Questions of Bartholomew

“Apocryphal text, Spirit discern- humanity’s wellspring of Wisdom lost.

Revelatory nature. Personal Divinity. Jesus conquers Hell. Blessed are those who saw.

Sacred hearts, the Lord’s prayer illustrates our Geometry. History of Pineal suppression, Pity those that Fall.

Loathe, this Life of ashes – may we all escape from Babylon.

Conscious noticings
Nu / Masonry

music :

illustrations :


Barrel of Light

Power from the Palm of the Hand

Create in time like a pillar in the sand

Delicate system overbound by feedback

Life Lost Lost Home

Extinct don’t grow back

Topical prescription only keep me active

“Dont you question where the soul past is”

Grasp of the weak – when shall it be made strong?

Because Im feeling pretty weak myself

Though I levitate for long

Compass of Fire, never guide us wrong


Papa Emeritus – Be Ye Transformed

‘Good Luck’ they stone you sideways eyes + a straight back hair cut

Efficacious with a man’s gut

Never stops to see he’s wrong

Always proving, this that but

Ceased activity results in a calm

Which results in a storm

Ensuing wreckage; new wealth, or old poor?

Big man on town / undefeated, twice fought

Our butterflies’ve all been pimped, thanks a lot


Sand and wind bit his ankle as he quickly ascended the Light. The steep overlooked a vast emptiness, the sun commanding all of the sky as their Emperor. Jagged waste contrasting smooth masonry upon which the boy strode. Indiscernable past a cool demeanor, an ocean raged internally.

An air of import and expectation hung over the quasi-principality.  Without technical independence, a global council might deem the practicum of the Wastes impish, backward. But technicalities matter little amidst the desert. A one-minded people may never rule a collective of free-thought, probabilistic Force be damned. A culture independent and yet ‘beneath’, at least on Imperial terms. Yet the skeptic will note that these terms are wrought with banal exploitation, ill constitution held by it’s fragile skeleton of the past..

Intense human affair often requires the cool gaze of destiny to avert its anguish, cycles renew. Electric mind, creative potential. Stifling heat had little affect on his ascent towards the Chamber of the great Ones. Depths of his subconscious were still, long formed by the gentle erosion of Nature. The thinking portions were flooded with stimuli, however – preventing ease, tugging, prodding. Noticing the unease, he stopped and held out his hand – checking its positioning for bodily unnerve. There was cause indeed to be nervous. Those aware of the magnetism begot extra measure to put forth bold imagery , display of collective brilliance as of individual. For the youth of the city, especially those of the Mind – womb, it is scrutinized how he or she functions as a part in the whole. Potent, but occasionally short lived waves of thought or action left the culture increasingly Windswept. God Now. He hears the deep jungle, of the music. Searching, cacophonous; the vibe- a loose steady rhythm. Strikes of the viper, dissonance awoke in the space between. The horn precise, regal, sharp – yet wild and without restraint. Mystically ablaze language of the elder Ones. Brooding funk. Dancing intervals. Pharaoh -white hot Pineal. From the lips of the man he longed to call his metaphor. Ka, vital spark. How could he present something timeless to his Minos?  Vision permitting great personal understanding, how could he bear to stand in the realm of the timeless transcendence? Sheut- Akh, wide-eyed repetition. The oracle places two fingers on his temple, calling forth the essence. Behind every answer is another, the veil only exists in our imagination. Having forgotten what it’s like to be combed over by a higher power, he longed for the familiar ease with which he towered over his companions. Nervous, forced smile marking the guarded entrances- what’s this, people smiling? Laughter? The ill-lit chamber still alive, danced an intricate dance of the heart, and music billowed like smoke. A welcome hand beckoning, gospel to the soul. “Come boy, drink some wine”. He grabbed a cup from the hands of a beautiful woman who sheepishly averted her gaze, protruding her neck downward and to the side. Paying no mind, the artwork of the room became elaborate and spoke for the first time. Nothing was sectioned, tends of thousands of strokes taking at times discrete form. Primordial, life-giving sorcery permeated the structure, it’s semblance the waking dream of Gaia. Drawing the mind beckoning toward infinity. Unaware of the extent to which he became caught up in his own vision snapped immediately back into the present at once. The question was repeated in a wispy, ghost-like tone. “You gonna stand there and drool, or you gonna show us your shit?” The severity of the moment stood up once more. Time screeched to a halt and one heart beat conspicuously faster than the temple’s constellated patterns. Becoming aware of hot blood’s flow, He slid the bag from his right shoulder and produced a silver device. Shadows of the room crept forward almost imperceptibly, indifferent anticipation – no one feigned disinterest, however. It was now or never. The fate of the boy would soon be decided. One chosen annually, that was the potential. It had been 17 years since the last naming ceremony for the metaphysical society.. Such a lengthy dry spell hadn’t been known in quite some time. But his vision rested just beyond cocked fingertips. A wireless screen previously hidden from sight came into view, receiving it’s signal to play. “You look nervous boy, good thing there’s DMT in your wine”.

Confusion, disbelief. Patters, concentric, circling rapaciously around the wall- waves blue green and golden dolphins smoothly sailing alive, animate. Smiles tiny, infinite broke across grey space, Cackling insanity. Realization. Thunder boomed. Emissions of fading light cascade vertically, a spiritous waterfall. Taking hold. Monolithic senses amplified by wave after wave of psychedelic. Never so aware of his own creation; version after version of mediocrity had so long kept an absent-minded response mechanism at the forefront. His own perception had been undeniably eroded. Light had returned.


What do I do when underlined is the good & the mind flows the other way?

A yogi doesn’t leave the home for 20 years, an Old testament prophet rips his hair amidst bitter tears. Was depression only me, more aware? If a could-be saint sells his soul for the gold , does anybody in the world care? My clothes is fucked up, it’s alright to stare. Simultaneous War and peace , a true love affair.


Deep Sea Creature, unfathomable depths. Old soul archetype ; blood + sacrifice on the temple steps. Blood on the leaves. Blood in her sneeze. Don’t look now there’s blood on your greaves. Devil will tell you that the blood never leaves. Will the angels break the safe like supernatural thieves? Imma sit + wait. Chill, pray & create. No fear. Avoid King Lear. God, u steer. Talking heads bought career, too bad the end is near.

Some poems


Take them, with the strange water they go

scream dance and laughter, first things I behold

curious eye is open, alight with a fire




spirit high (hi)

spirit low (lo)

some passive simple spells because they know they have to do so




hit direct enemy

the more damage is done

hit target dummy

before it disappears




collect item minion

increase movement speed

gain premium source around you


your flash (life force)

i have infinite here

get them from

apart from stealing it




this one is dropping

-a Gnostic



You gain the three bubbles around you

they heat automatically


That Pretty annoying Interesting ability

you blink the location for one second

Then you blink back

you can also take them from minions from time to time




image : @rfaelch



Kitchen Beat – Lobrau v.1

Colors – Kubrick

Heterotopia – Kamelaukion Stretch

Converter – Kamelaukion Stretch

Syndra – dotSupremacy

227 – Galio


Mahakara, Protector of the Tent – inspacealongtime

Synchronomy – Aopkhes

Outlines of the Night – Aopkhes

Air – Nostalgaia

Mud – Nostalgaia


Empirical Reality

“The philosophy of the dogmatists, it is to be hoped, was only a promise for thousands of years afterwards, as was astrology in still earlier times, in the service of which probably more labour, gold, acuteness, and patience have been spent than on any actual science hitherto: we owe to it, and to its ‘super-terrestrial’ pretensions in Asia and Egypt, the grand style of architecture.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good And Evil

It is apparent that we have become so firmly embedded in the concrete reality that the previously fielded questions of mankind are now taken for entirely granted or otherwise imagined that they are solved — the faculties of perception are taken ‘as they are,’ thus constituting the notion empirical reality. The flaws, then, are only addressed in relation to some other ‘concretely’ understood notion, such as in the case of social leveling, (or, ‘justice’) where a skewed vantage is thoroughly critiqued in the case of whatever cultural body may possess pre-eminence in a given historical context within a social situation. The lens that we use to view the broken glasses, however are taken as whole. Empirical, the power-word, empiricism, the skeleton key, the great pillar on which all that can be known is displayed. Obversely, intuition is taken as a humorous by-product of physically contingent human beings who exist (by accident, it is presumed) in a strictly material world. The metaphysical is no longer readily accepted into the vocabulary nor explored in academia related to secular society — which is the pre-eminently empirical society — psychology, sociology, systematically presumed leveling affects are achieved, here the glasses seen as broken in the light of day were once veiled in myth and mystery. But again, the greatest folly of the concretely embedded zeitgeist is an endless cycle of mindlessly attributed energy, so great a number of flags now hang on the imagined pillar of empiricism that it is entirely incomprehensible to see whose is whose, further reducing the ability to intuit will, further embedding us now in the mouth of concrete reality.

Research (information gaining) of a social nature observes phenomena through an agreed upon lens, constituting this ‘empirically’ derived reality. The mind is frequently referred to as a ‘black box’ — there is a strange dual relationship held between the agent of empiricism and this box; an aura suggesting of the attainment of knowledge is breathed over the individual and his or her work, suggesting of pre-eminence, yet the mind (suggested by its analogy) bears an outsiders’ relationship to the predeterminate concreteness. In every mode of knowing, we intuitively question the validity of the notion of progress, nowhere is babel-construction more illusorily conflated with wisdom and direct insight than within the linguistic construct discussed thus far. [The levelers must be leveled, then] The hypothesis of the thus limited mind removes altogether the question of transcendence of the external (concrete) complex of social, physical, psychical stimuli — the individual’s ability thus is removed through the positivist’s operationally defined construct. Language, already divorced from ‘reality’; the relationship which the individual bears to his or her highest type is subsequently irrevocably damaged, substituted is the possibility for a herd-like quiescence towards the tangible mean.


1, ‘Sense of Wonder’


2, ‘Distant Bliss’


3, ‘Melt / David Caspar Friedrich’

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4, ‘Rose Meditative’


5, ‘Dreaming and the Subconscious’


6, ‘Chaos’

7, ‘Ego’


8. ‘Act’


9, ‘Life is a Lucid Dream’