The Town

Ashdogtown, there live the ones who don’t see or feel. The day when you were born they
planted your tree. “I can’t see with it.” You can’t be yourself. The place where you can’t
live in a conscious manner. You’ll die singing loud not having grown up. Fake Life. Not
having grown up. Fake… Your life will only be fake. You must let the tree die.

I choose my end before you make me die. I choose the path right to my entrails. Free
from your gods, free from your lies. Free from your tree. I’ve chosen the Desert of the
Real. You can think I’m mad.

Will I make it? My Stone encouraged me to fight. The Stone breaks your ignorance and
let you be.

Everything we are taught and the way it’s done is just for not knowing. It’s just not to see
who we can be out of a pattern, out of their stereotyped lives. Somewhere where
everything could exist. Somewhere where every Stone would guide each one of us. In
that place, you would be able to see your light, but does that exist?
My eyes are breaking down. Burning the parts I have always embraced as real. Between
the pain and lies from the inside. I’m choosing the suffering from birth.
Here it comes again as they said. Getting your soul drowned.

Who will I be if I try to go out of here in search of my self-destruction? Breaking the
walls again to sculpt myself.

I choose rebirth although you make me die for you. Here is the twilight. Something great
that’s rising inside of me. I go alone away, away.

Get out of there. You won’t come back again. The town is a lie wrapped in a pretty
prison.

Maybe a virus will take you someday…

The Rising of the Real Man

The Tree has fallen down... Dry. Like the silkworms dying in order to fly. Try the weight
of your conscience. Try the weight of your stone... and grow up.

There's no god who knows what this is because they're made out of the nothingness he's
just crossed.

The Bindu Sea: Cloudy

Build your boat. Face the waves. Destroy your fears. Break your bonds.

Come to me perfect storm. Hit me. Strike me. Despite these fears are trying to make me sink.
I'll finally reach land.

Walls of knives sticking me. Thousands of waves and doubts trying to sink my boat.

The Storm laughs hard. Don't be afraid, float. Get rid of the anchored lies. Burdens of
moral bounds. Break the ties. Dance the Skies. The Mountains.

Destroy yourself get your clay and start building your soul again. Step by step. Don't be
afraid, the Stone is guiding you shaping your soul again. Get your clay that builds your
soul. Step by step. Making the straight path to your light shaping your soul again.

The Brigit Mountains

The black waves crash against the imposing mountains. Only the creators and generators
will be able to live at their sheer peaks. Cavernous, arid but prolific, these men drill them
to their depths. There is no need for a tree anymore; the Stone is the only guide. Here,
where Ophoists and Yethunters live, closer to Hocma than anybody else. Their creations
bring knowledge, however knowledge does not necessarily bring them any creation. Just
watch in a multiple way. Look at it as a whole and just watch uniquely. The moment
hunters, the path openers, those able to create above themselves. Nobody there has limits
or limitations and they know it.

Dear mountains of fire a place for all shapes. Dear mountains of fire a place where life is
praised. Dear mountains of fire… Dear mountains of fire the Stone is fully exposed.
Proudly your Stone flies to the height of life. Flying high. Dance it burning bonds.
There live the Real Men.

Feel, live, think, die, break, cry, laugh, fly, destroy, without limits, without fears, building
the concepts over the fullest reason. Embrace the Hugeness. Reach the summit of your
darkest entrails. Here inside the holy mountains everything will turn on you.

Very few risky men will rise until the height. All art is risk. All Risk tames the life. All
lives are nets. The life to control the Stone because risk is the biggest art. The energy
purifies and gives light to the original matter. It’ll take you beyond the sky keeping your
feet on the ground. Invisible point of light every Real Men have.

The Swamp

Here they try to steal the Real Men's goods. They are still blind, spying from their
squashed souls. Only they could aspire to the mire of this sick marsh… they really are.
Blind.

“From here we would be able to make them stop watching. They have to be blind again
and then we would be able to steal them and mutilate their Stones. This is thehighest
place we can reach. I repeat: This is highest place we can reach! Those mountains are
pathless. Over and out.”

Pray. Your gods speak with fake truths. Pray to their hollow words. Pray to gods that
never existed. Worship of the shallowness. Worship of the hollow life. Locked up in their moral rights.

You are the parasite. The worst thing that happened to the Men… it has your names… it
has your names.Here they try to steal reflections of the Stones that fall in… their minds
like the worst weight they can… bear with.

Surrounding you the purity wraps up everything. Inside of you nothing shines at
allYou’ll come like a prayer. You’ll come like a liar.

The Ophoist

Touching the sky with your fingers and go through it. Crossing the land on your feet and
seize it. Seeing with no need to look. Dissonance is your starting point. You offered the
largest resistance to the imposition of lies. There, where they crowd and you now live
with your own rules. Path opener, you will find out where Hocma lies…