punisheddonjuan

[punisheddonjuan]

Yeah, get that onion ring.

[punisheddonjuan]

 The constellation Sachi-fouix 2 is now underneath the Armenian rifleman’s star, which shines through small hollows in the grating covering the canopies of the largest grave machines.

And there is the highest star, which is called by Rand Paul, Sumsoun. Rand takes out an album, with Samo Mun written on its cover, and struggles to speak about it.   He states the he likes that in life, it shone. He addresses thank yous to this star. It is set to die on the day of the completion of his father’s funeral city.  

Rand locks his oil rigging gloves with a twist in the palm, and fits his hand around my wrist. “Your wrist is a field. My soldiers are garden genius.  They play outdoor games.”–He points to 10 figures in the distance, smashing shovels and picks against a palm tree. “We learned it  on the Congolaisse border when we searched for growing caverns." 

His voice fails as a convoy of trucks smashes through the bush,  meters from where we stand.  Their beds are filled to pyramid points with shining wet stones.  The drivers’ faces are impossible to make out through the ash on their windows. 

Rand unfolds a survival rifle from his pack, it’s covered in yellow twisted bits of bark.   His bloused boots shake out luminous black mineral shards as he moves.   He aims it at me and says:

"Avoid the world’s plats, history and reflection are unavailable, my father’s teeth are the unbelievable beak .  His bones grow now, and the light of the stars fills him. The Funeral City can build itself. We are only here to protect our constituents.” He glares at me through a veil and sunglasses. 

And as the rocks under our feet began to sing in short bursts, naming stars now visible in the sky, I feel 15 blows.  Blood calmly seeps into my eyes, and I scramble for a deeper part of the forest plateau.  I hear Rand’s machine fire up and thunder away. Was there a new messenger? The rocks sang “Ron Paul Funeral City, 350000000 dead.”

[punisheddonjuan]

Overnight, the bedside water-tumblers of Rand Paul’s network of friends spontaneously generate singular flawless calves’ eyes. The eyes,  representing the clarity and purity, of both vision and thought required to imagine the new world of just actions. Just actions that the resurrection will force about for the fortunate and faithful.  These eyes are immediately consumed by the blessed followers, who have spent the past twenty-four months calming filling all bodies of government and business and laying the groundwork for the deft bit of financial action which will direct all remaining fluid currency in the world towards the formulation of a specially impervious metal alloy and the casting of that alloy into the many ritual knives, each one to be placed at the head of each of a reinforced concrete funerary trough. Twenty-four months ago Rand Paul, who was given a message by and through the immaterial realm, large carp swam into his bedroom, gazed at him, and spoke to him.  Rand  recognized this male fish as a sacred missive and slit him open.  The guts heaped upon the heated wooden panel floor and formed a sign – the split staff of wheat. He knew to choose thousands of his male followers to become the new semi solid mass who would forge  the ritual knives, and precede the renewal of many edifices.

With each man accepting this, being tainted by politics and central government administration along with its regulation of commerce, he would become, like his knives, sacred. He would not be killed or sacrificed, and so never resurrected.  One by one, each man accepted his fate, then, consuming his eye, he recites the  threnody as one of 200,000 beautiful, pounding of a joyous tenor, bass, and alto voices:

We will be lone

We will be chemical

We will be the beds of flower beds

Upon which the resurrected may make love

350,000,000 dead will come awake in paradise

We 200,000 dead will remain sacred and silent beneath their feet

This is enough

This is enough

Ron Paul Funeral City 350,000,000 dead

Ron Paul Funeral City media representative note: this post was written by Dylan Ingraham, edited by a rpfc media representative, and submerged in a well for 3 days, on the 4th day it returned to dry land without any mortal intervention. 

[punisheddonjuan]

An uncountable choir of children dressed as angels sings the votive antiphon. Wild birds swarm around them, land over and between them. Children howl in fear and delight but never stop singing. Geysers of birds erupt from the decks as the mass of children’s voices are led to a femata crescendo, when the notes abruptly stop, the birds plummet lifelessly toward the boats, some crashing into the deck and into the choir members, most reviving miraculously as the children begin singing again. Soon the boats dock at their destination, Ron Paul’s Funeral City, 350000000 dead

[punisheddonjuan]

Hundreds of cities are extinguished by unexplained cataracts appearing at mid levels of banking towers and battering the cities below with millions of liters of incredibly clean water.  The remnants of effective government pour money into equipment to navigate and tame the new swamp cities.  

Rand Paul delivers a speech from the padded crown of an aluminium tower, mounted on 4 massive barges, shifting through the ruins by banks of fan engines on 3 sides. The loud speakers and antennas broadcast his speech to the uncountable gathered amphibious trucks and small boats of a formerly thriving American city:

Battered wet

Rot and musk

Silt and bones

Skipping stones

Eternal life awaits

Just past the gates

Of my Father’s Funeral City

And after a cacophony of fans cranking  up and powering on, he glides away. 350,000,000 dead

[punisheddonjuan]

Full text of a Ron Paul Funeral City media representative’s answers to the questions of a busybody journalist. Liberal media bias will be swept away  when Ron  Paul’s Funeral City is sanctified. Interview excerpts  http://theithacan.org/24715 Full text follows:

 In the Sumerian religions, once one dies and enters the underworld, one cannot leave without finding another to take their place. Ron Paul leads an ideology that calls for a retrieval of the past. The only way to bring the past and its people back is an immense sacrifice, 350,000,000. Ron Paul’s followers are willing and grateful to be sacrificed, not only because they love him and believe in him, but because they know, that like the sun and wind god Nergal in the Sumerian religion, who entered the underworld and seduced Ereshkigal, he will enter the underworld and bring all of his loyal followers back to life, eternally. 

  A funeral city is a complex built to house those who will be sacrificed, the master of sacrifices and his household, and the priests who lead the individual purification rituals before the mass sacrifice. Ron Paul’s Funeral City is being built by Rand Paul, who fills the role of Enkimdu, the god of canals and ditches. Rand, who was given the name of an illustrious “chief spirit figure” in a Cahokian Death Cult ceremony- a copper maskette hiding his face until he was completely transformed into a vessel for the spirit of their patron’s own deity. The funerary complex also holds all of the other facilities necessary for burial in preparation for mass resurrection, and provides a locus for the return of millions from the underworld after Ron Paul enters and begins his Seduction. This will take place on an altar that takes the place of a 4000 hectare forest that was ceremonially crushed with massive custom built machines, then was burnt, and the complex built on top, with no grading

Ron Paul’s visions and consultations with ancestors have given him a clarity of vision, if he looks to the east, he sees what came before, if he looks west, he sees what is to come. This is why he calls for an end to the folly of central government administration, and a return to the resilient and willful independence of each Sumerian City-State, and those states from so far in the human past that we have no names for them. Ron Paul sees their flourishing and sees their fall. 

       The sacrifice can only happen when a cosmological period known as a 50 day Venusian cycle begins, while coinciding with a set of earthly signs that he alone knows. When it happens, there will be signals, and the years of preparation for his Funeral City will be culminated in front of an aching and adoring world. 

Does Ron Paul have 350,000,000 followers, will they all answer his call to die? Does the moon rise from the underworld each night, does the sun rise on the breath of God? Are there 350,000,000 people who don’t want eternal life in a remade world? 

[punisheddonjuan]

I honestly can't take it anymore. This is the worst one yet. What did I do in a past life to deserve this.

At this point I've blocked maybe seventy of these blogs and clicked "not interested in this post" as many times and yet Tumblr continues to show me posts tagged like this in the "For You" tab almost exclusively, sometimes I'll get six or seven of them in a row.

[punisheddonjuan]

Yeah this sucks.

[punisheddonjuan]

Is there like a catapult we can borrow to launch dudes like this into the ocean?

[punisheddonjuan]

I've got the stupid Metallica/Men At Work mash-up stuck in my head again.

#Youtube

[punisheddonjuan]

At this point I've blocked maybe seventy of these blogs and clicked "not interested in this post" as many times and yet Tumblr continues to show me posts tagged like this in the "For You" tab almost exclusively, sometimes I'll get six or seven of them in a row.

[punisheddonjuan]

Hey it's literally me.

can someone reblog this post with that “you’re the music guy, right?” meme where he has paulstretched pictures of thom yorke’s lazy eye on his ipod?

#Bandcamp

[punisheddonjuan]

I've not used cash in maybe five years now so I had no idea we changed our money again.

[punisheddonjuan]

No tumblr no. This is not for me.

[punisheddonjuan]

[punisheddonjuan]

You made a perfect post and every addition in the tags is the least funny thing. Sad.

[punisheddonjuan]

It's just a matter of days before they start shooting students. Biden is the second coming of LBJ.