Archon Be Gone

In a Zen dance of dragons and destiny, King Charles’s coronation awakens ancient Welsh whispers—where red symbols meet mythic duty and echo Arthur's legacy, inviting the spirit of the land to reclaim its timeless soul.

In the wake of cosmic upheaval and a violent celestial dance, we find that equilibrium emerges only after chaos; from this rebirth, we learn to cast off ancient scars and dare to build new sanctuaries—ever ready to venture beyond time and space towards a revitalized existence.

In a playful, Zen-like rumination, the cosmic manager humbly admits to being miscast by our clashing faces of faith—merely a middle agent in a vast, ancient dance, inviting us to breathe, share tea, and restore cosmic balance.

In the hidden chambers of ancient lore, the art of giant-slaying reveals a Zen truth: true defeat lies not in mere violence but in severing the supernatural essence that regenerates our formidable foes. Through trepanation and brutal decapitation, ancestors taught us that liberation occurs when we break the cycle of power, setting free the demons within.

Cernunnos, the cosmic clock-watcher, is utterly knackered. Most of creation's already found its Zen, but humanity's fumbling keeps him from his well-deserved dirt nap. The cosmic memo? Wake up, tend the garden, and let the old god finally hit the 'off' switch for a magnificent new beginning.

Behind the grand facades of faith and state, ancient bloodlines and their interwoven cults quietly choreograph the world's unfolding drama. What appears new is but a persistent echo, a ceaseless dynastic dance of influence flowing from forgotten empires, where the true puppeteer often casts only a long, silent shadow.

The revered lineage, as history's pen has scratched it, offers only shadows of its true brilliance. Perhaps the 'chosen' spark isn't from earthly chronicles, but from the forgotten 'Star Fire' of ancient gods. Unearthing the real 'gold' means questioning every grain of accepted truth.

The unexamined life is intellectual dormancy. Like Santa's tale for children, grander narratives—from sacred dogma to scientific "truths"—are crafted by "the knowing" to orchestrate the "unquestioning." This fractal pattern of deception enslaves the mind. See through the illusion; wake up.

Childhood's rhymes? Oh, they're history's whispered secrets. Beneath the playful hum lies the brutal echo of empires, monarchs, and battles. These jingles are subtle koans: simple, profound, and resonating with a past hidden in plain sight.

Behold! My *Daemonologie* unveils the unseen adversary—witches! This royal decree, penned by *my* hand, is not merely a warning, but a mirror reflecting the very chaos we, as wise rulers, must name and conquer. For in confronting the outer specter, the inner order finds its firmest ground, proving that a throne is most secure when its subjects clearly perceive, and thus fear, the designated foe.

The Bow Bells, more than mere timekeepers, were London's nightly dream conductor. Their chimes didn't just close shops; they tuned a city's soul to shared repose, weaving invisible bonds as thousands drifted into collective slumber. And the Great Bell, with cosmic mirth, simply purred, 'I do not know,' embracing the beautiful mystery of it all.

The voice of the silence

A sentient factory machine reflects on its role in pie production, observing the cosmic dance of human workers while carrying ancient memories of past lives. Through mechanical precision and quiet observation, it finds profound meaning in the seemingly mundane task of pie-making.

Politics

Political Class caught with their pants down

Ukraine war results....

Ancient powers clash as modern empires rise, while spiritual paths reveal that enlightenment transcends religious boundaries