ONCE I PERFECT THIS SUBSTACK, THEN IT'S (NOT) ALL OVER FOR YOU HOES

Or, The Meaning Of The Newsletter as Resurrection.

If you don’t understand this Newsletter, then you are blessed. If you are mentioned here, and if you are not, then you are blessed. If you do do not yet know it, then you are even more blessed. If you never know it, you are infinitely more blessed still.

The point of this newsletter is to perfect an invisible (internal) tone of secret perfection available to all of the secret bearers of beautiful vehemence before it is too late and before we are all gone, into which tonality we are thrown to find secret iterations. Feel free to misunderstand, but I already know you cannot. What is said here is only meant as a blessing and love letter from God.

This Newsletter is like a favourite teacher who says, ‘I want to speak to you afterwards’, and even though you fear the worst, you know deep down she has your best intentions in mind, you are her favourite after all, and when it turns out to be all good, you know the universe is on your side forever. Like Kanye once said, the universe wants you to win.

I love words and trust them, and I trust the purest fielding they wish to do on your behalf and the feeling they always wish to imbue of pure infinite perfection as open intelligence. Words are themselves living and Khorahistoric, like astral birds. I wanted to be able to let them go in all directions, like Messiaen’s tangled rainbows, however ferocious or clear they may be.

I want these Birds to be Resurrection Birds. I want the act of annihilation to be an act of perfection and this act of perfection to be an act of forever-change with its image and own letters, because that is how I experience it all myself.

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If there were a competition for the most imperfect human being alive, I would win it hands down. You would have no chance. I would beat you. I would leave you in the dust. I would dominate you from above and below. I am ferocity unbound, a total criminal, an angel with a dirty mouth.

But there is no such competition. There never has been such a competition, and because of this we will always win. We will always write better and better. We will always leave a trace here for all time and that is the News, the new letter, the word of world. You and I, we will iterate inside Extinction and rename it Resurrection. We will sign Being and Time as Being and Sunshine. We will sing. We will singe.

I offer you the Resurrection Bird. The Extinctor as the Resurrector. If you are named here, you are Perfect. If you are cursed here, you are Perfect. Those left out are even worse, much better, the best of all of us. Each being is impossible and contradictory. No being has ever existed. No teaching exists, no teacher. In the space of Clarity-Ferocity, there is no unity, and not none either. The perfect tone is everywhere.

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I am Not Named and Not Not Named, just like you. You may call me by your name, and I will call you by mine. This is the hideout. This is the Musical Television Awards. This is the Circular Rainbow Monastery. We send all regards to the retards who let their hair down forever and who are of use.

Once this has happened to you, you must never mention it again. If someone brings it up, tell them everything and then disappear. If someone smears you with their own beauty, embrace them, recognise this beauty as only your own, and announce them as Retard King and you as Retard King too, and then kill them. Caravaggio murdered his lovers and went home to paint beautiful pictures, no apologies nor explanations were ever accepted by History. On god.

If I have to murder you to prove to you how perfect you are, I will do so. If you get in the way of my Daughters on the deck of the Apocalypse Ship, I will hang your guts in the sky like a Crucifixion.