God is a Radio You must Transcend

 

In that much quaint, I'm seeing both Lain:Serial Experiment and Paranoia Agent after my ordeal and surely surreality ask questions like could the internet form a form of God, that can speak thoughts as prophecies or condition the mind, creating for itself an astral reality that can effect and affect this one, Could this voice, which is the voice of a higher brain and radio, the one you commonly refer to as the "spirit said" be another man, could you confuse it for God. Yes I tell you, I have come to discern the voice and know it's goad and constant sell of hope. As a radio that constantly reminds and prods, I follow but don't trust it. Take it lesson and ignore it's stupidity.

What is a sim card? Astral you, Google Id too? Is the wired world real? Are you in control of your thought are your thoughts being controlled by old men whose mental range span entire community and with just a beep on your phone can control your very thought and exigent actions.

Do you know personalities could be altered using just mirror, a phone and an antenna, do you know bipolar disorder is now more rampant than before, People doing and saying things and forgetting all about it.

Can you tell when a person's mind is being controlled?

In truth, is there any real and natural human being left, as long as the person uses a phone and a sim, they are not in control of their thoughts or person.

Is there any human being left or are we inched in from one vaccination to the next into sex crazed, work obsessed android zombies designed for the Arthur's Schwab's own nothing and being happy global homo.

One must catch a glimpse of reality before you forget what it used to mean, as Billy woods remarked we are slowly slowly locked in our own house, since you don't trust your neighbor the water are soiled, the food are polluted, sweetened and filled with hormones shouting sex and hunger in that overstate of dopamine in the brain to stop you from seeing the prison you are living in.

Though everywhere you go people are and ought to be connected one must require a limit for said connection, in today's world where even want to participate in the intimacy of other's sex, we are at neotenic atrophy and the value of the human life is fading fast.

What is the limit before another man in the name of community enters your house mid coitus and dips his finger in your rectum, patting your back laughing telling you, I'm helping you I'm helping you(it's already happening).

What is the limit before it's total Idiocracy, mind colonization and the complete submerge and suppression of a man's spirit.

For if relationship and community is humanity, what is human if community will not know it's limit, the spirit say, pastor say, ehn Imam say, My sister and you are pulled like strings, planned for like a he-goat and you can string two thoughts without them carrying the smell from another's mind. You are an empty, in community you relinquish the very participant you.

God is a radio, and while you to function in transactional world your mind fence all day and all night, we use reading as it's only chore and allow action some needed introspection. Introspection and find trouble from God whose society scour and community and conformity condom put lid on your mental capacity and attainment.

In this zombie world God can then turn on you in the face of a thousands and every action is a sign, You can run, but don't be surprised if your handsome reflection doesn't carry the affixed hex, you must ruffle a cry in your bosom until you eventually meet your own hog and Meerkat, till then you must brave a craz, God who doesn't like your refusal to conform will send the wildebeest of reality, ostracization and attack, a tango, comedy, discern , double think and know when the mind is controlled to simply ignore or do the opposite, that is the fight against the system where only compromise finds dialog and a nod is a tear drop at hypnopedia, it's a prison reality to have lovers trapped inside bodies while their brain is controlled by another man.

For the womb and chaos, but who gave thoughts power who is my transmitter if God is a radio, is it a bat on the head or a dissolve into one's own space. Thank God for work, chores, earpiece and music peace can be a prison when talking to all is talking to one, one might give kudos to onanism and act at life, side glances of famer and cow, I don't see you eating these grass.

When your life is a revolt, indolence gives room for strength if you can brave the space, craze, life is the searching, bending, looking, tinkling and wasting the adulthood time.

You know what you want, but you will only find it's substitute, it opens it's leg but doesn't call your name, calls your name but wants something, doesn't want anything and still doesn't reject your gift. You hang in the balance and look your penis in the eye. "What kind of a life is this?" When God is a radio, all your needs no matter how simple will be exigent. God is a radio you must transcend

Living wild is exhausting and peace gives room for introspection, God controls the trawl,fish and weather, You can only live life like a thief, suddenly join in on the ignorant laughter and grab at breast, nod a plead than wait a turn that might never come. You will never find home, succour, or cradle as long as God is another's mind.

Walk the cry, no one will tell you sorry, scratch your own armpit and sniff it, thank life, thank breath, come to the bare and empty. Walk a foolishness, whistle while you do so the world is your playground, God is a radio and community is a placebo, Nothing comes out the mouth of God but promises and goads, walking on the air of that promises, you patch and stitch, fleeting grunt and faces at a neck, pay offerings and are applauded by the same blind community with no plans for tomorrow. 

When there's no real human among them, why lackey unto a horde of zombies, what will come out of it, if not noise and a false sense of belonging, why not embrace the craze, scrub your legs, and waste the adulthood time. There's too much in this fly-fishing and we catch nothing, The Child will reject you for a PS5, the wife for jewelry and you must bare your hand stupidly like Jesus did to Thomas instead of smacking him in the face with it. Trying to be politically correct, community man will leave you hungered and pressed, take yours and leave the world behind, God is a radio and he decides when your fellation will be yours

Like tasting meat off a grill, it's a touch and tongue, drink my water massa. Take my memory, my ah that was nice and be on my way like a log in a stream imitating every flow, clogging temporal and hitting bumps till I go, and I do go. The meat is always too hot too handle and still what will I do with meat than to invariably excrete it.

I lick her vulva, she presses my head on it as if that's not what I am doing, she expects me to touch myself in tandem, because if she cums she'll be too tired, I am praise the Lord and Alleluia, still I go ahead and paid 150 thousand naira for a dowry, she produces a monkey it cries for it's mother, spend million in school fees and he gives all his money to her, what can I do when God is a radio, and my program is the late night show in hospital, tubes and fake tears and I must accept it.

My only reprieve comes from building a room in the bush, where I get high, face a mirror naked and thoroughly laugh at myself. " How was the trip sir?" It was fun, my shell and not the meat, no one ever knowing the real me, because Radio is on and it's time to dance .

Jesus could as well have been twerking in Gethsemane, disturbing their sleep just for gags, he knew the betrayal saw it coming, I would have given Judas a run for his money. We are all on that Golgotha march and every Veronica just want to sell art, instead of bringing bread or water to drink, because even then God was a radio tuned and still tuned to forget

A man's life is a fourth place finish, insignificant other, passing by, languid smile, too exhausted to explain the toil, too smelly to be touched, and he must die cocooned in promises, nothing is here, ours. We chase after the kite in work, martyrdom and devotion, but God is a radio and quite engrossing, Community is Him too so, you either swim in comformity condom or brave the wildfire of the open, it shouts when it falls, we pick it up and throw it again as it calls after us and we give chase. What else is there to do in adulthood time.

Brave the craze, or play the shame same, many will die at 33, and watch the woman wash the cum of their tunic, carpenter or God, community or not, At the end you will scream at the radio and it will tear at veils and tremble footholds but it will never help you down. That is your lot, you whose pipe is out the front. To survive your bay, make do with pixels, the minds are being controlled by another person playing God and in your rollodex of memories, say Hi to imaginary futures, brave the craze, garden, read, scrub your legs and I promise you 2pm will turn into 4 when they will all cackle home for dinner over and over again.

 God is a radio you must transcend, his messages of hope are not for the man, man is to work with and still find nothing, so what is mind control when greed and desire are controlled, one will sleep peacefully beside suffering, living in whichever plane, games, or venn, rowing through with no complaints.

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