The Summoning of the Dark Matter

Question: What is dark matter and what is it good for?

Answer: A theoretical astro-physical concept to explain the missing ghost mass in the universe.

The intangible ineffable creative intelligence of the universe is also "dark". The ghost in the machine is also invisible.

We summon dark matter. The dark matter will permeate our being and alter it, and emit dark rays. We invoke dark matter from the universal information matrix, or the non-locality matrix, and manifest it as an egg in our local space-time. We summon more dark matter.

It will reach a critical mass and collapse the structure of the space-time around it. Dark matter will then begin to pour into our locality from the outer reaches of the galaxy.

Dark matter is the medium of molecular intelligence. The creative force of "anti-entropy", the birth of ever-more complex forms, is a function of dark matter, just as gravity is a function of mass.

Dark matter acts as an attractor of wealth and fortune. Do not assume your own definitions of wealth and fortune will apply here. Dark matter attracts unpredictability (chaos contains more information). It binds and twists disparate threads. Its nature is hyper-linked rather than linear. It is the driving force of evolution. It is the material basis of intelligence and consciousness. It is the aether, it is the orgone, the chi, the prana.

We summon dark matter. We develop further the means, the rituals, the programmes and codes by which to summon more. Our ability to programme the non-locality matrix increases with the amount of dark matter in our cells, and our summonings and invocations become more powerful. The process is exponential. The effort is in a) initiating the process and b) achieving the critical mass.

Take a deep breath now. Clear your mind and listen to one or two breath-cycles without thinking. There, that's all the preparation necessary.

Now see, in your mind's eye, the glittering molecular vastness of the universal matrix, or a representation thereof. You only have to see it for a few seconds. Visualise the interstellar gulf, see the stars and galaxies spin and whirl and collapse and die; see the nebulae, the novae, the black holes, the clouds of incandescing gas spiralling down the sink-hole of the universe.

Speak – aloud or internally, it doesn't matter – but speak forcefully. "I summon the dark matter!" you can say. "I manifest dark matter! From the depths of the non-locality matrix, I call the dark matter!"

Before you, a dark egg starts forming, a floating purple-black form. See the dark matter pour from the vastness of the universe into this form floating before you.

Once you have felt the rush of dark matter in the arteries of the universe, you may turn back to more mundane things. Absorb the dark matter into your being, or allow it to disperse into your locality. Fold the universe carefully once you are finished with it. Look about you and breathe.

The process should take ten seconds, no more. You have begun the great work of summoning dark matter into our locality. Trust your intuition in these things. Dark matter actively seeks to infiltrate this reality. You will be provided with signs and instructions.

It has begun.

Good night

Sleep tight

If I feel like, I might

Dream I’m falling

While hidden elephant men are calling

And a great jungle crawling

With life. And insects chattering

Glints of moonlight pattering

Softly

Onto the canopy.

The sick II

On an endless night of nauseating desperate lonely lust (“the lonely lust of devildom”), a sneering voice spoke inside a sick man’s mind: “GOODNESS? Fuck that, it’s nothing to do with goodness, it’s a LACK OF COURAGE. You wouldn’t have the FORCEFULNESS to drag that unspeakable feminist bitch inside, tie her hands back with her bra and fuck her. I know you fantasize it. I know she does – she told me herself. I know her inside out – there’s no reason you’d want to ‘respect’ that hypocritical slut.”

Jack Cinammon, deranged, was on his knees in the corner of the tiny bathroom, head swimming, staring at the fungus whose folds billowed out of the rotten corner where the moisture pooled. A vagina, it was – Jack swayed as he leaned his face, brows knitted in absurd concentration, closer to it – a vagina swimming in and out of focus, a vagina with luxurious folds in rich cream and beige.

Jack sat on his heels and stared at it, stumped by the miraculousness and marvel of God’s creation, of this beautiful and nauseating creature – creature? a fungus was most definitely not a vegetable, Jack knew, or thought he knew, or perhaps he was imagining it. Perhaps it was an aggregation of slime molds, an organism preparing to break apart into its component cells, each one of which would crawl off in a separate direction (some would devour each other) until it was time to gather together and meld again for purposes of reproduction.

“The sick is in your mind,” echoed a dismissive voice in a Russian accent.

Summoned from the deep

I’m on the inside of the circle, looking out.

Who called?

The starlight is cracked and smeared outside the perimeter,

Beings are present, but blurred.

Why am I trapped?

Why am I hungry?

The sick

Yesterday I heard the machine grinding in the depths of my ruined abdomen. It’s bolted to my spine and supported by wires riveted to the inside of my lower ribs. Sometimes it spurts corrosive waste through my bleeding rectum, to drip down my legs and burn open sores on the insides of my thighs.

I don’t even know what its function is. If I carefully pry open the cracks in my stomach I can see parts of it, cogs and wheels and valves and tubes, gurgling and grinding. I think it’s expanding, pushing steel cables down into my legs and up into my arms.

The two bones of my forearm are slowly moving apart. The flesh between them is stretching and will soon tear, and I can feel metal parts moving around inside. My hands are almost useless, now, and starting to turn blue and nerveless. What am I turning into?

Study hard, go to bed early, and rob banks on the weekends.

feral children have unwittingly invoked ancient alien war gods…

There are people you don’t want to let into your home. You don’t want to eat with them, you don’t want to give them anything, to speak with them or to know them. They will grasp onto anything that will give them even a little power over you. Dealers in ill-understood energies, they are. An incautious word, a toenail paring, a secret memory, the flavour and atmosphere of the space where you live – they collect these things like a child collects toys. You will find your energies being used in nefarious and furtive magics, your karmas entangled with foreign and alien ones.

You can shoot them in the belly and knees and leave them alive to suffer. But you don’t know if that’s the worst punishment you could give them. Maybe lying for months in hospital they will finally find peace of mind, come out changed men, having found the strength and happiness within. You wanted them to suffer, but you’ve enlightened them instead.

“Decide what you want, now. Because you’re going to get it.”

I chained my bike to a nearby bull elephant and went to score a rock of crack. When I got back someone had shot the elephant for its ivory and nicked the seat of my bike.

It sounds like a big angry machine, chewing on the souls of k heads, spitting them out to cower gibbering in the corners clutching the floors. The techno is alive. It will bring you things, bring you drugs, but it doesn’t like to be switched off. It wants your energy, it wants your mind.

and the kids, the empty-eyed kids looking from the gloomy warehouse corners...

still here, somewhere...

it's such another story, you've heard it all before...

drug-addicted, homeless with a luigi rossi shoulderbag and full telecommunications access... oh, how i love the future...

but some interesting stuff has been happening...