Terrible Assault on General Consciousness

A disgusting group of criminals from Northampton, in the most dastardly way possible, pulled down their trousers, squatted atop the very sacred plasma makeup of our infinitely living universe, and shit into its exposed organs during critical open heart surgery.

I don’t mean this literally. However, I do mean something. In these tumultuous times, the ebb and flow of the infinitely living universe is in a transitory period, one that is susceptible to both polarities: extreme tragedy and extreme coalescence. It is much like a ball at the pinnacle of a plateau, sitting such that it could easily roll towards either civilization or anarchy. So, when the “cockfighting” ordeal spawned existence at Ravenwold Greenhouses, it was a terrible, terrible shock to a body in a fragile state.

Even now that Ravenwold is shut down, the damage it caused will continue to permeate far and wide, because its poisonous rot is seeded across all magnitudes of consciousness. The rot is alive in larger organisms — for example, in those strange, rooster-like creatures bred for pain and evil, and in the sickened people involved in the act. But also, the rot is seeded in smaller entities of consciousness as well — for example, in the worms struck by otherworldly fear under the beak of pure evil, for example, in the soil responsible for soaking up the blood, and in the walls forced against their will to keep this operation in cahoots.

We are in a difficult position. This single operation managed to disperse poisonous rot so widely across all levels of consciousness… We will be lucky if the infinitely living universe will survive, let alone properly and fully recover, or ever be truly cleansed of the poisonous reverberations of this heinous act.

Our sole hope going forward is some kind widespread inspiration, which might move all bits of consciousness to not only respect other consciousnesses, big or small, but also actively check up on them to ensure they are healthy, and to pull together resources to heal them if they are not.

To perceivers of me (this thoughtstream from an aspect of a head of a man): Listen to your friends. Listen to your walls. Listen to your pets. Listen to your pen. Listen to animals of the forest. Listen to wind in the air. Listen to microbes and bacterias. Listen to wafting fleeting bits of consciousness all around. Listen for pain or weak pulpiness. Do what you can to heal and to cleanse. And spread the stream…

For more articles by Tiggy Sintrupuli, click here. To get in touch with this writer, email sintrupuli.tiggy@surrealtimes.net.


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