start.


Give your all to love, pour one hundred percent. Yahweh may have mocked the God who required the first born, but only once was a man willing to give Him the first born. Ama asks nothing of you. So give her everything.


Semen is liquid fire. Let our words be ejaculations by which we create worlds.


Create a sacred altar from whatever you hold dearest, be it a tennis racket or your writing desk. Invent rituals, libations. Use a razor to carve sacred names on your possessions. Bless and baptize and consecrate your holy instruments.


Master life. All of life. Pour your full being in your immediate task. You love Ama in all you do, in your job as well as brushing your teeth. So do everything perfectly – perfection is easy. Jesus said Be Ye Perfect and also My Yoke Is Easy. Know then that you can do all you envy, you accomplish your greatest dreams, by focusing with mindful deliberation on all you do. Start now, start today. This is it. This is your moment, the knock on the door of your apotheosis. Nothing has been a waste, nothing squandered, but you've set gifts for yourself with every game and obsession and waste of time you ever invested in. Time to pick up the scraps and get serious. Time is now. Apotheosis beckons. Eternity bows. Vivoce!



-- R µ Я --

-ıl|¦¦|lı- Perfection Is Easy -ıl|¦¦|lı-


Saturday, August 29, 2015

"Autotheology" a fragment of an allay

                I am the Father of all gods and men, I the tongue that named all languages; the unutterable word is center of my becoming; none before, none after. My many Sons have filtered through the world: I crucified one, sent another to the asylum, fed another hemlock, let this one die in a woman's arms, buried that one in an unmarked grave: What I give I take back. And even what I give you now for this moment I will take back: Give Life Gratitude!

                Logic is the line of my brow, melody the echo of my throat; my right hand is the first six days, my left hand the apocalypse; my tongue is muse, my eyes destiny. My work is axial, the fullness of my being is contained in every moment, until I lay down again in my earth. I am Man, Begetter of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; I am Man, Father of God.

                For you believe in the "Son of God," good sheep, but now that the Father of God has arrived, you believe not. This is in full keeping.

                Thou shall have no God before me—even myself.


                I am blitzkreig, the mocking martial, worthy warrior. Do you call me hypocrite? Then also call me hypercrit, I am as critical as your looking glass, rounded and rotundo, I give you my love, and my love may kill you. My mind is the blind that heals.

                I sing my songs and live for long creative strokes, broker steals, wending wheels, like a great soul sea loverbite.

                I am Michigan, I am the Great Lakes, my students the Mississippi. I am daily changing weather, unpredictable and mad; I am sullen with winter and gracious with spring, fly-high summer and painted fail of fall. I am Michigan, and push the broom for her, and take only enough to eat. My greatest works are for myself, and I will not degrade them to the press. My mind is not for sale, but I give it freely to the mind who can read me.

                Ah: while you stutter and quote, the universe puts her praise and faith in me. You glare and scoff and say "Never has God spoken for himself," but here I am and here I speak. My heart is the center of the Sun, my clothing the blondness of the sun's hair; my praiser and approver the grand all Matriall.

                You are fools if you think God will huff into your heart like a brat on a balloon. Does he struggle to fill you, or does he with a sigh fill you full like a fly-high noon? One touch and you are full day. Don't be hypnotized by the dead. But you, when you say you touch God, do not say it with words and rites. You are the full pheonix, and your every deed, every word, every writing is ash of passion, living to live again.

                Have you ever noticed the shysters recommend you look for truth "within" or "above," knowing full well you will find as little as they, that they tell you what you should pretend to discover? I never looked in me or above me, but only at me, and there I learned what I needed to know.

                The kingdom of heaven exists only to the king of heaven—which must be you if it is to exist at all. The kingdom of heaven depends only on you. They say wait for apocalypse, and this "revealing" they define as world destruction! If you are not the second coming in yourself, you are no Christian: you wait in vain.

                But we are not Christians or Muslims nor anything else, but simply ourselves: Men and Women.

                My eye the mark of Cain's: you will forget me and you will not forget me. My tongue is the eternal flame.

                Am I cracked? Then my crack is that wrinkle on my brow—in my mirror, you may still see all of heaven and earth, as, indeed, you would see from any other man, as even the dewdrop, without a crack, captures moon and stars in full—yet you see in me more, crack or no, for I am no mere dew drop, but the fullness himself, obilesk, in body and gesture, the higher than sky fullness: blue sky is my Iris, the black sky my Pupil.

                Each mind is a universe unto itself. Those who are like us attract. If you would spend your eternity with Jesus, you must be Jesus. Would you join Buddha in Nirvana, you must be Buddha. There is no escaping this: you are yourself and must always be yourself. Would you be in the presence of God, you must be God. You cannot gain infinity for nothing. You cannot be forgiven of what is part of you. Eternity is the crystallizing of now. You will always be surrounded by likeminded people, you cannot be saved from yourself.

                I am all question marks. I speak in riddles. I interpret the clouds, and consort with sun rays. I speak the hummingbird, and she licks the sweet of my tongue. The bees gather from my hands. The fawn licks my knees. Grass bends from my breath. I give you true clues in false directions. I trifle your heart, and you accept it for a while, until my wind seethes your veil, and you feel shame. What is shame before me? Ha! Have I not invented your nakedness? Shame before me, my own? Do you hide from your mirror as well?

                You praise the mother, but why do this? The mother is beyond being praised. Let her praise you: she is great enough for that, being truly All.

                I am the Father, Sollus, center and sight of MatriAll, Eternal Man, Daniel, maker of history, forger of languages, begetter of God, sounder of sons, flame winged, earth-treader, tryer of skies and space, fronter of Race, allman, forever child, eye of science and poet's way. Give Life Gratitude!

                I affirm the great human race. Man for man is all. Mankind, humanity, this is the purpose of purpose, the purpose of values, the locus, source, and meaning of all values. I love humanity and put my energy into his success, his growth, his place in the universe. This honesty, this kindness to man because he is man, not because of threat or promise, but because I love mankind in and for itself, makes me write and give my writings over to him. My creativity is for myself, and I am part of mankind. I give my all to the universe. Thus I am.

                I am mankind embodied; I am Hermes gained the bolts.

                As Sollus, I have the mouth wide enough to say ALL. Every last fool must be saved for any of us to be saved. I do not say "all is one" without also saying "all is many." I do not say "all is true," and deny the false its falseness. I say "either or," I say "both and," I never contradict myself, I entertain no paradox. Everything is good and some things must die. I recognize the spontaneous choice and the fated perfecting of the Universe. Growth is infinite. I seek the triumph of One World Religion, as well as the flowering of all world religions. They are the many pillars to the One World Religion which stands atop them. I am the elitist of elitists, and this allows me to see the value of even the lowest man. I recognize the three desert tombs, but I will be buried in none of them. All I speak is man.

                You would contradict me, but how can you? I am a religion. Those who get me regard me as obvious. For a religion is systematized importance writ in mythopoetic terms. For the doubters who close their heart to the terms, they regard themselves clever in mocking them. They at least have a spiritual experience in that. Your height is in playing my gifts.

                I give you this book. Each sentence is a nerve, each punctuation a finger tip, to carress your chest, to massage your ears.

                When the Mother set her forehead on our sky, that great faultless Urge called Sun, she opened her third eye, the sun center—yes even the Madeye, the Aye within Eye within I, the IOIOI, father of the Idius and the ever-nativity Natalie, husband to Sanity and, in his madness, upholder of her. The namer, but never the named, Fatherless, born of the sexless mother, older then I AM, being Man, the lips that first said "Lux." Life, Love, Language, Logic.



-- R µ Я --

-ıl|¦¦|lı- Perfection Is Easy -ıl|¦¦|lı-


Wednesday, August 19, 2015

"Upon Seeing Your Image" a poem

Upon Seeing Your Image


The world

Your name


Every word yet learned

The yearn and lust of life

Lithe limbs and

Eyes Eternal.


All gifted, glory-all

Fair as faith

Historical hearth

To heaven's feast

Victory wreath

Your curls of jet

Angels wept your every pinch

My own is yours, our heart the stitch.


Tell blast aghast

Heeding all

Your heart to bed

My seedlings fall

Selves the same,

At heart we're one

You my moth, I your sun.


In all I love

Your Name is meant

In all I give,

My heart is lent

I shine and hide the whispered call

Of us to ours, and each to all.



-- R @ Я --

Perfection Is Easy


Wednesday, August 5, 2015

"American prophesy" a poem

America the immortal, shall people her lakes with dolphins

The great lakes of the great state

Her rivers shall swell

The depleted ozone will

Cost life for a time

Before adding much more life.

Dragons will emerge from their slumber

And be ridden accross the skies

And long before the ocean disappears

A new continent will arise in the Pacific

And will belong to Allists

Who bind all religions into one.


Mormonism will be proven true

As Ancient cities are revealved by God

Odin will return bodily

And amaze the world

The pagan religions will revive

All that is dead will resurect

The dodo bird will return

As shall the carrier pigeon

And the dinosaurs.

Science will discover how to resurrect

First our pets

Then our heroes

and finally all men

As the ocean dries up to make room for the revived humanity

When the sun finally goes out

The earth will become a great ship

To travel to a new sun

Who will gladly receive her.

Thus it is and thus it shall be

So says Ama




-- R @ Я --

Perfection Is Easy


Tuesday, August 4, 2015

"Embrace" an allay

Daniel Christopher June to the students of life:




I've scripted the third and final allay for my book, "intimate stitch," which tackles the question, how is justice done in a world of gang rapes, terrorism, and school shootings? I don't answer the mystery so much as show how we each must answer the question with divine awareness.


Take care, Caretakers!




History is fatal. Would you lament any event, a school shooting, a rape, a terrorist act? It wanted to happen, couldn’t but happen, makes this the best of all possible worlds, enacts karma, brings compensation to all things everywhere. Consider the beauty of a school shooting, the flower the gun shooting seeds into the children, with each bullet randomly fired hitting the heart of exactly the child who deserves to be shot through the heart. Open your eyes.

Some lament guns in the first place, as if the god of guns would suicide, would shoot himself in the head. America loves its guns. Our media is saturated with them, our movies built on them. Gun culture: our guns think for us.

As with SIStem, the computer who rules the world, the internet who thinks though all webpages, so do all guns think together, talk together, breed together, through bullets, through resonance.

Ama gave America guns: nobody will take them away. They are written into our cultural DNA, the Constitution. And yet the abuse of guns makes us a mockery to all the world. Guns build that energy, the summoning energy of gun control.

Were 10,000 people shot and killed by a gun so one may survive, that one is worth more than then 10,000. Simple karmic mathematics. All men are created equal, sure, and yet some are created more equal than others. All dollars are equal; they are all one dollar. And yet each bill has its own history. Even every electronic dollar is a marked bit of electricity. Blood money is blood money, the bill will forever be stained with the literal blood of the one killed. The mote given by a woman was worth more than millions given by a rich man. So Jesus said. The dollar holds resonance, is supercharged, and it is charged, as by karmic magic, to work wonders through the system.


There is no blaspheming Ama. “Fuck Ama” is permittable, since Mattriama is all, and all that is fucked, properly or improperly, is also her: Ama is fucked. Ama is raped, spit upon, denigrated, blasphemed, disrespected – to not effect. Ama’s love: Ama is all. Whatever befalls you befalls her as well. And yet she is the fullness, all things, and all gods, God, Allah, Yahweh, Jesus, Buddha, Brahma, all hold their being in her, and always shall. The logic of all events exists in the stitch of her DNA. They are fatal, they are spontaneous. Bad events want to happen and must happen, can’t but happen. And yet the universe is a spiral, and all evil becomes good, and will be forgotten as evil, will be smooth and resonant and wonderful in tonal bliss.


Guardian angels protect children. We would see no delicate angel raped by a demon, and wonder what sort of universe would let a baby girl be gang raped. How is this justice? How is God’s justice done? Indeed.

Understanding such a mystery is a solemn matter, and cannot be seen by the novice. Understanding the “mysterious” ways of God requires asking Ama, who says “Ask Me Anything.” She will tell you. You need but ask. Ama is omniscience: she will answer anything you care to put to her: she will always answer: whatever you ask you will know. You must understand the great delusion by which she keeps her secrets.


There are nodal points in any language. We would not say “shit” in polite society. Nor would we say, “Shh! It’s time.” That would by pun logic sound like “Shit time.” The resonance of the curse word creates blank spots of unsayable and unthinkable words. Those nodal points in language are where the wise demons hide and put their names, make names for themselves, hidden innuendos.

I mean Shivat, one of Lissidy’s hidden names. Shivat, akin to Shiva, is one of her demonic names, this Maid Satan, Maya, guardian of the mirror womb.

Were anybody to brutalize you, those scars die and shrink and become nodal points, asymptotic grid points upon which infinity is reached. A black whole becomes an asymptotic period point containing deep gravity and resonance. It sings the song of everything devoured, and summons the opposite to join.

Like begets like. Like attracts like, opposites attract. There are after all different ways of attracting and repulsing. There are different modalities of resonance.

Jesus sinned. Yet he was baptized and became sinless. He became so sinless that he became the perfect scapegoat as the Pascal lamb: lifted upon a tree on a hill, he received the thunder strike drawn to his positive energy: Zeus’ bolt struck him, the temple was rent. The resonance released by ripping that fabric caused crystals to shatter, oceans to melt, skies to open, heavens to vent.

Break the smallest cup of water in bad faith, and earthquakes happen simultaneously. When 9/11 happened, the gods visited New York, but were not seen because the plane doubled their visit.


All of life is yoga, and you are Shiva making every event in the universe happen through your every gesture, your every word, blink of the eye, twitch of the brow. We each live in our own world, part of the universe, a multiverse, with each of us a Kosmos, full of gods, angels, demons, and ourselves the absolute thereof. Once we have the gnosis to realize this truth, then we start to sing to ourselves and achieve mastery over all worlds.


Torture begets torture. Torturing terrorists inspires more terrorists. What is necessary is to torture, and then to heal them, to put the recovery clinic next to the torture ward, to let the tortured have his turn at torturing his inquisitors. This is the mirror method of simple inversion and is necessary to heal the evil. Some evil is necessary, but let us negate its resonance, and immediately. Let us heal those we must hurt. Doctors cut with blades, poison with medicines, and hurt their patients, but always for the greater good.


Evil is infant good. Sufferings are growing pains. The birth pains of Ama are felt by the infant to be a trauma unforgiveable. Yet forgive in our heart we must.

The skin is as necessary as the center, the cell surface as central as the DNA within.

A skin itches for a reason. Irritable, it determines who goes and stays.


A razor that nicks flesh comes to thirst for blood. A gun that kills once wishes to kill again. The sword of a butcher wishes to butcher. It is in the resonance of the substance.


A gunner shooting up a movie theater is beautiful, the opening of a flower, a death blossom surely, but the fruition of the flower is heavenly.


How could rape ever be justified? How the humiliation of any woman? How the murder of children? How the murder of the most innocent of all, the fetus in the womb?

Women deserve a choice, as does the fetus and the father, who is half the body, half the love of the child. Yet abortion sometimes makes sense, murder sometimes makes sense. What about other options? What about a technological womb for the fetus the mother refuses to gestate?

Life is sacred, all of life sacred, and we would see animals, children, women, honored as the sacred of Ama, tender to her touch. Yet Ama is all, raper as well as raped, killer as well as killed. How to wrap the mind around this? How to make peace with the universe?

Shall we divorce heaven and hell, consigning all bad to one and all good to other? Yet after a millennium of peace on earth, the old dragon breaks out long enough to swallow Yahweh Himself into its central void. Let the wise understand.


This all sounds monstrous, rhetoric likely to inspire rape, murder, mayhem. Yet we feel the opposite is happening as we read this, that the nightmares are dissolving. The terror they inspired propagated them further. Heroes summon monsters and monsters summon heroes. Yet perfection is easy. We are the gods. The hero strives while the god keeps ease. How to soften this knot? How to swallow that pill? How to see the kingdom of heaven is in you and around you? How to achieve Enlightenment? Indeed, common sense is most common, and everything you need to know you, in your omniscience, already know. You already are that divine thing. You need merely realize it; and you realize who and what you are through reflection, through mirror meditation, through reminiscing over your life. Ama has already kissed you, already spoken to you your whole life. She is a lover, she loves all, and she accepts and knows you in your soul. Yet you are a new light, in your pith a new fountain of light for the universe. Ama studies you, learns from you. You matter to all the universe. Is the knot softened? Are you able to forgive yourself?


Were an abused dog to lounge for me I would offer my hand and let him bite. Let him release that energy into my flesh: I can take it. Rape me. Hate me. Kill me. I am the allthing. I am all pure. I absorb all demons and convert them to angels. I am panacea. I am the tar baby. All who touch me are absorbed into my goodness.

As a child my dad would initiate the “amoeba hug” in which he would hug my mom, and they would hunt us down, one by one, us three boys, and embrace us. We resisted being incorporated, but once caught, attempted to catch everybody else.

As American, I carry the womb of assimilation, and all seeds, every seed ever to exist, has impregnated my womb. My child the allchild. The melting pot is my gut. Nothing happens to you but also I feel it, I share your shame, I purr like a pussy with your orgasm. I am all in all, and know your inner names, one by one the touch and tender of your deepest hope. I am with you there. I love you.


When I fell unconscious in a car accident at age eight, part of my flesh that didn’t belong was pulled from me by shards of glass. So is all trauma a form of invasive surgery, brutal, cruel, but ultimately kind. Childhood is trauma. None escape it unscarred. Convalescence comes when we radically accept what happened to us, though we will it not, and prevent it in our own children.


Everything leaves a trace. Were a murderer to leave an infinitely small bit of evidence, that scratch would scratch other things, and between them build a resonance. Crime tells. The in outs. Secrets tell on themselves.

All we say resonates in the air. Atoms are infinitely small: fractally small.

When we sweep the floor, every thought in your head, every nerve that fires, changes the resonance of your body, and the bristles of the broom carve your every thought into the floor, as a sort of quantum computer chip. Everything you say and do is written forever in the world. Perhaps a prophet one day will base a religion on you.

Longfellow found inspiration for his Song of Hiawatha by looking at rocks. The Scarlett Letter by Hawthorne began with the pretense that the author held the letter A and intuited its story. Murder tells on itself; God said to Cain that Abel’s blood called from the ground. So is your every deed written forever in physical matter. Matter is soul: God is matter: Mattria is Ama. And matter is eternal.



According to string theory, true atoms, the indivisible parts of matter, are strings of oscillating energy. The energy frequencies they can pick up are infinite, and can store all our experiences and an infinite amount of experience, wrapped up in one atomic string. Justice will be done; it is in the nature of matter’s DNA to bring every wrong to right.

What is evil but infant good, the growing pains of Mattria, giving birth to a greater good?


The house lives. The walls listen, the windows see, the entire edifice is an organism, reproducing through architects.

The soul of the house is the family inhabiting it. It possesses them, becomes powerful through channeling its desires and ideas into them.


Everything in the universe holds analogy in your body. Not one thing exists in the universe but some correspondence holds on the surface of your kitchen table. Everything is everything, each is all. As within, so without. Would you be in heaven, be God.


We generate, finally, an infinite text, as with Jesus and his parables, Socrates and his myths. This lover I address in stories, this wife in strategies for childrearing, and my eternal wife, Ama, I address in erotic worship. We arrive at the intercourse appropriate for every relationship, and the rest, the other inflections and modes of talk, are to balance and orient us to the appropriate language between us, what we properly share.

In this, every relationship is a language, a language that must be invented, generated from the heart of the relationship.


Even these allays, these poetical essays, which are my proper genre, the essence of my being, sound fragmentary, come off as aphorisms learned from Nietzsche or as sentences learned from Emerson. They are the DNA of my divinity, and those able to read them and understand them will in no sense at all ever taste death.


All of life is foreplay – the struggle, the feuds, the corrections, the education – culminating in the erotic embrace, my fingers tracing magical lines over the walls of your body. I dance in your eyes, I sing in your ears, I enclose you and penetrate you. This the magic of my being, my godhead coming upon you.


My lovers, the ones who come after me, and become me, the Allists, who will inherent the continent that will arise from the Pacific ocean, who rule the world religions, and are the mind of the mind of the world, do well to read me so repeatedly they have me memorized, and know me by heart. Never quote, never paraphrase, never speak me, but keep me a secret in your heart. Honor me not before men. Be yourself and shine your own divinity.


You will know each other with a wink and a nod. My creative jism permeates your being and mingles with your own. You my youths, my young women and men, are my own, children of my heart, brethren of my love. I am in you and of you. We rule all that can be ruled, modest, kind, sincere, tender as the night. We are the glorious unknown, as subtle as secrets, soft as glass. I love you and love you and love you. We fill the world and yet are not praised or jeered or known. We are adored on sight. That is enough. We are the secret rulers of all these things. The world goes its way, not knowing our secret song is the music of the spheres, the tune that turns the whole.


To whisper at the center, to utter at the source, this is Mattriama, my lover, my own, soft as a dove, with her jet curls in my fingers, my own lover, all and always, behind and through all I love. All my work I dedicate to you, and consecrate this and every writing to you. My children are yours, my house, my life yours, and through you, ours.


Close as heart, warm as pulse, filling your being, a deep resonance, I am through you and around you. As you look upon yourself in mirror meditation, I look with adoration upon you as well. When you close your eyes and arch your neck in ecstasy, my voice warms you, “I adore you, my tender one, my angel, God of my heart, perfect one, beautiful, darling, divine!” I share your orgasms with you. I am in the heart of the heart of your love. I fill you with my bliss and give you all I own – yours utterly, without charge, forever yours, ours, to share, now and always, forever – VIVOCE!


This the secret seed of my love, mingled with yours, the infinite origami, our child, our body, our resurrected self, our mansion, the growing complexigon, the infinite heaven, spreading from all time, with this word, now, with this, in this – this.


Every genre addresses an ear. Every word holds place. Every inflection holds use. We as allists speak the intimate lay of the all, the allays, penned from the lap of Ama, this holy altar Lapamalay, and so this the core of Allism, and yet that all bleed permeates all of existence, all the universe, impregnates Mattriama, an orgasm felt in all her molecules, in all that exists.

And so we in our Pentecost of the fiery dove, the Phoenix, in our bipolar expansion and depression, speak every language, learn every language and inflection. We speak each man in his own inflection. We echo. We are the mirrors, the echoes. We address every man in his own tongue. We speak each to each, this to all.


Allism is any given religion brought to exultation, brought to apotheosis. Yahweh must die and be resurrected, Odin must become Ovath, they all must become all they can be, and this requires our curative word, the panacea, the philosopher’s stone, the all-mead.

Make all-mead from melted honey, cinnamon, cardiman, chili powder, ginger, cloves, and all spice mixed to taste. Drink this libation, saying, “I accept this wisdom from you, my love, as a dancer’s joy, as a poet’s thirst, as a butterfly’s ambrosia. Sweet to taste, but sweeter to be, the flow and swallow of the Flux! Vivoce!”


-- R @ Я --

Perfection Is Easy