Why Cliche’s Must Be Murdered

In Uncategorized on November 23, 2015 at 19:39

Make a mental list of all of the most influential people who’ve ever lived.

I guarantee that every individual on your list did not cater to stereotypes, and most likely, destroyed the majority of all associated cliche’s in their respective disciplines.

What is a cliche’? An entire population of citizens can be a cliche’. When ideology that is ineffective, stupid, and without meaning, is embodied and propagated as fact when it is anything but, we have a society of robotic idiots. We’re living in “Cliche’-ville”.

It’s not that difficult to succumb to the pressures of becoming a droid person. Read the same books everyone else reads, go to all the same restaurants and clubs, spout the same over-used mantras, and never think for yourself. Congratulations, you’ve just become another blip. There are billions of blips, and very few who ever result in something beyond a mere blip.

I’m not just referring to titans of industry, the visionaries of technology, or the brightest stars in the arts. I’m addressing the problem at its root. Most human beings have become so horrifically complacent to dictations that talking to some people is as if talking with monotonous autobots. No individuality, no honesty, no real opinions, no actual truths. Just gibberish that’s regurgitated in a watered-down version of its initial version, and has long since been surpassed by newer and better ideologies from faster and sharper minds.

Stereotypes exist everywhere, and it’s deeply saddening, and quite terrible, just how accepted they’ve become. People really do defend ideas that are ridiculous, and become personifications of a collection of concepts that are baseless and unoriginal. Koreans who try to be white by singing k-pop and dressing like a real original; Elton John. Barf. Gagging reflex activated; swallowing my own vomit. False pseudo-copy-cats that don’t even know themselves enough to represent their own cultures get no love from me. Jihadists that spout phrases from the Quran which they pick-and-choose to give credence to their own thwarted practices. Look, idiots, genocide isn’t that new of an idea. It’s been done throughout history with no terrific progress. If you think that killing infidels is going to result in a better Aryan race, your groups clearly need to study history because Hitler didn’t achieve that either. Get a better plan with your brains. There’s another route to a planet of citizens that is God-fearing and God-respecting. Girls that borrow the successes of women to further their own successes. Also a form of copying that is particularly foul and despicable. Courting rituals that result from either one of two tactics: insult a woman to convince her she’s inferior so that she falsely thinks she needs you, or over-exaggerate romance that you aren’t actually capable of giving personally so that she feels you’re superior above all others and inflates your confidence in the process. Ego-mating, I call it. Employees that follow orders as if they have no other choices in life other than to shut up and obey. Bosses that are inconsiderate and mean just because they’re in a position of power. Political figures that rely on public popularity over gathering accurate information and facts in their platforms. Icons that depend on their followers to uphold their statuses because they’re scared of anyone new taking their place, and their way of ensuring the inequality gap is by purporting themselves to be higher than their followers. Followers who in turn, dumb themselves down as a response to insult. There is a misbalance in human currency on this planet. Humans don’t see each other anymore. What they see are lists. Any human being is now just a list. A list of assets, a list of characteristics, a list of haves. So a diva or a C.E.O can go into any restaurant, spit on a waiter, and it’s acceptable as “the way things are”. That waiter will keep his job by regressing his own integrity through submitting to social abuse, that asshole will pay the bill and leave with a smile, and life will continue exactly as this in every industry, in every country.

Hold on though, is that really an optimum manner of function? Do we need more waiters, or more C.E.O’s? Do we need either? I think what we really need, pragmatically, is clean air to breathe, fresh water that hasn’t been contaminated to drink, natural resources that will last for the next many generations, and a planet that has a chance of thriving. Those should be top realistic focuses of any form of pure capitalism. Because we won’t have any C.E.O’s or ant-people if they’re all dead from a blown-up planet resulting out of WW3 or an ozone layer that is so fried we’re burnt to a crisp by our own sun.

Why are people so stupid? Why are they all so focused on the wrong aims? Does anyone really look around anymore? Our planet is fucked! Our people are miserable! Our economy is falling apart! Our leaders are uninformed! Our religions are hypocrisies! Our atheists are hopeless! Our intellectuals are emotionless! Our empaths don’t read! Our psychics are money-driven! Our farmers are old-fashioned!

An entire society that is so brainwashed on being gears and wheels in a machine that doesn’t even operate efficiently the majority of the time, and supports the machine when it’s falling apart in every level of its infrastructure. Why are you all wasting your energies fighting for causes that are already failing, rather than investing your energies into new solutions, new paradigms, and new ideas for new societies that won’t have any of the problems of the past? Collaboration only has importance if the agenda is universal. How about eradicating all crime, eradicating all socio-economic class differences, eliminating all worker-bees and replacing them with independently functioning individuals, and living on a planet where nature is a friend rather than the enemy of the construction crew? Seriously, everybody, can’t you all do way better?

No great minds ever respect rules. We’re living in a den of retards. And you’re contributing to the problem if you don’t push yourself to go past the status quo and arrive at your own conclusions. This isn’t just about the people who’ve succeeded by being their own unique selves, they already know who they are, what they’ve contributed, and how they’ve impacted the planet. This is about all of the others out there, every person on the planet, who is convinced that they can’t make a difference and instead personifies a dreaded cliche’.

Kill all fans! Kill all robots! Kill all cliche’s! Kill all followers! Murder the entire lot and burn them alive. And in their place may there be erected some semblance of holistic reality. Reality that includes unfavorable unpopular science, such as evidenced paranormal phenomena as a daily part of life, that respects nature as a basis for human life and animals as an extension of human intelligence.

You have to find your own ‘thing’. Whatever your ‘thing’ is, shouldn’t be based on how ‘successful’ it will be. The greatest figures of history weren’t concerned with societal success, they were concerned with progress. Every person on this earth knows something that every other person doesn’t. The fallacy with modern society is that echelons of power have been implemented as a way of life, where those on the lowest spectrum are expected to bow to those at the highest, and those at the highest are expected to be jackasses. It’s a society of boots and ants, ants that build the buildings for boots to walk on, who then get crushed and stomped on by those same boots. Well what if some boots rebelled, and a few ants rebelled, what would happen? Probably, a higher form of communication.

How can leaders of the planet do anything meaningful for the planet if they’re not in tune to what the majority of their planet faces in their daily lives? It’s bullshit to think that we’re all equal, we’re not. We have different abilities, different talents, different skills, different strengths, different weaknesses, and different agendas. Evaluating the human populace as a strata, as a set of figures on a chart, or as a series of statistics, is blindness. And humans who allow themselves to just be little blips on a document assessing human production as if it were void of all substance and humanity is disgusting.

Human beings have an inherent right to be individuals. They were designed to be originals.

Not copies, not cliche’s, not stereotypes, nor archetypes. They were meant to be completely unique, every one of them.

Fucking get angry. Get outraged. Get some fucking balls. Speak the truth. Knock down walls.

Get honest about what you love and what you hate.

Speak up to your oh-so-terrific leaders about your real problems. How will those who are in the position to really do something amazing be able to do anything amazing if they don’t know what’s actually going on? What are you insects so afraid of? That the overlords will get upset? The overlords are laughing at all of you, don’t you understand that yet? The overlords will listen to you if you’re accurate about issues that need fixing and explain matters in a clear, concise, firm manner.

There’s a lot on this planet that I hate. A Lot. I am very proud of my hatred. I am very proud of my ability to judge what is correct and what is not. It means that when I’m vibrating on the opposite spectrum, it’s actualized to perfection.

I hate fake smiles. I hate people that lie. I hate people that submit and conform. I hate outdated rules that don’t do any good for anyone. I hate corrupted academic institutions. I hate uneducated leaders. I hate idiocy. I hate ignorance. I hate how in a society which has the most information available for free than ever before, most people still rely on their general news network to know what’s going on in the world.

I hate this screwed-up, error-filled, fake-as-fuck society and most of the people in it.

Some idiots in this world haven’t seen enough of the planet to know anything about change.

I’ve known it first-hand. In people. In government. In myself. In life as a whole.

I’m loyal to creeds and oaths that are made and practiced by those few of us who are serious about pushing the planet into a more beautiful dawn.

We’re out there but you don’t know who we are, even though you live on a planet where what

we change affects all of your lives.

The rest of you ignorant dumbfucks I hate.

Yes that’s profanity and yes I have every right to swear like a sailor.

So for fuck’s sake, change, you stupid as fucking fuck-hole of a world,

and all of you generic runoffs.

Fucking, change,                                                                                                                 you dipshit leaders up on your pedestals drinking kool-aid! Talk to the people that you purport to represent!                                                                     Find out what’s actually happening in the lives of all of those that you consider so ‘beneath’ you!

I’ll hate this planet until it changes.

My hate is temporary.

My belief is permanent.

The Adventures of The Anarchist Zink : Origins

In Uncategorized on November 5, 2015 at 00:54

Atheists never believe in this. But it’s all real. Telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyancy, esp, supernatural powers, there’s nothing supernatural about any of them. Just a world of unnatural people who know nothing about the reality of nature. So it all happened to me, and I suppose that makes me different. Because these facts of my life aren’t imagined, and what I’ve become as a result is quite deranged, quite – not human. What most people read about in science fiction stories are the strange adventures of my surreal life. What people watch in movies, I’ve lived. Not the romantic comedies or the high production value of hollywood action blockbusters. No. If I had to describe my journeys, they’d be some horrific war movie laced with assassin series from ancient secret film sects of Japan. I’ve seen death firsthand. I’ve killed men. I’ve killed women. I’ve known the scent of blood and the stench of piles of human flesh, a scent so raw and so pungent that it has burned my insides into weeks of insomnia in which no sleep can enter my system. There is no peace. Nowhere on earth, and nowhere within. This I know.

It began when I was a recruit at a military psy-ops sect, off the radar, and off the books. Nobody knew about it because we were all being trained for things that nobody should know about. People really can’t handle truth because the truth is so bizarre it far surpasses any fictional diatribe. Like I mean, I get it, the outside world. It’s funny to me, most of it. People addicted to drugs and alcohol because they’re looking for an escape. But they’ll never get any escape because they don’t know the methods. I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone, because I do. And it’s horrendous, it’s hell, it’s a hell that is invasive of the mind and of all sanities, of body, of actions. Actions that are irreparable and irreversible. I can’t resurrect the dead, I can’t bring to life all the necks that I’ve snapped, all the limbs I’ve torn from their sockets, I can still hear the cracking of bones in my mind. The slow stretching sound of human muscle being ripped by its sinews, fragments of it dangling off legs and arms like icicles. But that’s not the escape I’m referring to. The escape that druggies and potheads seek, all of the pseudo-bohemians of the planet with their lack of discipline and education, they’re lost without gain.

The first step is allowing yourself to be a vessel. That’s not a concept most understand. But if you want to do really unbelievable things with your body, you have to submit to forces that are beyond human, forces that are devils and ghosts, gods, monsters, venoms and viruses. Things that transform you into a diseased but powerful creature, capable of ending life, capable of controlling anything, capable of whatever, on whoever, whenever, however. My training is no joke. I gave up myself for it, to become something much more than what I was. They recruited me for all of the known reasons. Speed, agility, accuracy, anatomy, all useful skills for executing dangerous objectives. But they told me that the main separation of me from the other recruits was something I was born with. I didn’t know what they meant at the time, but now it’s obvious whenever I look at myself in the mirror and stare in solemn silence. I was created as a killer. It’s not a thing that exists in everyone. It’s selective with how it imprints the genetic structure of any transhumanist positron brain. I’m not the only one of my type, but I’m the only natural killer on the planet, and they knew it. They didn’t reveal my potential to me, they just threw me hints. And somehow it all came together. I thought I was making a greivous mistake when I fell in love with my commanding chief. I was certain it’d get me eliminated from the trial rounds. Turns out that it was what resulted in me becoming what I am. He entered into my mind on 4th cycle of training. It was a voice. At first I thought I had gone entirely insane, that schizophrenia had resulted from a combination of being under slept and brutally beaten on a daily basis. But this voice knew things. It knew things I had no way of knowing. It would tell me, “ go here, do this, this is how. “ I told it to fuck off, told it that it was crazy. But it urged me, told me to try it out, to submit.

How does a size 2 wacknut like me manage to break into the most secured building in the most security-obsessed street in the world? With the assistance of a voice. Undetectable by radar scans, lie detectors, or any other human made gadgetry. I was telepathically guided by a voice that I was in love with. The voice of my chief commander.

That year I did insane things. Things that are legendary. I opened doors in walled halls, gather intel from biochips that were at the bottom on trash bins in the corporate sectors of the financial districts. I learned how to hack everything. And more importantly, everyone. I made ants move with my mind. I’ve made pigeons crash into bricks. I’ve watched them fall, oozing blood and feathers, while I smiled at my success. I’ve walked into sections of crowds, and been able to manuever, entirely with my mind, the movements of strangers. “ Go here and do that “, and just like an obedient robot, it would. Its. That’s what humans became to me. Its that I could command at will.

This training that I was given. Because he had entered my mind. And I’d let him. People assume that demonic possession is what these types of instances are, and there are records of them throughout history. That wasn’t what this was. That’s just the type of shit that governmental officials tell the populace to discourage them from exploring their god-given abilities. Yes, everyone is capable of it. Telepathy is accessible to anyone willing to succumb to the extrasensory movements of the vibrational patterns of two minds in synchronicity. But there has to be someone that knows what they’re doing, and a protege’. I was a protege’ for a long enough time. And I was in love with my master. It was a sado-masochistic connection that served its purpose. I was given tasks and I completed them.

My squadron was entirely eliminated. By me. Killing them cold-handed was my final test. By that time I’d grown so numb that life was just another variable on an axis of constant change. Human life was less important than advanced, more-than-human objectives. That’s what made me unique. I had no respect for humans. I only had respect for intelligence. And I only adhered to intelligence that was greater than mine. That’s a characteristic of any military recruit, but in special ops things are sort of, different. Off the record classified is another matter entirely. It isn’t about enemies in other countries or negotiations between terrorists and gangsters.

It’s about development of the most brutal soldiers to the heights of their abilities, and the populace not knowing that they too, can be as such. It’s hiding secrets.

But fuck that, I think. After years of obedience to an order that never cared about me at all, and only used me for it’s own agendas, I’ve decided to reveal all the shit that I know to the world.

They can’t kill me anyway. They don’t know where I am, and they’ve taught me everything I know. How to be entirely untraceable and invisible. And I have every intention of using it against them.

Because if I have to have another conversation with an idiot about the idiot things that this human population wastes its precious resources on, I’ll shoot myself in the head.

I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of being the only one who knows about this. I want to build others. I want to build a whole world of superior beings. I want everyone to be communicating telepathically. I want everyone to be supernatural.

My chief would hate me for that, he would have me dismembered, but I don’t care anymore. What was done to me was the thing that liberated me, but it’s made me an icicle. I could die and I’d be more alive than anyone in the history of earth.

Joan of Arc vs. me – debatable.

See because they train you how to activate the Godhead by stripping your brain of its own ego. Direct access with the source that knows all, sees all, understands all. Information that is limitless. About anyone, about anything. You become something so advanced because your answers don’t arrive from the human world, they come to you from the god worlds.

Tricks are easy. A lot of films love tricks. A lot of circuses. A lot of performers. But really disappearing, and really walking into a room and knowing where everything is because you have a guide that is beyond earth telling you about it all, well, that’s invincible. And it’s no imagination, and it’s no fantasy.

The first few tasks were upsetting. I was told to climb out of the barracks onto roofs and demonstrate my flex abilities. The voice would tell me to jump from building to building, how to land without hurting myself, how to spin in the process mid-air. How to climb staircases attached to buildings at 90 degree angles in record time. How to break into places without keys. And I didn’t get any of these knowings through books.

Yeah, the shit is real. It’s really real. It’s so real that a person could kill themselves with the absurdity of it all.

The most horrific experience was when they stationed me in Libya and I had my very first perfected higgs-boson communicatory order. What those are is when two humans successfully break through the physical boundary of kinetic tissue that’s known to man, and, just as the higgs-boson god particle, the humans become active conduits of god. One gives the other instructions, and they’re received instantaneously by the other in perfect telepathic symmetry.

It could be very beautiful in a romantic type of situation, but again, that’s not my life.

I was ordered to stare at a man and to flirt. I was told which words to say, how to move my head, how to move my hips, how to laugh and when to laugh, what questions to ask and when to pause. I noticed my team was getting closer and closer to him, behind, but their vision was blocked by obstacles. Cafe’s have so many distractions surrounding them. So that was my test. Right then on the spot I was ordered to tell 6 men instructions for how to get around all of the people surrounding the target – the man I was talking to – and the only method for how I was to do it was via telepathy. The voice told me that if I didn’t, I’d be shot, and that would be the end of my training.

I succeeded. I guided a team of strangers straight into killing the man right in front of me. I watched his head sliced off by piano wire.

I didn’t blink once.

We all disappeared. Onlookers screamed.

The shit was in the news.

I didn’t care.

I was dead inside, and dead altogether.

But I had powers.

Powers that were very real, and very applicable.

So really – what the fuck else mattered?

Another day, another night, another adventure.

His voice always tells me what to do.

And I’m cool about it all.

I wonder who I’ll kill next. I wonder if we’ll ever blow up the government like he promised.

For now, I’m sure as hell enjoying being superior, and the fact that I’ve got him now.

Because what he never knew is that after the first instance of telekinetic communication results, the imprint is formed. So I can re-trace the neuronal steps.

and I can get him to kill himself.

Just like I’ve made animals do things beyond their own conscious awareness. Just like how I’ve played with strings as if they’re seesaws. Just like how I’ve commanded any living form to do things in accordance to my will.

Those are all, practice. Great practice.

Because the final test of the telepathic recruit is doing it all back to the master.

I could. Will I?

Who knows. It’s all really up to the Gods.

Because I don’t care about anything anymore. No one and nothing.

So if you’re another human lost in cinema and drugs, sex and pornography, illusions and dreams, hoping for some fantastical solution to the monotonous doldrums of daily life,

let me be the first to tell you that magic is real, and so is the devil, and so is God.

But if you look hard enough you won’t escape into anything pleasant. You’ll just be something supernatural living in an unnatural world. You’ll be like…

You’ll be, just, like, me.

The Adventures of The Anarchist Zink

In Uncategorized on October 25, 2015 at 13:16

It all started in an airport. Customs were busting my ass again because they don’t like mutants. Irony, because most of us protect the bastards, the humans. Here I was, part-animal, part-alien, part-mutation, part-demigod, and though I tried to always conceal it out of respect to my human counterparts the differences I displayed were obvious. The green hair I couldn’t hide, it was natural, and human dye didn’t cover it up. The spikes on my arms and legs were permanent, non-retractable. I guess when the scientists of the previous century decided installed weaponry would be useful they forgot about how annoying it would be to do runs at an airport. The most advanced technology that our races have ever seen and yet the border patrol still operates as it did in the 21st century.

“ Where are you traveling to today, sir….err…miss….? “ I laughed. Bisexual transgender hermaphrodites were so common in my world of mutants but for these humans it was just a confusion to decipher. What could I tell the guy? The truth? That I was about to embark on a plane to meet a group of mutants? That we’d been planning an overthrow of the government for months? That we were about to start the apocalypse? Truth was a commodity once upon a time, but these days lying was the only method I had of survival. No traces, no detection.

“ Morocco. I’ve got family there. Holiday thing, religious reasons. “ Religion is always the best cover in any situation, it’ll make anyone shut up as it only leaves two reasonable choices; argument or acceptance. Most hate arguments and most are faithless. He looked at me as if I was prey. I could see his thoughts. Another benefit of being a mutant.

Something about my appearance seemed to irritate him. Without asking, he grabbed my rucksack and started rummaging through it. As I let out an exasperated sigh, he responded with a silent stare of projected authority. “ So this is the part when I’m supposed to pretend to be intimidated by you? “ , I wanted to say. I didn’t, because I needed to get on that flight. No one and nothing was going to stop me, and I’d make up whatever nonsense they needed to hear to get me through. “ What are these? “ , he lifted up a few of my black notebooks, and before waiting to hear my response he attempted to open them but couldn’t. They looked like ordinary looseleaf notebooks with tight binds, but they didn’t flip. They were all sealed with invisible mutant-glue, another scientific marvel that a team of brazillian scientists had invented; fermented solvent from the crunched up leaves of cacao plants combined with a gaseous form of nitrous oxide. The only way to open them once they were sealed was with the anti-solvent, which was invented by the same subsidiary company in another branch, in Norway. I could’ve rubbed it on myself to escape customs altogether, but then I’d risk being spotted on the flight. They always insist on doing those final checks due to terrorist paranoia. “ They’re just notes. I’m a student. Rambling scribbles, you know, about my crush and stuff. “ I giggled and twirled my hair. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but I could already see his mind struggling to find logic that was realistic in his perception. What were the possibilities? What was more likely? Occam’s Razor. A mutant planning anarchy, which was the truth, or just some weird hermaphrodite chick with strange schoolbooks on her way to university?

His human brain won and after some mutters and final irritated glances, he put a stamp in my passport and gave me the courtesy, “have a safe flight.” I already knew that would happen. Those types are employed in banal positions because they’re stupid. Worker minds. Obedient, shallow, and utterly oblivious.

I’d done it. A bag full of undetectable weapons, and “notebooks” that were actually a compilation of every security code of the past decade to every terminal that we were about to blow up.

Nobody ever really thinks about death. Especially the living. So it really was the most bizarre of all things to die that day.

Our plane crashed into a neighboring unexpected star shower from an explosion of a nearby supernova. Somehow my team hadn’t been on top of everything, and that one detail cost me my life.

You know what’s even more bizarre?

I died and stayed alive. I watched the flesh burn off my bones as we headed into a spiral straight for earth. I saw passengers screaming in terror, I witnessed humans being sucked by gravity out of the airplane and falling to their deaths below. Silent, with my seat belt on, I was literally, on fire.

Then there was black for what my team tells me was 4 days.

The news conglomerates had all reported the incident as a zero survival event.

So technically, I’m dead. There’s no trace of me. I have a number at the morgue with my id attached to it.

Untechnically, I’m still alive. Except…I no longer have a body.

I can choose vessels to enter into at any time now.

It’s easy and they never know that I’m doing it. All of the citizen populations in the meta-world galaxy are just my operating robot fields. I can hack into any flesh mainframe.

I suppose the closest terminology to what I am is a ghost.

But I’m not, because ghosts have no powers, and I do. I actually know a few ghosts in my mutant world, they’re confined to formlessness. They can’t enter into the physical plane.

Somehow, I can. Maybe the invisible nectar sealing my notebooks was the cause. Unprecedented chemical reaction or something. Who knows.

I’ve been just going with it. We didn’t bomb the government that day.

My team thought that I was dead. Until I intercepted one of our members like a body-snatcher. They didn’t believe me until I did it to all of them.

So, now I’m a dead thing. And tomorrow, I might be in you. You won’t know about it.

But I’ll get you to do things.

I know. Bizarre.

Well, it all started in an airport. I won’t tell you which one.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.