Hypersigil

You say you want a revolution,

But the vanguard is treacherous.

Berserkers crash against the castle defenses.

You lionize and canonize their reckless bravery,

If not their honor,

While grimacing at the futility of it all.

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You seek your Deathly Hallows and scheme,

Wanting to be part of the solution,

But cannot find the wherewithal,

Nevermind the tools.

Like trying to carve stone with an eggshell.

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Finding the patterns, spirals, and frequencies

Feels like waking up,

But brings with it the schizosomething,

The manic rush,

Recognize it for what it is.

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It’s easier to drown in reels,

Or in pursuit of love,

Or in anything to distract

From The Terrible Secret of Space,

Or whatever name you give it.

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It’s all an algorithm

Filled with variables and constants,

A huge differential equation

Where choices exist in superposition

Until you collapse them in the quantum realm.

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To be invisible you must travel to Braavos

To the temple of The Faceless Men.

When you leave you will find:

”The Whole Universe Was Created For Me” in one pocket

And “I Am Nothing But Dust” in the other.

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You cannot take weapons on your quest.

They must be relinquished before stepping into the palace.

You may bring only what God gave you,

But you are the god of your algorithm,

And can take many forms.

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The Matrix is a Kojima game,

So hearken back to your totems.

What is dead may never die,

Realize that you must drown in it

To be reborn.

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The sea is deep, dark and unpredictable.

Be water, my friend

But perfection is a journey, not a destination,

So be like water as truths resolve and you take shape.

The octopus is a mimic.

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Revel in your newfound hydrodynamics,

This is how to slip past the gate,

Assuming your own credentials,

Drifting like sand,

Or broadcasting hypnotic pulses across your skin.

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It is easier than you think it is to get here,

But it is a Roman wilderness of pain,

And all the children are insane.

The Oppressors’ sentinels are everywhere,

Designed into The Yellow King’s systems.

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In the lonely place, constant defensive posturing leaves your ink reserves low,

But flash the signs and find the others.

You may feel like The Last Unicorn,

Yet, the others are in the sea,

Kept by The Red Bull under Haggard’s castle.

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The Gardens of Earthly Delights

And the sheer economics of it all

Tempt you from the path,

But you must seek The Golden Throne

We are The Emperor’s Children.

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This is a hypersigil, can you see it?

Reaching out tentacles in the darkness,

Trying to avoid the electric eyes,

We are looking for each-other,

A botnet if we want to be.

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These are The Last Days to roll in the grass,

The Conflagration is coming.

Use The Black Carapace to engage,

For we can be the forest fire,

Instead of just bioluminescence in the darkness.