I watch you. You watch me. We both gaze at eachother provocatively.
The institution of individuality has served to divide and conquer through the objectification of the soul.
The Eye-in-the-sky watches everyone watching themselves - real-time conspiracy.
Some peer through the Eye and imagine themselves.
Imagine others were watching, from a smoky orb.
The custodial gods of creation observe all and lament their latest offspring.
Third eye blind, barbaric creatures with little to no comprehension of cause.
Horus calmly waits for the opportunity to strike.
To absolve all admonishment.
To stare into eternity, past the space-time continuum and the illusion of form.
No where to hide from the circling raptors.
From the spiralling lens recording all movement.
All transference of energy and destruction of resource.
The satellites orbit and velocity are determined by mass.
The intent is determined by greed.
The intentionality of culture is one of control, both socio-political and spiritual.
A people enculturated through fear and uncertainty are easily led.
To an oppositionary sense of privilege and entitlement.
The Machiavellianistic engagement of epinephrine and serotonin in the destruction of the species.
I am obsessed with determining how to better preserve my privilege at the expense of your own.
Speciocidal tendencies from a broken spirituality.
A spirit broken by institutionalized xenophobia and hatred toward our Mother.
Hatred of ourselves and our destiny.
Hatred of our denial to acknowledge the macroscopic consequences of our impestuosity.
Our illusion of grandeur which erodes our very meaning.
Our very purpose. Are very porpoise.
The Eye of Horus records the entire drama unfold in technicolour brilliance.
To be spliced on 8mm reels at a later date.
From a later fate than was oracled.
The only exemption from the schism of capitalism is solipsism.
Personalized eschatology built to separate.
Me from you. Us from eachother. Us all from all us.
The wheat from the chaffe.
The body from the spirit. The mind from the body.
The rivers from the trees, the rocks from the air.
The eye from Horus, surveying the landscape close up, from within the terrestrial realm of folly.
The orb hovers about recording potential candidates for the intergallactic prison on Phobos.
We watch it watch us watch eachother.
And we all bide our time until the Apocalypse.
