Standing at the Rijksmuseum
we find ourselves part of a lesson,
a lesson by a master in his craft.
Our company seven men
some look at us some look away
while Dr. Tulp, our eighth man
digs into the elefant in the room.

The cool body lies bare
like light were coming out of it
reflecting on the faces of the more curious,
leaving in shadows the uninterested ones.
The dead arm opened wide,
some lesson on tendons or bones.
Three hundred and fifty years
mute the master's words so clear
make the master's brushes so loud.

It was a time of studied ignorance,
of white collars on shallow knowledge
when my favourite of the Old Masters was born.

Retract.
Step back into our reality
observe the beatiful museum
for we are before one of its finest pieces.
But it's hard.
It ***** you in.
Something about the crepuscular glow of the body
makes you get stuck in it.

Observe the perfect composition,
the diverse faces.
It's like a photograph taken at a random instant
yet so deliberate,
so randomly deliberate,
so deliberatly random.
But step back,
look at the whole thing,
it's just
so
beautiful.
You could say it's just 3D
masterfully represented in 2D
but it is not,
there's something more to it.
Something you could call extradimensional.
It's like if the artist knew the algorithms our mind follows
and knew the exact input needed for the desired output,
beauty,
art,
even shock.

Let's move on to the next painting,
but don't let this image fade away,
let it rest,
let it click,
and let it grow
in you.

With pen in hand, I conjure worlds unseen,
From thin air, I summon stories pristine,
In this extradimensional tapestry untold,
My creations emerge as a sight to behold.

Through writing, my creativity blooms,
An artist's haven where imagination looms,
Through ink and paper, I breathe life anew,
Giving birth to worlds, both old and true.

In shadows' embrace, my past remains,
A 26-year journey laced with stains,
From childhood's depths, where trauma seeped,
A shattered soul, its wounds still steeped.

Through poetry's lens, I'll paint my tale,
In words that pierce, where sorrows prevail,
With each verse, a cathartic release,
A glimpse into wounds that never cease.

Through metaphors, I'll navigate the pain,
Unravelling scars, like cracks in the pane,
Yet, through it all, a flicker of hope,
A flame that dances, a resilient scope.

Through poetry's embrace, I'll heal the scar,
Transforming anguish into art bizarre,
For in Hammerspace, I shall reside,
A wounded poet, finding solace inside.

I’m surfing on this cosmic wave ~
Yeah boiii just a ****** slave to the game
Can’t get -more- saves less you play
But still I stay fresh
When I’m slaying all the freshmen
And eating their flesh
It’s the best source of refreshment

I’m replenished
With this system
hell to the yes I’m so digestive
**** I’m spitting, need a breath mint
Got that fire I will ingest it
til I regurgitate the excrement
my mic presence is heaven sent
(Don’t question/ no quenching) it
GG Allin ain’t got nothing
on Reidums Donovan

Don’t like my frequencies
Well switch the channel then
I’m murdering these beats
Stacking bodies in the FEMA bins

Stay tuned, watch the news
The crisis has become apocalypse
The consciousness is not nonsense
Wait shush, we cannot talk bout this

My third eye prism beams
simply shining in iridescence
In present tense that means
We just gon cater to this nemesis
While in essence the power
steady reigns all pre(isdents/cedence)
To the loss of innocence in a sense
Extradimensional omniscience

Got us steeped in a schism
which we cannot process yet;
This mental prison got you locked up in
Religion, sports, and politics
A House divided cannot stand
You people cannot understand
It’s all a sham Endgame
it’s equal to the fall of man

It’s not happenstance it’s bad romance
the parasitic old humans
Take every advantage
heavy chance
they can devils advocate  ~ first glance
Waging global management
amongst its residents
With malevolence

And violence unto others
On behest of these
caricatures of governments

You simply must not succumb
to this Big Brother ****
Bound by strings they all just puppets
on that false worship business
Til you’ve ascended to the mothership
You’ll Spin this gold like Rumplestiltskin *****

For this debt we owe but will instead
offer up our children
Cause they soul been sold off to the Vatican
The rapture will not matter then
Bcuz it’s all projected hologram
To unite a global front
Ignited by these hostile reptilians

Illuminati making trillions
****** hosts for these archons
Primo minions;
Unlimited energies not believed in
-To the zenith
by our calcifiying pineal glands
Can’t perceive it

History outlines these diabolical plans
By Albert Pike from the mid 1800’s
Highest level Freemason
But you won’t see this in the curriculum
Trilateral commissions
funded by that Epstein grift, sacrificing kids
And suiciding those who think or speak dissent
To the *** trafficking ring
run by Billiam and Hilly Clinton

Bush for really did 9/11
& In 2012 the world ended
Mandela effect got me feeling impressed with
The lack of woke minds
aligned with the paradigm shift
The macrocosmic mother knows
consumerism is *******
but satanic panic gives us all a chip
For they cannot purchase;
without the mark of the beast
In either the Hand
or their forehead

Energies compounding
From base to crown resounding
That which grasps eternity abounding
As points upon the spine make raise to founding
In the manifest of magick

Ensorcelled by the whims of one’s intention
To form from what’s suspended, predilection
Make thralls as growth enlivened by affection
Coursing freely into frames betwixt within

Tis the catalyst of dreams
The ether streams
Which called upon, should gleam into the extant

Qi formed from the vortexes of multitude;
of coalescent pools
of extradimensional splendor
Whence all as one is fragmented
to individual endeavor

To call upon the forces of the soul
Amass a spectacle of power everflowing
To command the wealth of all abundance in the throes
Of what becomes you

Insight and true elation
In spiritual hibernation
To bloom, consumed in new beginnings
As a sage of magix brimming

The ought and oft surrendered unto happenstance
Unbound to choice wherein all falls to chance
To be in bliss, and pierce the veil with light as lance
As magick is what holds me
I am supported on the all begotten energies
of spiritual transcendence