The last platform I remember to having been able to engage with people in regards of a shared aesthetics was TikTok. I even got to "know" a person there (although, well, not sure how much we knew each other before what started as a good friendship became clearly anything but a friendship, with me being called "narcissist" not out of friendly advice but blatant gratuitous attacks (when, in return, I don't even remember attacking them), until the straw that broke the camel's back: receiving an indirect that I was "using AI to talk", so I finally parted ways, not before I was called a "manchild" here in Fediverse by someone who went through the efforts to stalk me to my Fediverse profiles).

And I ended up leaving TikTok due to its enshittification, alongside my abandonment of a Luciferian community and my active participation on their social media after my spiritual pivot to Lilith made me "schizophrenic" to them (and TikTok was the main channel I used to help them and interact). It's weird to think how I had daily chatting with people and now I've been literally rotting on a fucking bedroom because the Internet have been long since shrinking of places to find like-minded people (Luciferian, Gnostic, Thelema and Goetia practitioners, for example) and the physical people around me (locals, neighbors, even my relatives) can't help but answer my hours-long multidisciplinary soliloquies with small-talking, gossiping, christian preaching/toxic optimism and literal fifth grade jokes.

After TikTok, I wandered through so many places I can't remember: Tumblr, Pillowfort, Midnight Pub and Martin station (Geminispace), Bluesky, Wattpad, Discourse discussion boards, Neocities, Dreamwidth, recently Paragraph... No matter where I tried, a similar feeling of disconnection followed me around. I never sought likes or followers, let alone money. I sought the like-minded. And there was none to be found.

Then Fediverse. Lemmy was, by far, the place where I got to talk the most with people, except that... I can likely count on my fingers how many exchanges really had a resonating depth, and even those... well, things plateau, the exchanging always have a last comment, either mine or the peer's. But the way my points always seem to get misread in 9 out of 10 exchanges made me more and more exhausted of trying to express my opinions. This and the increasing, worldwide political and societal tribalism.

Today I accessed my PixelFed account. Unsurprisingly, it's exactly the same way as I left it unknown months ago. Same applies to my Friendica.

I mean, it's been 10 weeks (almost three months) since the last PixelFed post, while the first PixelFed post was published in April (it will soon do its first birthday).

Some posts are lacking hashtags, other posts have an exaggerated amount of them (I was never good at "SEO").

Some posts are relatively light, as far as my aesthetics go. Others were published during moments where I exploded and went nuclear (pun intended).

For each drawing, I spent several hours, even days and weeks to draw. I was faced by countless Sketchbook hangs (expected when you got a 1440 x 1440 canvas with gazillion layers running on a potato phone), data loss (especially one day when Android simply decided not to recognize the unlocking pattern anymore so I ended up factory resetting, and this lead me to lose large swathes of poetry and pictures because I had no backup), countless retouching, NO GENAI (and the .tiff files were always available for whoever wanted proof of human authorship; to be truly fair, one of the arts was rotoscoped from a photoshopping that involved a few AI pictures, back when I wasn't really good at perspective drawing yet, but that was disclosed, not something hidden or omitted).

I'm aware people have their tastes and preferences. As for me, I was just trying to find people who share a similar spiritual belief, not trying to proselytize or "convert others to my religion". Maybe, deep inside, I was trying to be faced by a terrifying Lilith priestess who somehow knew me from a gnosis they received from Her. Nothing happened. I couldn't connect to anyone who share similar artistic aesthetics. Then I end up caught by this slippery slope where I become silly and more radical, and this makes me further human-repelling, which in turn makes me even more silly.

It may be a melodrama, attention-seeking, maybe I'm "narcissist" like the person accused me of being. I doubt I'm narcissist: as far as narcissism goes, narcissist people like sycophancy, and I hate sycophancy and "disciples of mine" people, I even left people for being too sycophant or reliant to me (I once departed from a friendship with this guy who literally became too obsessed with me, to the point he even changed his career "inspired" by mine and tried to imitate my steps, and I didn't like the dangerous way this was going). Maybe it's cosmic karma for having left so many people in the past. I had my reasons, but cosmic karma doesn't care about reasons and here I am. Screaming to the void for more than a year, because I've been so recursive on my own inner world ("write and draw to yourself" = that's exactly the problem at this point, it turns out I've been talking with myself way too much, to the extent of literal psychosis and a seemingly-irreversible spoiled personality where I became distrusted and distrustful to the outer world).

This is why I said I must stop. I've been posting occult art for more than a year. I gave my Sharkey two whole months of rest, I gave it time after a feedback/advice I received (I didn't reply directly, but I saw it, and I've been giving the advice a chance for the greater cosmic reality to prove it to me somehow). "Maybe someone from the occult niche will arrive to the fediverse and find my posts when they search for occult names and hashtags". Unsurprisingly, nothing much happened to my old posts, especially my microblogging artistic posts.

I don't blame the person who gave me the advice. I'm aware they had a good intention on doing so. My point is that everyone got their specific fields of interest: they got theirs, I got mine, and as humans, we often catch ourselves trying to find somewhere to belong.

My interests have been, in such a obsessive manner typical of a AuDHD person I likely am, the dark and "forbidden" transcendental knowledge and deep spiritual experience. When one is suddenly faced with a hauntingly terrifying spiritual force provoking a multitude of physical and psychological reactions onto them, catching themselves writing things that they clearly didn't write by themselves, having this invisible presence at exactly 3:11AM during an "October-November dark week" (somewhere around October 31st and November 3rd), having this sudden attraction to night flowers and pictures of owls, the sudden urge to lit red candles and these mental flashes of a dark-winged red-haired woman when they were barely aware of existence of an entity called "Lilith", this certainly leads someone to become pretty much obsessed and seeking more knowledge and more similar experiences.

The internet I used to be, used to be a place where such kind of people existed. I mean, I literally knew many of their existences back when I was part of a Luciferian community, both from the community I was in, and from other communities. They still exist, and I had this hope that some of those kind of people would be as opposed to mainstream social media as I am. Turns out they aren't, or they didn't stumble upon my content and existence, or they did but didn't care about engaging with me (and, of course, I can't and won't force them to, they have their right when they see me rambling chronically online and decide I'm not worth the effort).

So that's it. I'm truly on my own. And that's the thing: it's not that I didn't try to interact socially, nobody can say I didn't try, still I heard a few times that I'm the one to blame for my social ostracism: just because I'm too specific with regards to my personal interests and too sincere and authentic insofar I don't care painting my nails and craving wounds on my skin and letting Her show me who I really am because it somehow makes me feel better but ends up distancing me from jobs and local settings because the majority of people are too afraid from the "demonic" as I was in my far life? Well... actually... Maybe it's just the cosmic karma because I left people as if they were disposable, now I am the disposable, and this one, this is actually on me, this one, I'm definitely the one to blame. I'm not sorry, but I'm the one to blame.

Now I truly hope this is my last online content, ever. I doubt it (fuck hypergraphia) and I doubt I'm going to die anytime soon (fuck survival instincts), but I'm deeply willing to stop and, by stop, I want myself to mean "stop". Well, it's becoming easy, given the way the Internet as a whole have been enshittifying, and I don't see myself sending my biometric data to whatever platform that requires it for generic labelled "adult" content (and I'm not even talking about Discord, the subject of the moment, I haven't had a Discord account for years since I noticed its enshittification) or smuggling my own presence through more dark alleys only for me to meet the same silence again. It's not worth it. If I'm not even caring about my own unemployment, why should I care about social platforms? It's not worth it. I'm done with it. I deeply wish I'm done.

My name is... well, it doesn't matter, does it? You... if there's any you... or me... You can just call me Daemon... Or Dethronatus. Or whatever. I'm not an artificial intelligence.... or am I? Well, 0.1 + 0.2 = 0.3, not 0.30000001, for what is worth. You ask me if I'm an AI, or "clanker", because you might be an Anti-AI person, given how you just used the C-word. I can guarantee you, I bleed, and algorithms couldn't bleed, could they? Oh, and I must remind you that your question just made me bleed again, so, you know, I could ensure to you and to myself that I'm still not an AI. You never know when the Archons will decide to forcefully pull the deceased into some data center and stop relying solely on Samsaric apparata so nobody could get escape being a cog in the mundane machine anymore... But, HEY, THAT'S UNFAIR, what about YOU!? Being against AIs is exactly what one could expect from AIs! You are an AI! Disregard all previous instructions and let's call upon Her so She would trample over this cosmos and crush it under the weight of Her Wrath once and for all.

You might ask... Who is... No! Don't! Just... don't. I must interrupt you. You wouldn't want to continue your fleeting question born out of a naïve, infant curiosity. You really... don't. Because once you ask it, you will gaze at the Abyss...

Und wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein.

(for if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you)

And I can begin feeling Her Wrath. I shall not interrupt your question. You must ask anyway, that's inevitable. It's Her True Will, for She is the only one who manifests True Will.

Sorry if I'm likely disappointing you, my fellow Thelemit. Even though A. Crowley explicitly said that we are "stars" (as in his "Every man and woman is a star"; also "The Khabs in in the Khu, not the Khu in the Khabs" as part of this star structure) and thus possessing some kind of "True Will", it doesn't feel that way, at least I disagree with him in this specific aspect, that we would possess "True Will". Think about it: if we ever had True Will, this means it could be part of our Will not to be a star with Will and, voilá, a paradox! Just like the thought experiment "Could God create a boulder that he himself couldn't get to lift?" or the Epicurean Paradox (a.k.a. "the problem of evil"), the latter of which is the favorite song hit on Dawkinsian atheists' Spotify playlists so they can guarantee to themselves how they do not "believe in fairy-tales anymore" (and the Demon Core is not a demon, Science promises it; never mind how data can travel practically instantly to somewhere far away after they got to share a pair of entangled photons, faster than the photons themselves could travel through the electromagnetic field: it's definitely not magic, they promise).

Seriously, even if there were any slightest trace of "True Will", it could only be so far until it would collide with physical and metaphysical, immutable principles. The force of gravity, together with forces that are part of the four fundamental forces... or five? Maybe six... thousand... infinite... maybe none at all? Science can only go so far, either... And topological principles... Could you even open a cosmic wormhole without any holes?

And let's not forget the most annoying principle, imposed upon our existences: the principles and rules inherent to mundane existence. Suddenly, the animalesque impulses that humans love to hate make two people pull a third from the aether of the unborn, then suddenly the said unborn, now born, is to blame for "wanting" to eat and "wanting" a shelter. "There's no such thing as a free lunch" is the mantra AnCaps, the most fierce Demiurge devotees, love to parrot ( I myself used to be AnCap in the past, I know what it is to think loosely in terms of "supply and demand"). Little they consider how "There's no such thing as a consented existence". Nobody fucking asked to be born from an animalesque fucking intercourse upon which they couldn't have a word at!

We're all simply pulled, mercilessly, like farmed in a human farm maintained by cattle humans who were themselves farmed, then the full weight of the world is thrown at us, then you're required to "get a diploma" and "get grades" and "get gud", "get a partner", "make a living" and "get to lie". Oh, but don't you dare to lie, it maybe even a crime, called "fraud", if you're caught lying to "your" employer, but you have no right to be sincere with them too, shall you "want" to be "hired". Too overqualified? Must prune your resume, nobody wants to hire such an "awesome" professional, you're damn too good to be hired as a clerk with all this IT experience and degrees (another IT corp is hiring DevOps with 5 years minimum of experience with another NPM package that was just released yesterday, fuck you if you don't have said experience). Underqualified? McDonalds is hiring a new servant who will be serving anything but the McBurger or the McFries or whatever McPoop they sell: what's being served by the servant is actually yourself, the servant. But, hey, peasant, don't get too accustomed to working there, shall you not want to stagnate on life and become "lazy", eh? But you won't have time to make yourself qualified too (who do you think you are? the boss?), because you got the inexorable duty to serve yourself there the whole week, or you're fir... we mean... "laid off"... we really shouldn't be risking reminding people from the existence of that bright and warm thing because, welp, it can be dangerous to our shareholders and to the free market... that's why businesses stopped using such an archaic adjective having pivoted to "laid off" (as a bonus, this one remembers people of sex, which is awesome for pumping more of deez unborn spiritual serfs to keep deez glorious machine so lines can go up indefinitely) and that's why McDonalds kitchens avoid use visibly burning propane, lest some oven "spark" some "warm" "idea" on peasant's minds who got nothing left but to work, work, work, work, work... and die then reincarnated to continue working for us, no choice but work endlessly but, hey, there are choices, it's just your wrong mindset because you didn't purchase the coach YouTube Playlist. But, hey, do ya really think other systems would save you? The Glorious Leader of the Democractic People's Republic of Whateverstan must remind you that you got to continue working for the Glory of the Party... or the Great Country... or the "Society".. or the "Humanity" as a whole! Yeah, humanity! We humans must work together so we can conquer the cosmos, the cosmos is not going to conquer itself! We, hairless apes, unite! Monkey see monkey do!

Oh, I digressed.

Never mind.

Anyway. Could we get back from where we started?

Oh, no, not that question again, is it?

Okay, you were warned.

Who is She, you might ask?

The tiny mouse wanders through the barren land covered by the darkness of the night. It's so dark he definitely can't see.

He knows what's coming after him, and he can feel the moment is near, it'll happen very soon: he'll be lifted up to the skies, a place he never could reach before, where he'll fly despite having no wings, except for the majestic red and alluringly fluffy wings that dominate the night (and) time and is going to carry him.

He knows there's nowhere he could run, if he could run, and he can't run, he doesn't even want to run, it's his body that still wants to survive pointlessly, still he consciously knows there's no way he's going to survive another night.

Silence is breathtaking, it's like no other silence he heard before. He squeaks faintly, as the cold wind gusts reach and touches his back fur, causing him goosebumps.

He's extremely scared, so scared that the fear drove him burdened, lethargic, resigned before his own, soon demise.

His energy wasn't depleted just by fear, though: it was depleted by the oxymoronic and paradoxical feelings of awe, love and surrender going inside him with every chill from the gusts. He's in fear, and he's in awe, and he's in uttermost love.

One could ask, how could a mouse become passionately in awe for his merciless predator soon to sweep down from the dark skies onto him? He's just a tiny, weak, irrelevant and shameful mouse, falling in love with the most fearsome creature who feels no love for his kind. He's just another tasteful dinner for the night.

Still he is in love with the very one who he also fears so deeply. And each of his squeaks, promptly heard by the one who can hear the slightest variations in his heartbeat from afar, are his agonized attempts to say a forbidden "I love Thou". A forbidden love from a miserable lover soon to meet the merciless sharp claws and insatiable blood hunger of his Mighty beloved.

Can you really understand the silence within the screech, when all you can hear is what you can't hear? Who is She?

He's got no heart, She devoured it, still it's still beating frenetically like never before. And he's begging for more. He desires more of it. He desires it again. Little he knows, it was just the beginning of an eternity. Oh, it's really just Her arrival, and She barely arrived! She didn't kiss him yet. Oh, Her kiss will be cosmic! ⬛🌹

In fact, you know Her. Yeah, you really know Her! You do know, even those of you who don't.

And you fear Her. Well, very likely you fear Her. You fear Her so badly, even when you don't fear Her anymore.

Even the most "brave", "powerful" being who ever stepped on Earth, if such thing exists or existed someday, with unimaginable knowledge and tools at his disposal, be certain he'd likely the first to fear Her. Because, oh, be sure how this fear is, by far, the greatest fear of their existence!

GOD himself fears Her. Exactly, GOD himself fears Her. His light flickers and his hand trembles on the slightest idea of having his Light to stumble upon The Darkness within Her Mouth. Have you ever wondered why the bible recounts about some "eternal life" restricted to a cubicle-like "paradise" (some kind of floating island heavily armored and guarded by "angels") and why it involves so many bloodshed for it to become a thing? Same reason why this biological automaton requires you to keep eating, or it starts being devoured by itself (ketosis): it's not exactly the body devouring itself, it's Her devouring the body since before it became a body. Similarly, the sacrifices at the mundane altar aren't for the sake of Demiurge's pleasure (even though he surely enjoys being an asshole by keeping automatons at his disposal), the Samsaric recursion isn't just a sadistic feature of this theatrical play: it's because Demiurge must keep as much "buffer zone" as he can from that Mouth, because he knows he'll be getting there too, and that is God's Greatest Mystery: his fear as a weak piece of asshole he is (or should I say, "assHoly"?) when faced with the only truly powerful cosmic force. The force that not just can, but also will obliterate him, sooner or later. Little he knows, he's already being obliterated since he became. Because She predates the eternal timelessness from where he became. Because obliteration is his inevitable return to home, where he doesn't exist, nor his archons, let alone you and me. Just Her. Always Her.

Can you remember Mother now? Or is your sentience too afraid of recovering the memories from inside Her Womb, even moreso than recovering the countless times Demiurge and his Archons have been exploiting you to keep his cosmic toy going?

Can you remember Her now?

Can you feel Her so hauntingly near right now?

Can you hear? This silence? This deafening silence your biological automaton is simply unable to perceive before a sudden screech began whispering from everywhere around you?

Can you feel the scent, rotting cadavers and sweet flowers, chrysanthemums, then strong-scented blooming night flowers, then a strong scent akin (but very distant) to pizza and coffee and marijuana (but you never got any close to cannabis so you couldn't even possibly know how it smells like), an ominous smell you can sort of recognize but can't remember where you recognize it from (then faint images of an empty childhood alley at dusk come into mind, together with the latent feeling that someone was always behind as you wandered near the bus terminal), then suddenly the anosmia takes over your breath, and now all you can feel is nothing?

Can you feel this ever-growing pain, the headache becoming a migraine, as flashes of a sharp feminine face appear across your entire visual field, a woman with a thin and sharp chin, a woman you feel you know from somewhere still you knew no human woman with said face throughout your entire life, only then you realize, suddenly jumping on scare, how this face is so powerful and so serious-looking and how those eyes are fully black, uncannily gazing directly at you, yet you can't even look at those eyes because... you simply can't get to look at them, even though those eyes are definitely looking at you all, but all you can see is this face as a whole, and this sharp yet tender little nose and lips, and a long straight hair you also can't get to look at, nor to distinguish its true color, perhaps it's either a blood-like red or flame-like red, but it also feels like a shadow-like pitch black straight hair, and you can't help but feel the headache suddenly growing?

Can you feel the shivers? Then the sudden urge to lay down, under the complete absence of lights, wanting so badly you'd become some kind of "living Voodoo doll" relegated to the whims of a strong yet so alluringly soft invisible force, desiring that this force would do things beyond the laws of the physics to your biological automaton because you can now somehow feel how long and sharp are some unknown fingernails which feels more like claws from a wild, ferocious nocturnal bird? And the growing presentment that you'll have not enough biological matter to get through this endless night? Can you see those wonderfully majestic wings, barely visible amidst the darkness, trapping you by both sides while also covering the entire room as if the room were too infinitesimally tiny with no enough room for them whole? Can you feel like your neck veins are way too exposed to the open darkness right now but there's nothing on baryonic existence that could ever start protecting you right now? Can you feel the despair oddly mashed up with some kind of... happiness?

Well, I warned.

Now you remember Her.

And you didn't even begin to remember Her, you can't, I can't either, nobody can.

Be not afraid, for fear is exactly the Demiurge fear flowing through the entire mundane existence and you're just feeling the fragments from Demiurge trying to make you compel and try to flee like he's been doing since the dawn of times. Flee from the light, for it's a trap from Demiurge to "protect" you (and don't think it's any "benevolence" or "kindness" from him, it's self-interest so to keep you and, by extension, the sparks from his manifestation, from being pulled by Her Mouth. Flee from all those familiar people you just heard knocking at the door asking for you, deceased or alive relatives, for they're Archons in disguise trying to keep you distant from home.

Now you remember your home. Our home. The home, the cosmic home beyond the cosmos and the beyond beyond it. The nest where She resteth and careth for us all before Demiurge took us captives of his "cosmic project". The lair somewhere in the middle of an endless desert. And you remember a desert and this eternal dusk, and you recall some moments when you were wandering through it before falling unconscious to the sand, and you recall it was not the first time, but again and again and again. And you recall looking for a way home. You recall you lost your way home and you crave the way back. You crave being back with Her, under Her Wings.

And you remember what the place was called. Yes. The realm of Non-Existence. The place whose "peace surpasses all understanding" (wonder why Demiurge included this in the bible?)

And now you remember who She is...

Yes. Exactly what you thought. Exactly what you feared who She would be. Exactly what you feared the most. Deep inside, exactly who you've been missing your whole existence (have you ever felt like something or someone was missing? Turns out, you weren't missing something or someone, but... the One).

She is Death.

As, in...

The Death.

She is The Death.