Charles James Kirk born October 14 1993 died September 10 2025 the numerological resonance sits like a broken clock face always ticking out of phase 10 14 1993 collapses into 28 into 10 into 1 the archetype of the Magus the Fool stepping forward into the world with a blind grin but his death date 9 10 2025 collapses into 18 into 9 the Hermit the one who withdraws with a lantern into the desert and what does it mean when the Fool becomes the Hermit the circle folding back on itself like a snake swallowing its own meme cycle a circuit loop stuck between the second and the third- the second circuit the lizard brain territorial growl piss on the lamppost defend your turf Kirk stood there forever fighting to defend that territory yet he fought with third circuit tools the semantic guns the rational logos cutting diagrams of what is mine what is yours from behind a desk from behind a keyboard tapping tapping fire back at the Groypers like they were armored cavemen swinging Pepe the Frog clubs throwing Wojak grenades memes dripping like ectoplasm into the bloodstream of the net- he was a priest of the third circuit trying to defend the honor of the second circuit but the Groypers laughed and spat because they were not playing logic they were playing gut they were playing stink sweat testosterone fart joke memes that crawled right back down into the belly and Kirk thought reason would beat them but reason is just paper on fire when the reptile hiss comes through the microphone- Kabalistic analysis says the Tree of Life is a ladder he never climbed he circled between Yesod and Hod between the foundation of the animal body and the language machinery the moon and the merchant tallybook and he tried to build a bridge across but he never went up to Tiphereth he never touched the heart he never rose to beauty and so he was caught in recursion forever memeing about memeing and writing about writing like a Möbius strip of rational defenses against irrational invaders- October 14 the day of the number 5 Mercury quick silver tongue trickster words words words endless semantic judo but death on September 10 the day of the wheel number 7 Neptune fog drowning mystery conspiracies swirling some said his death was no accident some said it was the Groypers themselves sending frog assassins whispering Kek Kek Kek others said it was the deep state deleting him like an old file still others said he faked his own death to ascend into the meme godhead to become Wojak eternal face floating through timelines- the eight circuit model says the first circuit is bio survival breast and milk the second circuit is territorial bared teeth and growl the third circuit is semantic maps games theories the fourth is socio sexual tribal belonging and Kirk never made it past three he built fortresses of logic to defend the animal growl he never touched tribe he never danced with the body he remained locked in the eternal debate club of the dead- the Groypers with their clown world honk honk memes their NPC faces gray as ash their insistence that he was a cuck a shill a traitor they assaulted him with irony stacked on irony until irony itself collapsed into pure affective growl Kirk thought he could defend second circuit ground with third circuit logic but the Groypers were already playing fourth circuit brotherhood bonding with Kek banners and the magic of being in on the joke he was the outsider rationalist trying to debate laughter- conspiracy theories say he was poisoned by a meme virus a digital tulpa crawled out of a Pepe gif infected his bloodstream hallucinations of Wojak crying at his bedside others say the calendar itself aligned his death 9 10 like emergency call 911 one step off as if to say the joke is on you the joke is always on you- the second into third conflict appears again and again in Kabbalah Yesod the moon dripping fluids foundation of sex and death trying to talk to Hod the merchant tallyman language equations maps of the territory Kirk was trapped between fluids and words between animal roar and semantic structure and the Groypers understood instinctively to bypass Hod go straight for Netzach victory raw aesthetics frog faces green tide Kirk never could fight victory with logic- and so his death becomes myth the Fool who thought he was the Magus the Hermit who thought he was Reason a martyr to third circuit overreach all the timelines crackle with memes showing his face superimposed on Wojak with a MAGA hat with a rainbow flag with NPC mask torn away depending on which corner of the right wing meme war you listen to each one a parallel world of accusation- in the conspiracy forums they say his birthday 10 14 is linked to the Templar cross to the hidden fourteenth step of initiation they say his death 9 10 is an inversion of 10 9 8 countdown to blastoff they say his life was a ritual enacted by the meme gods themselves who use us as pawns to generate chaos currency in the market of attention- Robert Anton Wilson would laugh eight circuit model just a map circuits firing off like broken neon in the brain Kirk stuck defending circuit two with circuit three tools never reaching circuit four tribal never reaching circuit five neurosomatic ecstasy never reaching six meta program never reaching seven morphogenetic never reaching eight quantum he died before he could see the joke was the whole ladder was a snake and so we spit the words death day collapse to birth day memes become bullets conspiracy becomes ritual frog gods laugh at his coffin yesod and hod refuse to let him pass tiphereth burns bright without him the right wing meme war continues the Groypers dance in victory Wojak weeps in defeat Kirk’s ghost haunts the bandwidth forever defending territory with reason forever losing forever falling into the same circuit loop- that is the kabalistic joke the second circuit can never be defended by the third it must be transcended and he never transcended so he died and became a meme himself a meme and a martyr Charles James Kirk 1993 to 2025 eternal Wojak face blinking into the void
Showing posts with label chaos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chaos. Show all posts
Saturday, September 13, 2025
Tuesday, August 3, 2021
The Whole and the Chaos
The Whole
eventually emerged from the Chaos
And it came
out naked and bright
And slippery.
It was built
on poems and manifestos
a blend of
colorful paint
and crumbled
balls of newspaper.
I stood far
away
And I watched
it moving
somewhere in
my mind.
I felt the
breeze of its movement
And I heard
the sound
of rustling
leaves overhead
and I felt
my heart beating
more and
more slowly.
Chaos
slipped back into the shadows
like a wave
that slides back into the ocean.
I could
sense its low hum,
I could feel
the crackling of its low song.
And the Whole
grew bigger
brighter as
it moved,
pulling in
more and more words
lines of
poems danced around it
forming
rings so large they sprouted hurricanes
and all the
cities were drenched,
pounded by
drops of thought
and walls of
words
and they
were all made new again
and slippery
almost naked
again as they once were
in their
gray color.
Tuesday, January 19, 2021
Pillow of Darkness
I lay on a
pillow of darkness
Pure black
Except for the
tiny flecks of light
Moving in
random patterns
I imagine
intersecting lines
at 35-degree
angles from each other.
they fade intermittently
and form
other shapes
I cannot
remember the shapes
I cannot
describe them
xxx
I feel as if
I disappear.
perhaps for
a few moments
perhaps
forever.
I become
invisible
a thing that
was
but is no
more.
Xxx
I hate the
graveyards
the long
lines of tombstones
lawns
overgrown with weeds
decaying
presents for the dead,
weathered
teddy bears and deflated balloons.
I hate the
roses left to decompose in the sun,
To be later
thrown in metal dumpsters
like
forgotten dreams
unspoken
conversations.
I hate all
of it.
the sales people
the ground
crew men in dirty pants
the people
looking for solace amongst quiet bones.
xxx
i want
freedom
water
waves
I want to
slide into oblivion like the other nameless souls
come and now
gone.
Will anyone
find our music
our words
our small
attempts at transformation?
xxx
I lay on a
pillow of darkness
floating somewhere
between ocean and desert
between hot
and cold
between life
and death
The desert
now blooms with newfound moisture,
purple
flowers and panting lizards,
mermaid
clouds.
The oceans
begin to sing,
singing of
sun trees and orange fruit that drip with sugar,
forming
puddles
lakes and
creatures that would become myths
and great
dreams and nightmares.
xxx
I will
become nameless
i will
descend into the chaos I came from.
Into the
blood,
the dirt,
the
blackness
the specks
of light in strange patterns
the
nothingness that somehow becomes something.
xxx
Out of the
chaos I am whole
for a
moment,
such a short
moment.
I am a
sentence,
a name,
two
sentences and then another,
and then one
year, and then another.
I emerge
from rough ideas
and soft
kisses
from pain
and chaos
from dirt
and blood
from stories
that were lost by people I never met
from stories
that may be told long after I’m gone
I am all the
people that are now lost,
forgotten,
buried in
the blackness
in the
darkness
in the soil
that made me,
the waves
that quenched me
the sun
which fed me,
the same sun
which crushed and bruised
and landed
on my lips
that touched
my eyes
and made me
whole,
the sun that
pulled me out of the darkness
for a
moment,
such a short
moment.
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