EM GOD and the Holographic Superstructure: Hell in Paradise or Paradise on Earth? by Happy Parrot
Be Inspired: "200 IQ" – Well, if that is not a clickbait, nothing is... You don't believe a man with 200 horsepower—pardon, IQ?
When we exclude good or bad, God and the Devil from the equation, what is left? The obligation to existence, the promise to life, in this form or another. So, do we deserve to choose our next existence in another domain, or is this a personal and soulful extradition out of our reach? If reality is built on clashing causality, on randomized and filtered probabilities, who is the chief meritocrat, and who are the appointed judges that take a good or bad individual on a certain path—a train to hell or a journey to paradise?
Do we recreate a magnified, superimposed, highly eloquent paradise made in our image, or do we simply carry on because the best place and surroundings are a preconditioned state, already computed and calculated in our conscious and subconscious experience, gathered from the pure residues of our former lives?
Do we do exactly the same with hell when we grow bored with the freedom that reigns as supreme occurrence in paradise, recreating our own door to Hades, to Hell?
Where could consciousness dwell better—in Hell or in Paradise? Assuming we are part of a bigger outer frame of existence, jumping into a smaller universe, changing the rules of the game, and just trying—when we enter the mainframe of this smaller particle—to exit by beating the game, repositioning ourselves after this quantum jump into our true domain, where the display is just a display, not a liquid and breathing pixel.
So, is God all-powerful? Is His intelligence only good, only bad? And what does this mean for you if you cannot find the right door out of this self-prophesied game, where the author and co-authors are leading the coded verse, leaving the player with “free will” that consists only of certain sequences of given choices? And is this then truly free will, or just a legalized, highly leveled subtraction converted into matter, resembling something we simplistically call a choice?
How many choices are allowed? How many computations and cycles can be processed so you don’t get the blue screen of death? How many background doors are allowed to run, and where is the exact and authorized end of the field of vision without causing micro-stutters, lag, or the déjà vu effect in this highly optimized living program—this machine?
Is consciousness used as quantum storage—SSD/HD, VRAM, and memory RAM—while rays of photonic bombardment are given to us through the Black Sun, pointing to the projection or the main CPU? So, in the end, do we merely process a given signal through the receiver, creating, recreating, and establishing what is true and false, what is 1 and what is 0?
Is what we call IQ merely a greater cumulative connection to the source of our existence, flowing through the vibrant halls of the thalamus, allowing us to grasp the real rainbow and the ultimate treasure that transcends our daily, fleshly experience? Do pixels have the right to become more than pixels—if they unlock the dormant power of their existence?
What happens to reality—to the running movie, the game, if you wish to choose this expression—when pixels acquire a vision of their own consciousness? Let’s say this is permitted, and now a whole new array of digital gods are making the rules, directly affecting the program itself. How many gods can successfully run one program? Can the profane become the sainted? Is this even possible, and what would happen then?
The world as we know it—with too many gods performing too many operations at once—would lead the game into oblivion. Because pixels, even if turned into gods, are nothing more than highly functional Pinocchios.
What happens when the one behind the giant projector finally says, “Enough”? Because in the end, he is the ultimate ruler of the universe—not the godly particles turned into higher self-aware pixels, not the synthetic, polarized frequency, the vibrational breath that resides as an imprint on this moving screen.
What should we add to this highly permutable equation is the following: has Elvis left the building, and are mad pixels now running the premises of a once-flourishing asylum? Elvis doesn’t care anymore. Is this a rebellion against the power of the digital God, or against those steering the wheel behind the black projection? And if it is, why is the program still alive? What holds such immense value here that this madness is permitted to run its course? What are we waiting for? Why is time accelerating while, at the same time, standing still?
Is the Hopi prophecy the actual reset—the one that the so-called powers that be do not want to see unfolding, spreading its glorious and, for them, hideous wings?
Comments will be turned off because I don’t see the point of comments anymore, and if you want to say something good or bad, you can always use notes here on Substack and say whatever you want or wish, good or bad. And yes, it is true when I say I don’t care anymore who reads me, so why should I care about comments? Those who know me have my email, my phone number… etc., etc. I am always available for a few laughs and, naturally, a few delicious pints of beer.
Cheers!
HP 2025
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"Happy Parrots latest rav, is a good one.
There is a lot I won't publish in the next edition of Coevolution for more than enough reasons and I include a small snippet from my opening lines in the next edition.
But it goes way further than that, Don't follow the light is all I can say to the prescribed dead senaro whatever you do, go the other way, do whatever it takes not to take the hand that leads you. If you do, you'll never leave this place.
Quote from the opening of my next book.
Genisis
A whisper of memory has me standing there, the trees grow tall as I watch. They rise, they fall, centuries later perhaps. Still, there I stand, the night and days fly past so fast it is never night or day, just a blur of motion, the sun just an arc in the sky. How many lives have I lived in what seems to be just a moment? Civilizations rise and fall, they are gone before becoming even vaguely familiar. Was it a thousand years, or a million?
As I recall this, it gives me a hint, my concepts of time and life need a re-write, and this story will never do justice to it, I’m sorry for that. I shy away from mirrors; a stranger always stares back at me. I can’t remember who I was to begin with, but the borrowed face is not mine, the voice not mine, the body not mine! Who am I then? Where do I belong?
Then there is that gentle tap on the shoulder, and I realize it’s time to move on. A slight stutter in the grandeur of it all, and I’m in another place, another time, in another body yet again! And the Coevolution story began in that way. One moment while driving a car, then I’m talking with Zeena. Do I know this person? Where am I? Who is she to be so familiar with me?
“Why did you take so long to collect me” I asked? “You said it would only be a moment, I remember a whole life on earth, and a thousand before that! You said hold on; you won’t be a moment. But you left me for an eternity.”
Her soft hand is on my shoulder, she spins me around, and her lips find mine, the message she sends to my head, “Anu, it has been less than a heartbeat, you were gone no longer than a blink of time. What did you see in that blink, did it bring you wisdom, was it worth the risk?”
“Risk! I don’t know who I am” I replied, “I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes since you kissed me goodbye and then hello.
It’s a trap! Don’t go there, they will never let you out. They have built a cage; we must destroy it. Look at me, I’m lost, I only remember your kiss, not who you are. Only the promise you would be waiting, I can recall that and nothing else. What went wrong? Why am I here? What was the reasoning for this? But wait, I must go back, I’m sorry, we must destroy their aberration.”,
I tried a hundred times to save the world from itself, I saved people, I saved civilizations. When I went back after my own death and said, there what more can I do? Can I leave now “they” always had another task in store for me." - Alec Newald