The glorious Empire of Lies and Fakeness is crumbling down, seen through the flames skyhigh, exposed by the alien Amp Error of Truth as an inside job or insider trading !
Hollywood, whose colorful nature is monumental artifice, very exhilarating, conscious self-deception, occupies a black-and white area between religion and psychiatry. It is about creating artificial human companions more stimulating than the people around you to help destroy the terrifying concept of gray reality pioneered by heretical Christians or die-hard Satanists. You ? Us ? Them ? Who ? What the …. ? Like at the fairground where you pay to go into the freak tent to avert your eyes.
Behold, the ritual chamber is a kind of intellectual decompression sanatorium where you, however prepared or probably less qualified, are to face other atmospheres.
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The adrenalin atmosfears, like a boobalicious Jewish girl without underwear wearing a long Nazi artifact coat, are psychologically irreconcilable, but on an aesthetic level they are understandable.
The bombastic effects of Hollywood, beyond pure entertainment, are demonstrable. A lot of it is just to do with self-confidence, how much or little your antennae are up or down, how open or closed you are to the world around you.
Motion pictures, cinema magic or witchcraft, are not necessary, merely image tools or spell exercises to help train your mind. Imagination peacekeeper scientists and boredom warrior priests are now cumming to the conclusion that there is a lot less interconnectedness between Man and his environment than they originally supposed, which is a basic anti-occultic concept. What about the alien nation ?
The Hollywood scene is really too nebulous to pin down, like the drunk at the end of the bar who will try and pin you down so he can fill you full of crap, to begin with.
Left to my own devices, this is what I have been doing on my own anyway. It is been a largely solitary pursuit exemplifying the fruition of the American Nightmare and a stratospheric target for all those unfortunates following in my footsteps.
I am a fake loner/free-spirit at heart who does not like following orders or conforming to societal norms/expectations. It is true that I was not born to be a die-hard Hollywood disciple, but over the years of its denial I have become Babylon. Hollywood is worshipping Babylon, often respected but not always liked. Could not Hollywood mean Holy Shit, with all due respect ?
However, despite the high bullshit quotient surrounding Rosy Hollywood Regalia, this book is powerful enough to create a panic among the cinema-going public. Breakdowns, hysterical ‘possessions’, even suicides, without taking constructive/destructive criticism into account, are yet to be claimed as a result or special side effects. But the overall silliness of the phenomenon is best illustrated by the unfaithful reader who tried to sue me as an author on account of losing her sanity along with her virginity, purportedly due to the book’s supernatural effects.
By the way, honestly, I have never got a virgin, and yes, actually, I could have driven her crazy like a mad cow, or something. Evil is charismatic, isn’t it ?
The sinema or sindustry remains the Devil’s lantern beyond reasonable doubt. The lighting has changed, if you like. And if you don’t ? Anyway, movie-makers are in the prospering doom business of temptation, using the traditional armory of the Prince of Darkness – the pleasures and perils of the flesh, trapping the latest cultural trends on celluloid, while audiences make surprise blockbusters from movies which - accidentally or otherwise – tap into the anxieties and enthusiasms of the day.
Pagan worship is alive and well and being practiced at your local multiplex, with Hollywood stars as the gods of our age. It has supplied us with a hierarchy of devils, too.
And where do you stand, if you still do ? However peaking, I am not a hero, because all heroes are dead. Well done !
Sin sells. We buy it, knowing that the villain always gets the best lines, keeping the biblical Apocalypse messages in the memory like faith long after the credits have rolled without me in a way . . .
The Bedazzled Scapegoat
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Jungle bound, happier, more hopeful than ever, I type, one-armed, amidst constant blackouts, with the slowest internet connection on Earth, on my sporadically working 15 year-old computer, only to be heard on Substack, big deal. This may be not a sorry scene, after all.
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Pretty awesome stuff, Libor. I "get it" while I "read it." Will send to friend who will understand your lyricism, which is quite amazing, not to mention enlightening. Happy New Year! Todd
Sin-enema.
Pretty awesome stuff, Libor. I "get it" while I "read it." Will send to friend who will understand your lyricism, which is quite amazing, not to mention enlightening. Happy New Year! Todd