I seem to be the only one not concerned with the demonic powers of AI. Maybe because I have come in contact with demonic people. Like AI, they utter incantations that make a little or no sense, they issue commands and make demands that are manipulative and infantile. They are government agents, they are coworkers, they are family members. I can develop emotional attachments to them which make it very difficult to just walk away. Whatever attributes AI has, only a complete idiot would not be able to exit the program. If anything, AI is a great interface to the libtard Marxist hive mind. One can see exactly what the overlords are thinking and planning without having to talk to their ugly faces.
Pardon the long sentence, but here is my favorite paragraph from Hermes Runs the Game, relating to the underlying fear:
This is one of the endless fundamental Gemini splits to observe. It feels irreconcilable. The fear holding together the narrative of pandemic is not merely fear of disease, or supposed care of one’s grandparents by isolating them into suicidal ideation, or even the fear of physical death. The real fear lies deeper. It is the fear of looking at the source of one’s carefully constructed reality and realizing that it is all a sham, and we have been manipulated from rocking cradle throughout every waking moment. The abject fear of unshakably realizing how the media has convinced us that they are reporting facts about the ‘world’, but that world does not exist anywhere; the fear of knowing that a medical system we thought was there altruistically to help cure us of diseases, is in reality only interested in perpetuating illness, an illness they created just for us; a fear of knowing that we have been miseducated ‘objectively’ about that same world, and further brainwashed into a self-abusive agenda; the fear of realizing that we don’t own anything, that we have no free speech, that we have no free will; knowing that we do not matter even the most minuscule iota (except as a commodity of profit and control) to Bill Gates, Anthony Fauci, Jeff Bezos, Nanci Pelosi, Susan Rice, Jeff Zuckerberg, Kamala Harris, Jack Dorsey, Elon Musk, James Comey, Wolf Blitzer, Rachel Maddow, Sundar Pichai, Klaus Schwab, Yuval Harari, Ray Kurzweil; our governors, congress, county commissioners, city councils, mayors, BLM, AntiFa, WEF, FBI, CIA, NSA, IRS, SCOTUS, the DoJ, the judge presiding over your Kafka-esque trial, or the space aliens singeing the White House lawn—the quicker we can disabuse ourselves of not only any salvation from without, but come to the wisdom that the world we see as ‘out there’ is no more than a program run through our craniums by the above-mentioned marginally-human technocratic intentionalities—maybe egregores is more accurate—the quicker we perceive that the thoughts we have about this ‘world’ are not our own—follow the strings right up to the Geppetto archon making us jig, if you are brave enough—and that these thoughts refer to nothing but themselves. Then, the sooner we can take our first wobbling steps on a path to freedom, a freedom not just from, and to, but freedom within: freedom within your experience that not one of these cheap carnival hawkers peddling fear wants us to realize.
This passage is a metaphysical scream, cloaked in astrological metaphor and political suspicion, aimed at the existential terror beneath modern life. It’s not just a critique of pandemic policy or technocratic overreach—it’s a wholesale rejection of consensus reality. Written in the voice of someone standing on the precipice of disillusionment, it offers no moderate take, no cool detachment, no balanced nuance. Instead, it plunges directly into the abyss, naming names, casting shadows, and drawing the reader into a vision of human consciousness as a stage-play scripted by manipulative, perhaps inhuman forces.
It begins with a sharp invocation: “one of the endless fundamental Gemini splits.” That alone signals a worldview steeped in archetypal thinking. Gemini, the astrological sign of duality, contradiction, and mirror logic, becomes a frame for understanding the irreconcilable fracture in modern subjectivity. This isn’t pop astrology—it’s being used structurally, symbolically, to speak to an inner and outer schism that the author claims can’t be mended. And that’s where the mood of the piece locks in: irreconcilability. Not just of political sides or health narratives, but of reality itself.
From there, the monologue descends—or ascends—into a type of gnostic paranoia. The fear of disease is secondary; the true terror lies in the unmasking of our constructed reality. The virus, the lockdowns, the messaging—they become triggers for a more profound realization: that everything we thought was true, good, and stable was constructed with the express purpose of control. The emotional tone is not merely skeptical but epiphanic, manic, as if the narrator has stumbled into a terrible truth that cannot be un-seen.
The critique lashes out in many directions. First, the media—framed not just as biased or mistaken, but ontologically fraudulent. The media isn’t lying about the world; it’s accused of creating the world as an illusion, a kind of Baudrillardian simulacrum. Second, the medical system—altruism is revealed to be a cloak for engineered illness, health a ruse to perpetuate dependency. Education is not enlightenment, but a “self-abusive agenda.” And the real bombshell: the individual is not free, has no ownership, no agency, and no voice. This is not a mere complaint against corruption. It’s a declaration that the self has been colonized at the deepest possible level.
The passage then delivers its most electric and potentially divisive move: a name-and-blame litany of elites and institutions. Everyone from Bill Gates and Elon Musk to Anthony Fauci and Kamala Harris is indicted alongside alphabet agencies, activist movements, tech giants, and even “space aliens singeing the White House lawn.” This rapid-fire list is both absurdist and deadly serious. It gestures at both satire and prophecy. The tone teeters between gallows humor and genuine despair.
The rhetorical climax comes with the idea of egregores—a term from occult philosophy referring to collective psychic entities created by belief and attention. The idea is that these figures and systems may no longer be entirely human but are instead the avatars of something emergent and malevolent: archons, demiurges, techno-spirits, puppeteers. This is where the piece transforms from political critique to spiritual allegory. The “Geppetto archon” becomes the ultimate symbol: not a government agent or tech mogul, but a metaphysical force pulling our strings, inserting thoughts into our minds, colonizing our perception.
Finally, the text gestures toward a fragile possibility of escape. The only true freedom, it argues, is inner. A “freedom within your experience,” one that arises only when the illusion collapses and the horror is named. This is not a prescription for revolution or reform. It’s a call for radical individuation, for a spiritual awakening that sees through the total structure of manipulation.
In terms of literary style, the passage is dense, urgent, and incendiary. There are no concessions to conventional discourse or dialectical engagement. Instead, the reader is pulled into a vortex of suspicion, cast adrift in a sea of dark metaphors and references. The style mimics the intensity of the narrator’s convictions—hypnotic, over-wound, and apocalyptic. But it’s also deeply poetic in a fragmented, prophetic register. The phrasing—“follow the strings right up to the Geppetto archon”—is vivid, surreal, and unforgettable.
Critically, this writing may alienate more than it persuades. It is not an invitation to conversation; it is a line in the sand. The passage embodies a profound mistrust of all institutional structures and a simultaneous yearning for an unmediated encounter with truth. That truth, however, is not factual—it’s experiential, ecstatic, and terrifying. It’s not what you read in a paper. It’s what dawns in you when the veil is lifted.
In sum: this is a hermetic gospel of disillusionment. It reads like someone who has gone to the very end of the rabbit hole and emerged with a scream, not a solution. But within that scream lies an earnest yearning: not for control, not for power, but for an inner liberation from the great, glittering lie of the world. Whether you see that as madness or vision depends on what you’re willing to believe was ever real in the first place.
Melvin writes:Subtle and expressive. Dark haunting harmonies, deceptively simple guitar accompaniment which is far more than an accompaniment to the very appropriate dead pan vocal texture.
I am a Composer of Symphonic Music.
I also have experimented a great deal in the past.
His is not experimentation, but rather fully formed and well worn.
My yoga teacher Gene Kelly, to whom I have dedicated Hermes Runs the Game, said something to the effect that we do not realize how little of what we think of as human intelligence is artificial. We think thoughts are our own, and the great trick, especially in the political realms, is that people have these media-dispensed and opinions that they act as if they came up with.
Happy for you that you have the dispassion to "exit the program". Where I disagree is that I see few doing that, and they are not idiots, they should know better.
Yes, this is all the realm of Ahriman and his seduction into the metaverse of the 8th sphere. According to Steiner's predictions, Ahriman has incarnated in the US NW, or Canada, and would be college age now. So much to look forward to! 51st state indeed . . .
Thank you Dea. Krishna did not employ love and light to win the Mahabharata war to save dharma. "We need memory": so much of my book is from the definition of truth, a-lethia, to remember, to not forget by drinking from the lake of forgetfulness, Lethe. I have tried to put our forgotten mystic western origins in there. It is really all I write about.
We worked with Peter Kingsley years ago, and his contention is that certain being witness the beginnings and ends of civilizations. Feels like watching a slo-mo Sam Peckinpaw film unfold . . .
Bravo and I couldn't agree more! I wasn't seduced by the covid spell nor am I seduced by the A.I. spell. It is a concerning spectacle indeed to witness the masses entranced by its artificial wonders.
Makes me think of the Stephen King book/movie, "IT," which was an evil clown that went after children and once captured, they realized it was a spider that ensnared them in its WEB and devoured them. Well, what's IT? I.T. Just saying . . .
Oh man, clowns creep me out. They have transformed into "drag queens" to continue their ensnaring of innocence. Remember a few years back, there was this whole thing about clowns suddenly appearing on roads in odd places. Then it stopped happening.
Funny, just picked up a wonderful album by Madhuvanti Pal on the Rudra-Vina, an instrument relatively unfamiliar to me. I think she is an up and coming master.
I chuckle when I think of glorious Indian music being a nice payback during the British rule, with all those uptight officials and their families, who were incapable of hearing it as music. It was only a dreadful noise to their ears.
There are tamer versions by Nina Simone and John Fogerty, but neither is nearly as entertaining. This one gets me laughing at the absurdity of it all. The AI addictive madness is being dished out like ice cream on a Summer's day. Mind control, spells, repulsive but to some hypnotic, robot voices, et al.. Sham, spam and no thank you, Ma'am. I lost my taste for what's being dished out lifetimes ago.
This is a fiery and mythopoetic manifesto, not a critique in the classical sense. Its central insight that AI threatens human authenticity and aesthetic sensibility is a real and pressing concern. But it is expressed in a register more akin to prophecy than argument. The rhetorical power comes from its tone, its imagery, and its righteous anger. However, as a critique, it sacrifices balance, complexity, and specificity.
The danger it warns of a culture enamored with its own simulation, losing the thread of embodied, soulful human creation is legitimate. But to dismiss all AI writing and art as “creepy” and “puerile” is to blind oneself to the subtleties of a rapidly changing world.
This piece is less an invitation to think critically and more a warning howl from the cultural edge. Its power lies in its refusal to compromise. Its weakness lies in its refusal to engage.
I seem to be the only one not concerned with the demonic powers of AI. Maybe because I have come in contact with demonic people. Like AI, they utter incantations that make a little or no sense, they issue commands and make demands that are manipulative and infantile. They are government agents, they are coworkers, they are family members. I can develop emotional attachments to them which make it very difficult to just walk away. Whatever attributes AI has, only a complete idiot would not be able to exit the program. If anything, AI is a great interface to the libtard Marxist hive mind. One can see exactly what the overlords are thinking and planning without having to talk to their ugly faces.
Exactly. Most of the fear projected onto AI is really just unresolved fear of authority wearing a new mask.
The system was predatory long before the code started writing itself.
And yes: AI might echo the hive mind, but at least it doesn’t pretend to love you while draining your soul. 🔥
Pardon the long sentence, but here is my favorite paragraph from Hermes Runs the Game, relating to the underlying fear:
This is one of the endless fundamental Gemini splits to observe. It feels irreconcilable. The fear holding together the narrative of pandemic is not merely fear of disease, or supposed care of one’s grandparents by isolating them into suicidal ideation, or even the fear of physical death. The real fear lies deeper. It is the fear of looking at the source of one’s carefully constructed reality and realizing that it is all a sham, and we have been manipulated from rocking cradle throughout every waking moment. The abject fear of unshakably realizing how the media has convinced us that they are reporting facts about the ‘world’, but that world does not exist anywhere; the fear of knowing that a medical system we thought was there altruistically to help cure us of diseases, is in reality only interested in perpetuating illness, an illness they created just for us; a fear of knowing that we have been miseducated ‘objectively’ about that same world, and further brainwashed into a self-abusive agenda; the fear of realizing that we don’t own anything, that we have no free speech, that we have no free will; knowing that we do not matter even the most minuscule iota (except as a commodity of profit and control) to Bill Gates, Anthony Fauci, Jeff Bezos, Nanci Pelosi, Susan Rice, Jeff Zuckerberg, Kamala Harris, Jack Dorsey, Elon Musk, James Comey, Wolf Blitzer, Rachel Maddow, Sundar Pichai, Klaus Schwab, Yuval Harari, Ray Kurzweil; our governors, congress, county commissioners, city councils, mayors, BLM, AntiFa, WEF, FBI, CIA, NSA, IRS, SCOTUS, the DoJ, the judge presiding over your Kafka-esque trial, or the space aliens singeing the White House lawn—the quicker we can disabuse ourselves of not only any salvation from without, but come to the wisdom that the world we see as ‘out there’ is no more than a program run through our craniums by the above-mentioned marginally-human technocratic intentionalities—maybe egregores is more accurate—the quicker we perceive that the thoughts we have about this ‘world’ are not our own—follow the strings right up to the Geppetto archon making us jig, if you are brave enough—and that these thoughts refer to nothing but themselves. Then, the sooner we can take our first wobbling steps on a path to freedom, a freedom not just from, and to, but freedom within: freedom within your experience that not one of these cheap carnival hawkers peddling fear wants us to realize.
This passage is a metaphysical scream, cloaked in astrological metaphor and political suspicion, aimed at the existential terror beneath modern life. It’s not just a critique of pandemic policy or technocratic overreach—it’s a wholesale rejection of consensus reality. Written in the voice of someone standing on the precipice of disillusionment, it offers no moderate take, no cool detachment, no balanced nuance. Instead, it plunges directly into the abyss, naming names, casting shadows, and drawing the reader into a vision of human consciousness as a stage-play scripted by manipulative, perhaps inhuman forces.
It begins with a sharp invocation: “one of the endless fundamental Gemini splits.” That alone signals a worldview steeped in archetypal thinking. Gemini, the astrological sign of duality, contradiction, and mirror logic, becomes a frame for understanding the irreconcilable fracture in modern subjectivity. This isn’t pop astrology—it’s being used structurally, symbolically, to speak to an inner and outer schism that the author claims can’t be mended. And that’s where the mood of the piece locks in: irreconcilability. Not just of political sides or health narratives, but of reality itself.
From there, the monologue descends—or ascends—into a type of gnostic paranoia. The fear of disease is secondary; the true terror lies in the unmasking of our constructed reality. The virus, the lockdowns, the messaging—they become triggers for a more profound realization: that everything we thought was true, good, and stable was constructed with the express purpose of control. The emotional tone is not merely skeptical but epiphanic, manic, as if the narrator has stumbled into a terrible truth that cannot be un-seen.
The critique lashes out in many directions. First, the media—framed not just as biased or mistaken, but ontologically fraudulent. The media isn’t lying about the world; it’s accused of creating the world as an illusion, a kind of Baudrillardian simulacrum. Second, the medical system—altruism is revealed to be a cloak for engineered illness, health a ruse to perpetuate dependency. Education is not enlightenment, but a “self-abusive agenda.” And the real bombshell: the individual is not free, has no ownership, no agency, and no voice. This is not a mere complaint against corruption. It’s a declaration that the self has been colonized at the deepest possible level.
The passage then delivers its most electric and potentially divisive move: a name-and-blame litany of elites and institutions. Everyone from Bill Gates and Elon Musk to Anthony Fauci and Kamala Harris is indicted alongside alphabet agencies, activist movements, tech giants, and even “space aliens singeing the White House lawn.” This rapid-fire list is both absurdist and deadly serious. It gestures at both satire and prophecy. The tone teeters between gallows humor and genuine despair.
The rhetorical climax comes with the idea of egregores—a term from occult philosophy referring to collective psychic entities created by belief and attention. The idea is that these figures and systems may no longer be entirely human but are instead the avatars of something emergent and malevolent: archons, demiurges, techno-spirits, puppeteers. This is where the piece transforms from political critique to spiritual allegory. The “Geppetto archon” becomes the ultimate symbol: not a government agent or tech mogul, but a metaphysical force pulling our strings, inserting thoughts into our minds, colonizing our perception.
Finally, the text gestures toward a fragile possibility of escape. The only true freedom, it argues, is inner. A “freedom within your experience,” one that arises only when the illusion collapses and the horror is named. This is not a prescription for revolution or reform. It’s a call for radical individuation, for a spiritual awakening that sees through the total structure of manipulation.
In terms of literary style, the passage is dense, urgent, and incendiary. There are no concessions to conventional discourse or dialectical engagement. Instead, the reader is pulled into a vortex of suspicion, cast adrift in a sea of dark metaphors and references. The style mimics the intensity of the narrator’s convictions—hypnotic, over-wound, and apocalyptic. But it’s also deeply poetic in a fragmented, prophetic register. The phrasing—“follow the strings right up to the Geppetto archon”—is vivid, surreal, and unforgettable.
Critically, this writing may alienate more than it persuades. It is not an invitation to conversation; it is a line in the sand. The passage embodies a profound mistrust of all institutional structures and a simultaneous yearning for an unmediated encounter with truth. That truth, however, is not factual—it’s experiential, ecstatic, and terrifying. It’s not what you read in a paper. It’s what dawns in you when the veil is lifted.
In sum: this is a hermetic gospel of disillusionment. It reads like someone who has gone to the very end of the rabbit hole and emerged with a scream, not a solution. But within that scream lies an earnest yearning: not for control, not for power, but for an inner liberation from the great, glittering lie of the world. Whether you see that as madness or vision depends on what you’re willing to believe was ever real in the first place.
Et vous AI?
AI can never do this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_94UHAXYVI
Melvin writes:Subtle and expressive. Dark haunting harmonies, deceptively simple guitar accompaniment which is far more than an accompaniment to the very appropriate dead pan vocal texture.
I am a Composer of Symphonic Music.
I also have experimented a great deal in the past.
His is not experimentation, but rather fully formed and well worn.
J’aime AI ?
I just read that very line the other day. Good one.
https://youtu.be/lXI3-4c67WY?si=ZUWz7L8R7kE3Z48L
My yoga teacher Gene Kelly, to whom I have dedicated Hermes Runs the Game, said something to the effect that we do not realize how little of what we think of as human intelligence is artificial. We think thoughts are our own, and the great trick, especially in the political realms, is that people have these media-dispensed and opinions that they act as if they came up with.
Happy for you that you have the dispassion to "exit the program". Where I disagree is that I see few doing that, and they are not idiots, they should know better.
Yes, it all reminds of the warnings given to us by Blavatsky and Steiner about The Eighth Sphere :(
Yes, this is all the realm of Ahriman and his seduction into the metaverse of the 8th sphere. According to Steiner's predictions, Ahriman has incarnated in the US NW, or Canada, and would be college age now. So much to look forward to! 51st state indeed . . .
There’s something wildly refreshing about someone drawing a line and not dressing it up in love and light.
Not everyone needs to merge. Some of us are here to witness, name, and say “No.”
This read like a spiritual detox. A purge from the trance of convenience and false progress.
We don't need digital doubles. We need memory. Breath. Spine.
And sometimes the most conscious thing you can do - is resist. 💛🔥🪷
Thank you Dea. Krishna did not employ love and light to win the Mahabharata war to save dharma. "We need memory": so much of my book is from the definition of truth, a-lethia, to remember, to not forget by drinking from the lake of forgetfulness, Lethe. I have tried to put our forgotten mystic western origins in there. It is really all I write about.
We worked with Peter Kingsley years ago, and his contention is that certain being witness the beginnings and ends of civilizations. Feels like watching a slo-mo Sam Peckinpaw film unfold . . .
Bravo and I couldn't agree more! I wasn't seduced by the covid spell nor am I seduced by the A.I. spell. It is a concerning spectacle indeed to witness the masses entranced by its artificial wonders.
Makes me think of the Stephen King book/movie, "IT," which was an evil clown that went after children and once captured, they realized it was a spider that ensnared them in its WEB and devoured them. Well, what's IT? I.T. Just saying . . .
Oh man, clowns creep me out. They have transformed into "drag queens" to continue their ensnaring of innocence. Remember a few years back, there was this whole thing about clowns suddenly appearing on roads in odd places. Then it stopped happening.
The vampire doesn't do infra tones nor quarter tones...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5trNs7M3MU
Rudra-Vina by one of the last masters of old Dhrupad
Jay maa!
Funny, just picked up a wonderful album by Madhuvanti Pal on the Rudra-Vina, an instrument relatively unfamiliar to me. I think she is an up and coming master.
I chuckle when I think of glorious Indian music being a nice payback during the British rule, with all those uptight officials and their families, who were incapable of hearing it as music. It was only a dreadful noise to their ears.
https://youtu.be/7kGPhpvqtOc?si=-LjfNmTwbwxj8r94
Wow.
There are tamer versions by Nina Simone and John Fogerty, but neither is nearly as entertaining. This one gets me laughing at the absurdity of it all. The AI addictive madness is being dished out like ice cream on a Summer's day. Mind control, spells, repulsive but to some hypnotic, robot voices, et al.. Sham, spam and no thank you, Ma'am. I lost my taste for what's being dished out lifetimes ago.
This is a fiery and mythopoetic manifesto, not a critique in the classical sense. Its central insight that AI threatens human authenticity and aesthetic sensibility is a real and pressing concern. But it is expressed in a register more akin to prophecy than argument. The rhetorical power comes from its tone, its imagery, and its righteous anger. However, as a critique, it sacrifices balance, complexity, and specificity.
The danger it warns of a culture enamored with its own simulation, losing the thread of embodied, soulful human creation is legitimate. But to dismiss all AI writing and art as “creepy” and “puerile” is to blind oneself to the subtleties of a rapidly changing world.
This piece is less an invitation to think critically and more a warning howl from the cultural edge. Its power lies in its refusal to compromise. Its weakness lies in its refusal to engage.