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Blake Derusha
Musician, fiction writer, Ingress Resistance Agent.
Musician, fiction writer, Ingress Resistance Agent.

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Blake Derusha commented on a post on Blogger.
While this all interests me in an almost childish way (puzzles/adventure/etc), I think it's prudent to recall that TRUTH is just as arbitrary a word any other. To imply that there is A TRUTH is to infer, also, that the advocate of such a thing is OUTSIDE the inevitable flow of indoctrination (whether it be religion-, culture-, or region-specific).

NO ONE can speak from a position OUTSIDE this "corruption". The corruption IS the story; IS life. "UNcorruption" (to coin the word) would simply be the state of NON-existence, following this logic to its conclusion. 

Just a reminder to all "students" to as wary of the teacher as you are mindful. All teachers were also once taught as students, and who is to say they learned all that is required to garner to label "teacher"?


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As to Jarvis' references to the Ultimate: anyone see a HUGE connection between this and the subject matter of Alan Watts' lectures back in the late 60s and early 70s?

Does anyone honestly think Obamacare is anything but a complete scam?

If so, my heart goes out to your feeble mind.

Who are you? And I mean, who are you REALLY? 

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This is embarrassing for an organization claiming any shape or form of credibility.

"Punishment is revenge. It's authorized revenge, let's face it. That's what it is."

--Alan Watts

It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society.

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It is no accident that modern education doesn't teach the distinction between symbol and thing — if it did, education as we know it would fall apart. After that, after education reshaped itself to provide actual knowledge instead of the symbolic representation of knowledge, the society around us would be transformed. 

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TRULY by Blake DeRusha

Yesterday, as a child, I learned of the world.
Of where the Sun rises and,
Of where the Moon sits.
I felt the agony of naïveté,
The tell-tale tug of the wide world
Upon my senses.
The assault of the unusual, the cruel, the untrusting.
The pinch of cold reality...
But yet I loved the world.

Today, as an adolescent, I am again learning.
Seeing, for the first time,
With new eyes.
Hearing with new ears,
Though my mind begins to feel old,
Recognizing the slow passage of time.
And yet I find time to measure more of distance,
Than of eventual sequence.
I have questions, but I lack urgency.
I have my road ahead.
And I love the world.

Tomorrow, as a man, will I still learn?
Will I see the Sun's divine path through the great sky above?
Will I hear the Moon's sweet song play upon the night?
Will I yet hold my course?
Great distances will I have traveled to see the world's end.
Will it be beautiful?
Will the beauty of the thing rise in my breast,
Like a breath, swelling to be held?
Will I still love the world?
Or will I know of better things?

Today, I leave behind Yesterday in search of Tomorrow.
I want to be ready.
I will myself to be ready.
So I am that.
I am.


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