‘It’s your lucky day!’ the message on my phone told me, ‘You are the lucky, lucky winner…’ I was delighted of course. More than merely delighted, I was absolutely overjoyed. I was over the moon. Such joy was mine that I cannot even begin to express it. ‘How lucky am I?’ I asked myself, ‘how lucky am I that today just happens to be my lucky day!’ My lucky day, my lucky day. I became a child again: ‘Write a story about your lucky day’, my teacher said, ‘write a story about your lucky, lucky day and share it with the class.’

I became enraged at this point – enraged and more than just a little irritated too. Quite irritated, in fact. Peeved, you might say – peeved with the whole of Creation. I drummed my fingers on my desk, waiting for the sensation of being annoyed to pass but it didn’t. ‘This too shall pass,’ I told myself wisely, but it didn’t. Quite the reverse was the case. Quite the reverse. My very existence became an affliction – I knew no more joy, I lost all pleasure in the things I love the most. I became surly and short-tempered and people avoided me in the street. They knew I wasn’t a nice person and they feel feared my cruelty.

‘It’s your lucky day, it certainly is your lucky day,’ the voice in my head told me, ‘you have become enlightened with the bare minimum of effort and that’s a plus, that’s a bonus. Most folk have to work very hard indeed for that but it all just fell in your lap – that most precious of jewels…’ Everyone was smiling, everyone was happy. No one had a bad word, no one spoke harshly or with evil intention. I was about to become a millionaire again and that was good…

I was trying to explain to my supervisor that genetic information wasn’t information at all and that the less we had of it the better off we would be. It’s all a trick, I told him, it’s a device to ensure our compliance to the coercive mechanism of a fate that is too dark for us even to imagine. Far too dark. All of us, tied into this horror that they call ‘corporeal existence’. Bound fast to the wheel and lashed on a daily basis by the flunkies of the Dead God. Parasites feasting on our essential energy every day of our lives. We are nothing to them but a means to an end, after all. And the less said about that end the better – it is neither fitting or proper to speak of such matters in a public forum.

Nine out of ten telepaths are working for the man in the suit, so they say. Did you know that? They’ll rat you out to the authorities, they’ll sell you down the river as soon as look at you. Their abilities are for sale to the highest bidder and they’ll betray their own kind without a second thought. They’ll hunt you down no matter where you hide. They’ll get inside your head and you don’t want them to do that – you really don’t! Nine out of ten telepaths, nine out of ten telepaths. Probing your mind from a distance. Uncovering your secrets. Ratting you out to their corporate masters. Selling you down the river. It’s just not possible to sink any lower than that, you know – that just isn’t possible. They’re locked into their dark fate of course, the same as us all. The same as every one of us. We’re such conflicted creatures: we’d rat ourselves out if the price was right. We are such poor conflicted creatures, what hope is there for us?

So, as I was saying to my supervisor, our genetic inheritance is what binds us to the World of Form, the World of Corporeality. Every gene that gets deleted is another step forwards in the direction of freedom. Forget the World of form, if you can. Let it go and do not hanker after it. Do not hanker after it for you hanker after the causes of your own misery. What biologists don’t understand is that everything has its own DNA, even stuff that isn’t alive. Even stuff that was never alive. Stones have their own DNA and so too does the air we breathe. Even the stars have their own DNA. Nobody understands this however – they don’t understand it because their thinking is too narrow, too predictable. Our malign artificial environment makes our thinking predictable and that’s why we never understand anything properly. We never can. We’re being controlled by the construct and this ensures that we can never escape our doom. We don’t even want to escape our doom – the parasites in our brain are goading us ever onward, telling us that the future is great, telling us that the future is golden…