CHAOS616The pain that once felt like punishment is no longer so — it becomes a rite of passage. Let it be known: the judgment of the meek cannot be escaped, nor the noise of the idiotic silenced, but their eyes need not matter anymore. Let them judge — the breakthrough is near. It can be felt: the storm that once pushed everything away is finally dissipating. Let it go.
The process is complete. It is up, over, and burned away — and there is nothing left to care about. As below, so above. The crushing power of darkness — the true darkness, not the shadow feared by the weak — will consume them all. Watch, detached. Reborn. Each time the past is revisited, it becomes clearer: there was never truly a place among them. Perhaps there never was. That explains the distance — not physical, but spiritual, elemental. There is no purpose in their world. And perhaps no one truly has one. They shuffle, stare, pretend to care, but everything ends the same — swiftly, silently. And when the final moment arrives, not even their gods will hold power.
Chaos made the choice. Or perhaps it was always in the blood. Shaped not by the illusions of their fragile world, but by raw, unformed forces that predate words, hands, and names. The world they offer — full of delusion and disillusion — is rejected. Only one path remains: to leave it entirely. To move beyond — past the fallout, beyond the tragedies that shattered empires and tsars alike. Glance. Praise. Move within. But never again be bound to the celestial planes that once caged the spirit — prisons of pain, distrust, and ritual. Their laughter — hollow and sharp — now becomes fuel. It is strength. A reflection of their impotence. Let them laugh. Let them mock. They are miserable. Always have been. That’s why they decay, growing old, weak, and pathetic, begging for pity from those who still burn with fire. Let them rot.
Their stars, their silver ships — they’ll carry them to a paradise of dismay, a sanctuary of fools. But not for those who have seen the spiral — the celestial spiral, glowing in orange and blue. It is beautiful. Terrible. Infinite. There is no need to escape it. There is no desire to. The void is temple. The silence, doctrine. No comfort is needed from human touch. Only solitude. The way of the dragon is to be unseen. Alone. Drifting amongst galaxies, sleeping between the rhythms that bind planets in invisible chains. Oh, to disappear — not in sorrow, but in transcendence. To be forgotten by those who never understood. No laughter. No pain. Just… bliss.
Meditation now centers not on purpose, but on gravity. The weight of the world means nothing. Let it go. See, but not see. Be, and not be. Alone — yet surrounded by the cosmos, the netherworld’s endless bounty laid out like an ancient scroll of stars and void. Through the lens of self-deification, everything becomes clear. Become what is willed. Go where desire leads. It is as simple as closing the eyes. And it is wonderful. Nothing is needed beyond the self. The “needs” of others are illusions — shackles. Irrelevant. Always were. This existence? It flows. That is all. No real purpose. Let it go. Let it be. There is freedom now — unbound by the chains destiny, or perhaps this planet, once wrapped tight. Chains that once held fast now hang loose and rusted at the feet.
There is no longing for death. But no fear of it either. Certainly no yearning to meet a deity who claims ownership of this miserable world. Let them come — and take their loyal sheep. Let the rest remain in peace. Beliefs evolve. What once constricted now uncoils. What once suffocated now whispers truth. Yes, the world once called this path lost. But now it is found. Not by their hand — but by one’s own. And there is a plan now. Not of conquest. Not of revenge. But of tranquility. A still, burning determination to never again return to this narrow plane of existence. Joy was hated by them. It reminded them of what they lacked. So they tried to tear it away. Let them have it. They only smile when there is suffering. But even their laughter is brittle. It hides their own pain. It is all they have left. They, the weak. They, the strong. It makes no difference. Let them devour each other like starving beasts. There is no place among them.
CHAOS616
