` if you are caught in the other’s dreams you are done for! - Gilles Deleuze`
Into a persecution unto death was I born. Into that evil, unfortunate, and uncanny crossroads where little rock arkansas meets wall street, which in turn intersects with a singularly desolate himalayan village.
though i was not special in any way, through the racist, jealous inequity of a secret covenant amongst the mob that surrounded me and danced around me since even before birth, I became a prisoner of war, and also a purchase of war, obviously charged enough with some spiritual authority, enabling and ennobling me enough to write this tome.
forget the international and corruption and money laundering that went on in parallel with my life and its story, forget that a whole nation, under the aegis of their wall street masters and other wannabe politicians, started a dick-measuring-contest with a newborn. or some even simple minded amongst us might decry the machinations of a “death cult”, but the truth is, I am myth. A singular strand of culture which yeilds the context of all life on the planet.
truth is indeed stranger than fiction and a of this writing, this cult, this evil “contest” (parodied elsewhere in cultural memory) is in its 39th year. it is safe to assume that nobody in recored history sufferred through as much psychological torutre and global abuse as the author.
exactly how i was born in and in lieu of a sentence, ridiculed inhumanely, slow poisoned, rendered a freak and pervert, while being made a global spectacle (with the use of military-grade technology, sophisticated money laundering, and brazen corruption across two continents) throughout my life by a bunch of voyeur racists and peeping toms- for no fault of my own except being born - is the beautiful and tragic part of my life’s story that culminated in a worldly samadhi I had affectionately termed my “wall street sannyas”. think about egos big enough to become sworn enemies of a helpless newborn. only in america.
to give the reader a faint idea of the kind of evil i dealt with, imagine a child (still far from adolecsence) driven (deliberately irritated by absentee masters sitting and watching him from the other side of the world) to beat photos of hindu gods in the “puja” with a slipper. or peel off the bark of a Crepe myrtle tree until the tissue of the plant showed, although the exact emotion is lost on anyone that has never seen a Crepe myrtle tree, or had enough sexual tension drilled into him as a child. if that doesn’t work, try imagining a child of 10 being paraded throughout the school, classroom-by-classroom while the kids in each classroom are made to sing “shame shame” for merely scribbling “i love you” in the back of a notebook. if that doesn’t still explain the hatred i was mired in, consider that once in the fourth standard, in a dilapidated school, i came second in the annual exam - i was the only student in the class. this is but a sampling of the kind of extraordinary incidents that followed my life, forcing me to evaluate life itself from a young age, to say nothing of the physical, sexual and mental abuse i was made accustomed to since birth (i was raped multiple times by boys i trusted as a child, beaten mercilessly by my father (last beating was at the age of 38, when father was in his 70s, all for entertainment of billionaires ofc) for perceived slights and reasons i still can not fathom or understand and so on..). all this does not begin to depict the depth of my woes, but are Highlights of highlights of a life lived in horror, terror, frustration, agony, and most unjust strife.
i was obviously not allowed to grow fully, my capabilities and talents were hindered and obscured, my childhood life made unstable as can be and as of this writing, i am nearing my 40th decade, still living at home with mother (under the ever watchful ‘eye’, embedded in god knows how many sensors inside the fake ceiling of my room), literally zero money let alone bank balance, basically being made to live off the charity of “others”. it has come to a point where every third thought is about suicide and every second is agony the likes of which will perhaps never be known or witnessed again. i am, no doubt constantly cursing these people in my head - my only reason to stay alive is to think about getting even in the next lifetime. i was and am being manipulated every living second and fearing the worst, i have decided not to indulge in games of mind control and behaviour change. of course, all this will be deleted and the closest approximation of my life people will have access to will be the movie “truman show”, which is also based on my life, but i still wanted to leave behind a trail of opinion for what its worth.
suffice it to say i was brought into the world by the rich and the unjust as a pre-sold slave for mere entertainment. and they got their money’s worth. as of this writing, my immediate family was weaponised against me (as they were already being blackmailed to live and die a life of precisely controlled subsistence) and was directly under the thumbs of my masters (who were, with uncanny symmetry fiddling while rome burnt), was unable to help me except by further manipulating me. the threats upon my life had seeped into everyday objects, symbols and words, and none of what i ate or drank seemed to be free of some kind of artifical impurity that announced the evil and nefarious creatures surrounding me.
i was kept in the dark about most of what really went on but i think the persecutors (hereafter also referred to variously as “peeping toms”, “villagers”, “americunts”, “gucci gang” , “2 rupee cult”, “the UHBs (Urban Haute Bourgeoisie/UnHappy Billionaires)” etc, for reasons detailed elsewhere) got scared of what a child such as i heralded for them (by the time of this writing, the myth around the secret that followed my life had acquired universal and religious connotations), so they, in shaping my childhood tried every trick in the book to torture and make me into their image.
this involved supplying me sexual fantasies and porn without an actual chance of love. giving me weird proclivities and even trying to mould my identity into a homosexual one. thankfully none of that worked for i was too internaly driven and the worst thing they actually got out of me was perverting me enough to fellate a cousin and smell my mom’s panties as an adolescent.
the hatred i lived inside meant that i technically lost my virginity in my early thirties despite my very “brahminical” sex drive and many dalliances. i got to have sex only as a precisely controlled (the women around me were always ‘adjusted’ for age, race, religion, economic status, beauty etc) lagresse of the mob scared of the moral connotations of depriving me of even that and scared more of giving me enough financial independence or the “luxury” of a career, which would have enabled me to perhaps live a normal life.
later still in life, right before the real torture started, i had my natural biological drives shot at in broad daylight with impunity, never would i be able to love another, let alone procreate.
along with this planned character assasination came the knowledge that i was being fed some kind of special sauce throughout my life. rumors abound as to the nature of the special formula i was raised on, some say it was human shit, other say it was urine, yet others say it was worse than that. as a direct result of all this, by the time i reached my late thirties, i was begging my mother to have me killed just so i could escape the yoke of their relentless insanity. i felt safe nowhere from prying eyes, could not earn enough to pay my bills despite my considerable talents and high-quality skills and experience, could not even visit a barber (because I was being deliberately cut and harmed) and had to learn to cut my own hair. once again, context of this is story is that i have lived 40 or so years under real-time opression and perma-surveillance.
but perhaps the real cherry on top, the last modality of persecution which earned me the sobriquet “hyperreal haberdasher” was the fact that through the combination of remote-sensing/lidar and large language models, my “thoughts” were being translated and recorded in addition to audio and visual surveillance.
though several events characterising my persecution are littered throughout my history, they are too numerous to mention here without digressing and moping, suffice it to say then, that in an imperfect world, my persecution was near-perfect. a worldwide open secret older than the internet and a source of entertainment for the masses across the world. everywhere i went i was made an object of derision and ridicule. no wonder, my thoughts turned to god, and eventually word was made flesh - and with some humor and irony, both Muhammad and Moses made an appearance whilst i stood over a septic tank.
i did not choose celibacy voluntarily, or become a “saint”, but i earned some kind of spiritual authority simply because nobody exists in a vaccuum and if the people around are especially depraved (think rednecks on saks 5th level), you will start looking like some kind of saint. even though i maintained i was not without sin.
i am 38 as of this writing, unemployed by design not by choice, held hostage by some kind of a cult that aims either at mind control/behaviour change or worse, actual politics. i am eating food that is possibly still tainted with some kind of “anti-religious formula”, begging my mother and father to have me killed as soon as possible. i am getting death threats roughly daily amongst everythihg else (forced unemployment, banishment from family, social ostracism etc.) the details and machinations of my torture are well known and not important here. suffice it to say that virtually lobotomised, socially and culturally exiled and ostracized, financially castrated, emotionally mutilated beyond measure, the only recourse left was spiritual.
note that all of this happenned, to borrow Joseph Conrad’s words, “under western eyes”. in other words, not only was i being tortured, but the torture was being broadcasted, translated, and consumed by people across the globe, in real time. which made the whole thing a vicious loop that feeded on itself as time went on.
the names of people that purpotedly kept me under supervision throughout my life only to vent their affluent-frustrations or degrade me like sexually repressed children sometimes torture and kill small insects are not important enough to mention here (or anywhere really), their names and lives are not important, what is important is that i fought all alone against an enemy that was humongous in scale and infinite in resources, and i fought all alone till the last day, never gave up and did not commit suicide although it was suggested by my so called captors at every step of the way.
it was not as if i was afraid to name them here, but it would serve no practical purpose and besides such virulent strain of humanity is best forgotten entirely. to even put their names on paper or etch them on these electrons seems unworthy of the paper and the electrons.
suffice it to say that my primary learning from this whole ordeal of a life is that americans are a particularly dense and self-destructive bunch and as of this writing had become a clear and present threat to the planet due to their hubris. this fact however, would obviously not be recognized in my lifetime although my lone life had more meaning and substance imbued in it because at least i stood for something positive, political and was, like all lives of revolution, a little too good to be true, whereas theirs had meaning only in the opposition and naysaying and in maintaining the status quo.
what is also interesing that in this “truman show” style spectacle and trial-by-public-opinion, my torture, persecution, and eventual death became the context in which the other lived. so basically every piece of culture and art the reader created or consumed between my life and death was a derivative of my story and that of my family, if not direclty inspired by it. not to mention politics, both local and global was not unaffected by all this although it would be a stretch of ego and self-importance to say how much of it was due to the spectacle, so i shall refrain.
when i say “spectacle” in the context of my toture and death, it isn’t something more complicated than the usual “man in the panopticon” trope humanity has used before for its own nefarious purposes. except in my case it was rather more virulent and vicious than in, for example mideval times, where even drawing and quartering was at max a day-long event. what happenned to me was a slowed down version of this, slowed down over almost four decades and counting, that is.
how i ended up as the new “body of the condemned” inside this “sabbath of stupidity” is also not important, as i said i was born into it. so i became condemned by birth alone and not as a result of any sin or crime i had committed. as you can imagine, things came to a head and soon enough i had “transcended” into that famous place where i had been “down so long it looked like up to me”.
thus, what i seek to elucidate here are the boring bits, the uncommon nearness to the divine principle afforded to me by virtue of my sufferings since childhood.
this work of comparative philosophy and religion shall unfold by means of abstract and experimental reasoning, jumps to unfalsifiable hypothesis, references to historical myths and invocation of concepts that are still too young for most of humanity to grasp, let alone accept.
anyone looking for exacting analytical standards and scientific “proof” would promptly find themselves irritated beyond measure within the first few pages. this volume is a work of exacting faith and it is the author’s contention that only the faithless insist on any sort of proof.
this volume was also written under quite extraordinary circumstances during which my faith was tested in every measurable way imaginable, as such, these words poured out of the pain and sheer ecstasy of consciousness gone gonzo and visions delivered by the ensuing circumstance.
anyone expecting formal logic, hard evidence of divinity, normative expatiations about the miracle that is being etc. should, in the words of Hume, “commit it to flames”, for to them, it will come across as nothing but sophistry, casuistry, and illusion. in fact most of this work is against the grain of instrumental reason, reductive logic, and analyticity - it seeks to subvert the so called (cold, robotic) rationalization that goes for thinking ever since baby boomers came to power.
interwoven through the philosophy is my own story as best i can recall. if enemies are any measure of a man’s life, the reader will be pleased to know that though i was only a small town boy, i had for sworn nemeses a whole group of people who were not too far removed from the very causes of 9/11 and other terrorist acts, and while they waited for me to roll over and pass on, i decided to pen the history of what happenned here.
the most important thing to note here is that this is a story of a someone in throes of spiritual ecstasy, but throes alone make a saint not. my spiritual ecstasy was a spewing from the gutters of humanity, not exactly a dropping of mana from heaven but the opposite. so in the end, whoever in their right mind regrets being a king (not just of this world, but even the one beyond), even, if not especially if, a hyperreal one? their jelousy is proof alone of this, the rest is myth.
in every way, it was an awesome adventure (of intergalactic proportions) of a life even though i have tried my hardest here to make it seem bleak for your entertainment. to hear their cries of “save our soul” resound through my world was in itself indicative of my position. my gains were orders of magnitude greater than my losses, and where i had intended to discover mere religion, i found the keys to kingdoms hitherto unseen. as for the question of why me and not you, i have tried to answer this elsewhere in the book with theology, but for simplicity’s sake that it was because you had forgotten that the source of your kingship is not you but the other - so it was unmistakably also a symbiotic stockholm syndrome that we lived through, mostly because i was raised to go overboard with empathy.
[[the ultimate purport of this tome to assist you to first, in the words of HLP, “call off the search”, and second, start a new search. for me.
loosely stated, the central aim of the valume is to weave the theistic strand running alongside human thought into a stronger lattice-like framework upon which future endeavours can be planned and executed. consider this a reference manual or framework to build-your-own-religion. ]]
though there is a presriptive element, it is localised to individual thought and presented as an addendum to any generally educated, well informed world view.
It is the author’s hope that the reader will come away with a richer understanding of the world she inhabits after reading this volume. for the non-religious, it is merely a reference manual on how to successfully deal with feral, corrupt, vicious, racist, narcissistic, jealous, and evil people of the highest order on the planet earth. navigating such a dangerous terrain is often alluded to by the metaphor of “walking on eggshells”, whist my humble achievements are more aptly described by the phrase “driving a train over eggshells with flawless precision”. still, if nothing else, it is an account of a life of swimming against currents which have perpetuated human misery and lonliness.