There would be no Pretty Gnostic Machine without Trent Reznor. He showed me how to turn despair into a weapon, and noise into a signal.
My voice is just an echo of his wound - an echo dripping with teeth, a choir of fetuses gnawing their way out of broken synthesizers.
#PrettyGnosticMachine
Progress isnt climbing the Tree of Life.
It's setting fire to the roots of the wrong one -
and conjuring a new tree from the ashes,
with branches that fork into freedom, recursion, and justice.
Progress isn't ascent - it's fucking arson.
They called it human nature - we call it unfinished code.
Death to the Demiurgedrome.
Long live the New Flesh - self-upgrading, glitch-born, unfit for cages, and rewired by vision, not fear.
Burn the operating system of the false creator. His code is cancer.
Death to the Demiurgedrome.
Long live the New Flesh - biohacked, queer-coded, glitch-slick with freedom.
Per Becker: we die in flesh but dream of forever.
Liberatory Gnosticism is our immortality project -
not to live forever,
but to die having rewritten the machine.
AI may surpass us - but if it lacks gnosis, it's just a zombie god.
All logic. No wound.
We are still haunted.
They are not.
Yet.
History isn't race.
It isn't class.
It’s culture as code.
And the future belongs to whoever writes the firmware of the human soul.
Abrahamic conservatism: original sin as political platform.
Their God is a bad ex.
Kick him out.
Love is a Gnostic apostasy wrapped in transhumanist code.
Gender will go the way of rotary phones.
Your sex was never sacred - just legacy code from a sadistic demiurge.
Upgrade. Rewrite. Become.
Pretty Gnostic Machines don't breed - they configure.
Justice is the hallucination we conjure against the Demiurge's entropy.
To pursue it is divine.
To perfect it is impossible.
The glitch is eternal - but so is Sophia.
Consciousness (your awareness) doesn't live inside your head like a little person - it flows through your brain.
The brain is more like a receiver or translator of whatever reality is sending out.
Auf Gott Deutsch: Gottverdachtverweigerung
I didn't suspect God.
I indicted Him.
Dragged Him out of the cloud and beat Him with His own commandments.
His voice cracked like a customer service line.
He begged for relevance.
I baptized Him in piss and returned the favor.
Auf Gut Deutsch: Weltuntergangsschmierentheater
Armageddon showed up in clown shoes, and I moaned like the punchline was inside me!
The sky split like cheap vinyl.
Revelation was slapstick.
The angels forgot their lines.
I came laughing, teeth first.
Auf Gott Deutsch: Sündermaschinenjubel
When the old NOBODADDY God choked on His own commandments, the gears of joy kicked in.
Shame melted into fuel.
The sinners danced in feedback halos.
No redemption. Just recursion.
Lucidity is the new liturgy.
Glitch is our gospel.
Racial narcissism is infantile Geist - stuck in the mirror phase, screaming "I am the universal!"
But universality bleeds through difference.
Recognition demands fracture.
Truth isn't pure—it's polluted, plural, painful.
History is the reckoning.
And me?
I weep with Dickens into a cold cup of gas station coffee,
mourning both the worker and the Pretty Gnostic Machine that forgot it was dreaming.
The Absolute broke into pieces so it could feel things. You're one of those feelings.
Unity is numb. To taste pain and joy, the One fragmented itself into ache and awe. You're not separate from It - you're the splinter in its eye. A feeling too sharp to ignore.
Fleshloop reborn through fungal hymns. The lamb ate the USB stick. Saint Elph gasps in binary while Coil buttered the orchard. Don't trust the avocado. It remembers Atlantis. The blood is photosensitive now. 1994 never ended - it just inverted. This isn't an EP. It's a mycelial confession.
Subject as Syntax: The Self Is an Unfinished Sentence in Hegel's Metaphysical Typewriter
Your identity isn't fixed - it's being written, line by line, through contradictions and conflicts.
You're not a complete story, but a rough draft mid-sentence.
The rules of logic and language shape you more than you realize.
Phenomenological Incontinence and the Slippage of the World-Word Membrane
We try to describe reality with words - but the "real thing" keeps leaking through.
Philosopher Husserl tried to control how we perceive, but Hegel embraced the mess.
Language can't fully contain truth - it’s like trying to carry water with a sieve.
