The Dissolving Path - Choir Korneli Leviyey
The Dissolving Path - Choir Korneli Leviyey
The Dissolving Path - Choir Korneli Leviyey
PREFACE
life, but as a call to become more honest with ourselves and those
with whom we share our reality.
As has been noted, the diaries included with The Dissolving
Path, as well as Cactus Patch, were mostly written prior to my tri-
al and depict my state of mind as it was in 2019 and early 2020,
having significantly less to say of my life since having actually
taken on a new perceptual paradigm. And while it does contain
some more recent passages, that is not the standard, and such
have been mixed in at random. In fact, I labored over a separate
diarial text in 2021 by the name of Fathom Omen Om which is
the only work to really speak from my current perspective. The
actual contents of said diaries are not so far removed from the
topics that I am known to discuss within my body of work. My
focus hasn’t changed much, if any, after all, even though I’ve been
given new inputs and perspectives.
Lastly, there is the question of where this falls in the timeline
of my works—especially in regards to whether it is to be con-
sumed before or after Clyssus of Man. And does it actually mat-
ter? Yea, while it contains a fair amount of information from the
period leading into my third and final astragon (whereof Clyssus
of Man is a record), it does also allude to numerous events occur-
ring within the book and this will likely end up spoiling certain
happenings for those who wish to consume these texts as they
would an actual storybook. Therefore, the text from which you
now read is best viewed as a sort of ‘deleted scenes’ reel which,
while often capable of standing on its own, is best viewed after
the main work has been consumed so as to do away with any con-
fusion regarding context.
My original intent was to leave this as a bit of a bonus for
avid readers of my work—those who had read my main works
and, for whatever reason, still found themselves wanting more.
Given the importance that I place on this text and what it con-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 7
8
THE DISSOLVING PATH 9
can bear of this lonely existence in which my joy and suffering are
contested alike and the potentiality of man is denied and delim-
ited to preserve the smug sense of accomplishment maintained
by the salt of a dying, capitalistic earth.
I realize that I am being rather vague regarding my actual
complaints in this case, and it’s all just as well. If you don’t know
by now what I am saying then perhaps it is not your right to
know.
My shame is great. I am foremostly ashamed of how hard and
long I fought to keep my life and to maximize the potentiality of
my earthly tenure and that of everyone around me.
I’ve had all this to say of shame, and it’s true that I have some-
times been unable to extricate the intent from the results
achieved, but when I am able to see through the emotions, I can
say that I am immensely proud of each and every effort put for-
ward in the aim of becoming my utmost, and to regret my ac-
tions which were acted out mindfully and earnestly because of
outcomes beyond my control is unacceptable.
I am clearly not above acknowledging my faults and not
once have I claimed to be beyond error. On the contrary, I am
more aware of my errors than most, being that I have committed
so much of my life to the task of self-development. Yet I know
that the unconfident are quick to rally against the self-satisfied,
for in their earth, it is apparently not possible to hold to high
standards and to also satisfy them, and to them a lack of self-per-
ceived errors points more to an error in my criticality than to the
fact that after ten years of olympic-level self-development that
92% of my self-perceived vices and failings have actually been
resolved—a feat worth celebrating, but one which will only be
contested by our society.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 17
Concordians, I have called them. The peace after which men seek
is a delusion, and one who seeks after a delusion will be willing to
act in ways that subvert the order of objective reality that it may
reflect their falsity.
Only the tremulandi are perceived by the tiny eyes and ears
of eelier people, to whom we are irremediably desperate to per-
spire and shake in the coitus of the cloven step.
Like a fool I have fallen by every trap, eager as all to expe-
rience goodness in the people; eager to have my understanding
foiled. I have waited in patience for this goodness to meet me. I
have charged with audacity to greet this goodness where it lives,
yet never attaining a glimpse. I have fixated all my days, believing
myself to be deprived of the fortune whereby others are graced.
In my toiling I have found only empty baths; I have found only
the ghost of their laughter, and I know now, in all horror, that
it is not deprivation but discernment with which I have been af-
flicted. It is not that I haven’t seen goodness, but that I have seen
right through it.
Why must I starve while others grow fat! Yea, I do starve,
else I be poisoned! I have received no less than the dogman, but I
have refused the false nutriments which exist to deplete the soul
of man.
I have not been deprived but granted the gift of discernment
with which to navigate the nonlight. “Honor thy rifting eye!”
One final time I will qualify my contempt, lest my scowl be
written off as a symptom of ignorance or as the entitled piss fit
of one who does not readily grasp the interrelational dynamics of
the popularly so-called real world, confirming that my bitterness
and contempt are not based upon natural and/or unchangeable
elements such as genetics or intelligence but upon complacency
and weakness. I look only for effort and earnestness in the eyes of
men. I believe that the people of society are by and large grossly
24 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
stunted, and I do mean grossly, and the pain that this causes me
is neverending, for I know full well the potentiality that could
have belonged to any one of them. My contempt is not like the
unqualified contempt of the bigot, the Nazi. My contempt is in
fact desperation and disbelief in conjunction, which is the con-
tempt of the prophets and seers.
In opportunity I discerned the stratagem. In a kiss I dis-
cerned stern stipulations. In bloody hairlines I observed the her-
ringbone stitch. In their sperm I saw Charun clapping. A guilt-
less curvature conceals itself within the name of Peace, from
which it issues the terminal intoxicants. I weep for thee, minty-
cocked concordians! My eyes know this sobriety, that I am un-
able to cry for myself any longer and go declaring “All my tears
will be for them!” Could I take them into my arms before my
leave I would tell them of the mineral which hides within the
textures of the stopped heart.
One day may you discover this about our world: Even its
warmest blood is cold. Even its highest structures are beneath
you. Know you stand among and upon a bornless lot, and all ef-
forts in their honor are efforts for naught.
It is not the events which disturb me but that which they repre-
sent conceptually and on a greater ethical and axiological scale.
Consider these words, for it will help you understand the pat-
terns of my anger and trauma.
I do not bleed. It is my ideal which bleeds through me.
When I am opposed by man, I do not dwell so much on the of-
fense done to my person as I will dwell on the meta-ethical dy-
namics, by which I have reduced all events, interactions and par-
ties down to a concept and then it becomes not about myself but
about all that I represent.
“A world in which x is able to produce y,” and it is by these
means that I have become so disturbed. That is what could drive
me to kill a man.
I have stripped myself down to my concepts, some of which
are static and others situationally dependent.
“The fact that the ill and honest individual can be treated in
this manner implies x about our world.”
So while you often hear people claiming that “It doesn’t mat-
ter what others think,” or “He who knows himself is confident
and thus unaffected by criticism or lies,” that’s a bunch of wish-
ful rubbish in my opinion. It hurts just as much, if not worse,
however it hurts for different reasons. It’s not about being reject-
ed as an individual, but the rejection of these concepts for which
I stand. I can’t bear the idea that earnestness, wisdom and truth
can be shot down by idiocy. I can’t bear what this says philo-
sophically, conceptually, of our world. The more developed I be-
come as an individual, the more miserable I feel when facing so-
ciety, since it only reminds me that I am only part of the equa-
tion which is interaction, and the highest virtues are no match
against the lowest depths of incomprehension.
26 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
night drive, and when doing so I will don a mask. I will not leave
the house without a mask or some other covering which obscures
my face. I will give them no more opportunities to know me; to
misconstrue me. I am too aware of our differences—differences
which will be denied by them who can not grasp how gnosis af-
fects the perceptions.
I have become too vulnerable, lacking the proper means to
navigate; to communicate. It’s horrifying. I can only be miscon-
strued. I can only be contested. Even those who smile and clap at
what I say lack understanding. It is not that they’ve heard me. It
is only that they’ve misheard what suits them.
It’s horrifying that all who look upon my claims will be con-
vinced by their brain that I mean something other than what I
am saying. The mental image in your head of what I am experi-
encing is wrong. It’s entirely wrong. It can only be wrong. If only
basing my statements off of how different I am at present from
who I used to be... one year ago, five years ago, ten years ago...
that is... that is... oh this is just awful. I am sorry that I must go
about explaining myself in a way which would appear so neurot-
ic, but I am anguishing. I have worked so long, and with so much
self-discipline—but for this?
This has been ongoing for some time, developing gradually
over the years, especially since 2015, but it’s finally come to the
point where I can no longer be burdened by language-based
communication. If ever there is a need it will be expressed
through imagery or not at all.
Anyone who is following after a higher standard of being: be
wary of what I have to say, and recognize this as more than some
thinly-veiled masturbatory claim. I don’t say these things to dis-
courage anyone from striving towards excellence, but a leveling
of expectations may help to reduce the disappointment and even
the shock and trauma.
28 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
what you know you deserve you will be left with nothing. I do
tend to put all of myself into my relationships and if I can not
be treated as any more than another option in your time-passing
arsenal then I see absolutely no point in keeping it up. Let’s be
clear: I have next to no reason for wishing to interact with oth-
ers as is. I wade through the sociosphere like malarial waters with
but one aim: to be proven wrong in my bitter assessments. Soci-
ety is like any other project to me. It may not be inherently fun
(it isn’t), but the challenge aspect of it all has got me all excitable.
I can’t and won’t deny that I am nothing but unhappy when
it comes to the relations I maintained in life. I can’t seem to
communicate with someone for more than two minutes without
feeling that all magic has been drained from my existence. This
is not an admission that I wish to make, especially since this is
more likely to reflect on me than on those whereof I speak, but
it is the reality in which I have lived for so long, and I’ll give you
a quick and digestible reason for why that is: these people (that
I’ve met) simply aren’t thinking in terms of building, creating,
growing, helping, fulfilling, overcoming, triumphing. They are
only thinking in terms of “I have three hours of free time before
work today. How can I fill it.”
Even those who appear to be making an effort to fill their
lives with more spiritual and so-called mindful practices, like
meditation or listening to whoever the YouTube guru of the mo-
ment may be... they don’t actually seem to be journeying. They
don’t actually seem to be receiving. They, like as the workers, as
the muppets, simply appear to be doing whatever it takes to con-
vince themselves that they have “done their job”, like it’s some
quota; some ritual tied to their self-esteem. That’s all. I have not
met anyone who seems truly willing to defy their precious secu-
rity in search of truth and passion. The Concordian is a ubiqui-
tous miasma.
36 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Nothing leaves one more vulnerable than hope, which could just
as well be called passive dependence.
I remained vulnerable in this way for too long, being myself
aware of how quickly and easily things could change for the bet-
ter; being aware of how quickly my world could achieve a full ro-
tation. I am a man of a thousand talents beset by but a handful
of problems. Major though those problems tend to be, the ratio
has made it just so hard to give up my hoping when, within a sin-
gle hour, my burdens could lift and I would be free to act on my
potential which I developed over decades of isolation—potential
which had been muted by a combination of illness and a lack of
connectedness.
One word, one hand, one MRI had the power to change
my life forever, and I relished in that understanding, feeling my-
self ever on the verge of some grand salvation. It wasn’t about
looking to be ‘rescued’, but acknowledging that I couldn’t do
this on my own, and I would need to establish a trustworthy
network if I was to truly move on in life. It was not a pleasant
way to live, entailing all sorts of unhealthy mindframes which
42 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The original bio, as some of you will recall, was built upon
the premise of my being raised by abusive parents and warped by
a dubious fraternity, all before suffering a breakdown and falling
into a prolonged cycle of illness and isolation before finally los-
ing my voice, dezinezinet.
Again I must stress that these details are not inaccurate in
themselves, though while my saying all of this bears no effect on
the details and events of my story, it should nonetheless affect
how these details are understood.
I think that that factors into my distaste for the ‘tragic mad-
man’ narrative: it deflects all acknowledgement of my intention.
It deflects all acknowledgement of my responsibility. And I can
not, in good conscience, proliferate such a self-ignorant narra-
tive.
I am and have long been an experimental mystic who, in
spite of holding to grand and worthy aims and causes, has been
disposed to the same immature and ignorant tendencies as the
rest of my species, and some of those tendencies truly ravished
me, leaving me even more to overcome in my mystical journey of
self-development.
In addition to the abovementioned reasons for my finding
this perspective to be misrepresentative of my person, I am not
okay with devaluing my experiences, which is precisely what I
am doing when I write off certain events as psychotic manifesta-
tions.
My tendency to regard the events of February 2008 as a sort
of psycho-emotional breakdown is something which I now con-
test, when it could just as easily be described as my having suf-
fered a difficult experience which resulted in the decision to pull
out of society on a temporary basis that I may tend to and mend
my self-perceptions. Of course that narrative would seem to de-
tract from the drama and emotionality of the event, perhaps be-
46 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
log, since that a lot of the behaviors and justifications of that pe-
riod would be considered utterly unacceptable in the present day.
These days I tend to consider the Tendon Levey paradigm
as being somewhat synonymous (or nearly so) with the Jungian
‘shadow’, or the purest manifestation of its grip on my per-
son—an interesting interpretation which has a lot to say for why,
despite it being such a pivotal period within my life, it’s difficult
for me to know that the public’s understanding of my nature has
been shaped to such a large extent by this damned manifestation.
The foolishness of my decisions in these years was not always
a matter of intelligence versus ignorance, having more to say of
the priorities that I held, and as a kid you’re not going to be as
prone to prioritizing matters of health and whatnot. My prior-
ities had all to do with the establishment and expression of my
identity. I wanted simply to ‘feel like myself ’ in the grandest pos-
sible sense. Life, in that time, had become so utterly mythical
that humanity itself took a backseat and the blood flowed thus.
The same is in many ways true of my currenthood, however a
greater handle on my mortality, coupled with a higher degree of
wisdom, has brought about better overall risk mitigation and I
can now avoid needless tragedies stemming from some bold and
unfounded view(s) of what it means to be ‘me’.
And while these matters of Selfness are still very important
to me, these things have been an automatic, unconscious process
for the better of a decade at this point.
I’m sure that I could be saying more on the matter (since ap-
parently I can elaborate endlessly upon a single thought) but I
will conclude things here.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 49
ty, the intellect, spirituality, and creativity) and one who under-
stands this can only feel despair and anger.
This despair and anger which I express within my writings
and other works, however, is never (or almost never) directed
at the people, least of all specific individuals, as in never being
flaunted openly and arrogantly and remaining for the most part
a conceptual battle. Instead I have used it as a motivating force.
I have dedicated my whole existence, since the days of my
childhood, to bridging the gap between what I am and what I
can be—in which case the Idem literally came to represent my
highest conceivable permutation (long before I understood this
mystical operation to result in the breaking down or unification
of potentiality and actuality) and it would be dishonest of me
to act as if my position hasn’t imbued me with a sense of superi-
ority over those who actively dismiss and disregard the necessity
of conscious living and continuous effort in this world shared by
billions—an attitude which I feel is entirely justifiable, although
I would not typically think to frame it as ‘superiority’.
After all, for me there was never a competitive element, hav-
ing merely ceded to the reality that anyone attempting in earnest
to live a more conscious, caring, constructive and growth-fo-
cused life is principally superior to all those who do not, regard-
less of results which one achieves, as in this case as efforts and in-
tention are enough to set one apart.
I never wanted to leave the world behind in my efforts to
heal, develop and individuate. What I want for myself I want for
us all, and nothing leaves so great a gash as feeling that I am alone
in my striving towards excellence within a world that seeks only
to make excuses (or to level attacks against whatever can not be
excused so simply). Often I cannot stand behind the logic of my
feeling-based deductions; for example, I can not truly defend the
idea that I am alone in this world, or without equal, and com-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 51
mon logic would even tell me that there has to be others like my-
self—and many at that—but, regretfully, this is not enough to
reform my emotional experience when, after all, this is the only
experience that I have known and no amount of impersonal data
can tell me that it wasn’t excruciatingly lonely.
So much of our ostensible cynicism stems from scenarios in
which a person, in want of affirmation in some particular form,
fails to attain such affirmation from their environment, by which
is implied that this cynicism which is carried about is ultimately
based on arbitrary processes masquerading as principles and very
often devolves into an ‘if I can’t have it, no one can’ mentality.
Mine own cynical bent, as it is (perhaps inaccurately)
termed, differs significantly from the abovedescribed and I find
no commonality with those who decry the ability of man and
seek for his demise with a sardonic infantility.
My cynicism is neither proud, nor retaliative, nor apatheti-
cally dismissive, being based ultimately in anguish which stems
from the worry that our lowest instincts will forever win out,
preventing most living beings from ever coming close to their
potential in life.
I feel this to be an all-important distinction, seeing as I will
refer to myself in passing as a cynical and misanthropic individ-
ual, yet without displaying the toxic behaviors which so com-
monly characterize the self-styled misanthrope. One who has ob-
served the fault of man would never allow himself to perpetuate
the same.
What I call cynicism is therefore more aptly comparable to
the woe of the prophet who can do nothing to convince the peo-
ple of a coming disaster—a disaster which he knows to be whol-
ly preventable. The result is an amalgam of sorrow, desperation
and anger; at no point should you observe hostile or retaliative
52 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I hope that there are those out there will find assurance in
knowing that I, too, have experienced the indescribable hurting,
the strange voicelessness, the existential helplessness, with which
you too may be dealing, and that I have triumphed over the sor-
row that we may form this bond which extends beyond time
and locality and establishes an invisible kinship which runs from
saint to psychologist, messiah to alchemist, and supplies the un-
conscious infrastructure of our richest undying myth which per-
petuates itself under the mighty name of Reality.
tion, knowing that your drive goes utterly against the instinct of
the mortal man. You will neither be perceived as a hero, nor as a
saint, nor as a friend but as an active threat to the spurious com-
forts of the disconsolate and no behavioral or linguistic modifi-
cations will mask the sulfurous odor of gnostic truth.
It will seem to some like a masturbatory statement, and I
must expect accusations of self-importance and condescension
from those whose inherent lack of confidence has caused them
to distrust or otherwise take offense at the resoluteness of others,
but at its base it expresses the simple fact that the one who pro-
ceeds with courage where others stop in fear is disdained more
frequently than he is celebrated, and this applies not just to the
mystical community but to any sphere wherein risks are recog-
nized.
Experiences may vary, of course, and it mustn’t be over-
looked that my own experience was particularly rough—a fact
which undoubtedly had a role in the shaping of my opin-
ion—though it is my firmly-held belief that the more you can
manage to dissociate yourself from such unfair responsibilities,
the better off you will be. Me, I’m still reeling from years and
years of wrongful, overidealistic expectations and it plagues me
in every second of my life, all the memories of failure and sorrow
and loss which could have been avoided. It’s like a plaque build-
up inside my arteries... all these innocent endeavors that my spirit
insists on viewing as failures.
faith rivals that of any competent pastor, not least because I once
had every intention of becoming a pastor myself ), yet a gener-
al knowledge of their paradigmatic and symbolic mainstays has
worked out well for me in my questing, particularly in the past
two years.
I would even go so far as to say that any life lived with suffi-
cient self-knowledge is bound to parallel the alchemical process,
regardless of whether you observe the art of alchemy or other-
wise.
So if you insist on studying any particular system and place
any stock in my personal opinion, my vote belongs overwhelm-
ingly to the art of alchemy which, as far as I am concerned, may
even account for every necessary truth of our existence, while
not constituting a unique faith to the extent that it constitutes an
empirical and highly mythopoeic/symbolic approach to the ac-
quisition and purification of the self and its major compositional
principles.
It is, however, difficult for me to endorse the study of alche-
my when the fact remains that I did not come to learn its truth
and meaningfulness via traditional methods of study but by liv-
ing out my life in a way that I found most meaningful, if rather
experimental, and I expect that I would have learned significant-
ly less had I sought out a more traditional study (where by “learn”
I refer to actual, absorptive understanding). This much may be
cause to refute the appropriateness of said appellation in my case,
and I would expect nothing less from this species than to have
my practice criticized in the same breath that they exalt the prog-
enitors of the system, or any system for that matter, who, in the
absence of texts, did precisely as I have done.
Having not approached alchemy before I was already rela-
tively far along into my personal journey, I cannot vouch for
its accessibility to the neophyte, as it were, who may find little
worth in a frontage of chemical formulae until after having al-
ready put a substantial amount of effort into the self-develop-
mental process, so even if it fails or failed to resonate with you
at one point, I would recommend revisiting it at some point fur-
ther on
62 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
[Relationship Notes]
An outsider and asexual though I am, it would be disingen-
uous to paint myself as ignorant to or inexperienced within the
realm of relationships. I have experienced my share of infatua-
tion in life, and I have been involved in a handful of relation-
ships, but not before now have I been so utterly fascinated by
someone. In fact, it’s possible that I have never felt myself in-
trigued by anyone whatsoever and I don’t feel that I am exagger-
ating to be saying so.
I’ve never spoken aloud of my feelings on the matter, aware
that it is likely to reflect poorly upon my character as though be-
ing a reflection of impossible standards or other matters denot-
ing a lack of realism or excessive self-importance, yet it shouldn’t
come as a surprise to you that one with my interests, abilities and
worldview will look on the vast majority of others as shallow and
66 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
uninteresting. This has been the case for as long as I can recall,
with each interaction throughout my life feeling as some sort of
unforgivable compromise; the loss of something which will not
be regained.
I imagine my saying as much is unlikely to net me any sym-
pathy since people love to act as though these opinions are never
justifiable and invariably based in ignorance, arrogance or some
combination of the two.
This disinterest has undoubtedly shaped my approach to re-
lationships of all kinds, while also feeding into my fantasy of col-
laboration, e.g., duets (which, to me, seems as fantastical as the
halls of Heaven). Since I am not naturally after anything, my goal
has become to enrich lives.
I sometimes compare my natural approach to that of Willy
Wonka, in that I have spent my lifetime building this special
world. Then I’m going to allow them into my world, where they
will be treated to wonders beyond their imagining. If they prove
themselves trustworthy then they will be rewarded further. If
they rob from me in any fashion they will be ousted.
Now, I’m not saying that this represents my actual model
or rational understanding of a relationship, and it sees almost
no part in the actual course of a relationship, but it does reflect
on my connate and baseline approach to a society which oth-
erwise fails to enthrall me. It is therefore sufficient to say that I
have never and will never allow relationships to progress in ways
that might be considered natural, wherefore they reflect deci-
sions and commitments rather than self-evolving garden grubs.
Like an eager playwright descending upon the public at five
year intervals for my cathectic casting calls, before which I must
often carefully shape the scenario in such a way that I can con-
vince myself and others that it was somehow ordained by fate.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 67
persons are equally capable given the proper impetus and suffi-
cient self-discipline. My attitude is that of one who has fought
against those who seek to disparage the innate potentiality of
our species. But I have been called unfair when I merely insist on
treating others as my equals, and finally I have begun to gush.
So my anger stems largely from being wrong, at least within
the context of modern society, and perhaps it was wrong of me
to treat others as equals bearing all the substance of a world with-
in themselves; and perhaps I have been wrong to listen, trust, to
commit, to love. It has left me reeling from terminal embarrass-
ment. Do I mean what I say in this case? Yes and no. Yes... and
no. It's become very difficult to tell where my objective thoughts
actually lie on the topics of society and humanity. I would likely
be making very different statements were I not leery of being
misconstrued or called arrogant. Similarly, I would likely be tak-
ing a very different tone if I was not in such immense emotional
pain. The fact is, I don’t think the world will ever hear my unfil-
tered thoughts on the matter, which are often desperate, sweep-
ing and violently evocative (perhaps notoriously so).
So my anger is not a sword but a gushing wound and my
words are not stabs but spurts which shall form a trail which
guides the lost and luckless through this desert of ash.
It would not even be correct to assert that all occurs within a sin-
gle so-called instant—which, in itself, builds upon an inaccurate
means of measurement.
unaware, was the original title for this text before being changed
to Clyssus of Man.
I have known a certain lifelong bond with sleep which is, for me,
a primary source of knowledge and insight.
Not long ago I typed up a rough document called The Songs and
Symbols of Tendon Levey. Given my workload, I never managed
to fill it out to the extent that I would have otherwise liked, but
I’ve considered the following idea: some day I would love to see
this work expanded by adding in the lyrics and other relevant in-
formation, such as my list of gear and other details relating to the
albums in question so as to create for some ‘ultimate guide’ to my
music. Simply something to consider.
Also, I have made my raw, unedited dream journals available
to the public as a .pdf, having not enough time to clean them up
and make them more coherent. If anyone would like to take on
the task of cleaning up some of the more chaotic entries which
appear most frequently around the middle of the book then I
don’t have a problem with it. A lot of the events are also out of
order, although I usually leave the reader with enough hints as
to the order in which everything took place, and so it’s definite-
ly possible to clean things up and cut down on the inane speech
that comes as a product of transcribing from vocal recorder to
paper. I would rather them be read and understood than have
them follow verbatim to my half-slept rambling. Another cool
thing to do would be to make note of all the symbols appearing
in each dream and then at the end of each entry list them out,
or have an appendix at the end of the book which lists all the
symbols and ties them to the dreams which include them. There
are lots of little things like this that I would love to do. So even
though I’ve released the raw materials to the public there are so
many ways that they can be improved upon and packaged in a
way that seems new and ever more appealing, as long as these
processes are undertaken in good faith and do not knowingly
twist anything that I’ve said (which is why it is important to me
THE DISSOLVING PATH 85
that the original source files still remain in circulation, even if not
popularly so).
This [writing process] has been among the most stressful and in-
tense undertakings of my life given the circumstances.
Frankly, I could not have asked for a better, more fitting mind
and I would not exchange it for any in existence. That is not
to sidestep my very notable struggles against depression, anxiety
and trauma, though whereas some see fit to label and punish the
mind for reacting as it should to the woes of the world, I al-
ways sought to make a distinction between the reasonable and
unreasonable as far as our automatic reactions are concerned and
I see this as a necessary observance for anyone after equanimi-
ty and growth. I certainly do not encourage anyone to neglect
any immediate risks to their mental wellbeing, but I, personal-
ly, have had a lot to gain from refusing to understand myself
through the modern psychiatric narrative, seeking my stability
through knowledge and meaning rather than through medicines
and band-aid solutions.
I have paid dearly for being insufficiently stingy with that which
I value. I have paid dearly in some instances for showcasing my
beloved songs and recommendations to others in an attempt at
generating common interests and intimate moments, achieving
only some offhanded comment which shall forever remain bond-
ed with said work in my mind. I hate it. I really, truly do. It is es-
pecially awful when it relates to my own work, as I can still recall
each and every comment that has been made about my songs and
artwork and these comments are now bonded to my acknowl-
edgment of the material—for better and worse (mostly worse).
88 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
It was not until very recently that I first considered the idea that
others might be speaking negatively of me in my absence. It was
not a thought which had ever crossed my mind previously. ‘Let
them talk’, I thought! For I have satisfied mine own demands in
life and I stand stainless before the spirit of the world. I flaunt my
corpses in the open air! I turn no men away. I turn no questions
down. Yet once again my confidence had been established upon
the unrealistic assumption that their perceptions were not only
aligned with mine own, but that they would have no reason to
perpetuate erroneous conceptions of who I am and what I stand
for.
[The following was cut from the Ashlands chapter, and although
the Menarche was significant to the fall of 2019, I worried that
it complicated my story beyond what was wise. The book to which
I awoke was originally a book of pornographic materials which
burst into flames, becoming the Algorismus. Prior to the start of my
third astragon, I worked on a book called Menarche which focused
more on the Ashlands experiences, although my priorities shifted
once I continued on with my astragon and undertook my trial. I
was originally intending to release a strange pornographic book be-
fore killing myself, exactly ten years after my previous attempt at
suicide, in the aim of creating what had the potential to be the
strangest, most unexpected valediction that I could muster, given
my nature. All passages relating to the Menarche were eventually
removed from Clyssus of Man, despite a handful of vague tie-ins
occurring through the storyline. It should be readily obvious that
the contents and symbolism of Menarche mirror the events occur-
ring in my life in the year 2019, what with my attempts to social-
ize and start a business, and allowed me a chance to see that effort
through to its bloody end via a semi-fictional and highly allegorical
account.]
It was then that I awoke within my bed, or a bed: I was back
in the ashlands. I lacked all answers as to what had just taken
place. I would have liked to ask Thummim, but he was nowhere
to be found. My log was gone, as well, and in its stead was a book
of pornographic materials. Sifting through its pages with both
eyes squinting in disgust, its contents were bizarre beyond what
I could describe, for beneath all of the erotic imagery (which no-
tably incorporated religious iconography and spiders) there did
exist a seemingly coherent story, although the overall tone was
such that one could hardly hope to differentiate a business deal
from an orgy of cancer-eaten cassowaries and the result was sick-
ening.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 93
There are several plot points which have been cut from Clyssus
of Man for bearing off into complex subplots which seemed to
detract from the main points of the book. In addition to the
Menarche, the chapters which suffered most from these cuts
were Mrtagrha, which lost a lengthy study on our relationship, as
individuals, to spaces, as well as insights into the Court area and
the fact that I had been there before but forgotten everything
due to an apparent attempt to escape into Agnosis. Another part
that got cut was a lot to do with the King’s Gnomon, which de-
tracted from the story through its strange and violent compo-
nents.
I have been living off of a sort of oatstock since early 2019: pre-
ground raw oats blended together with a hardboiled egg yolk,
kale, ginger, salt and turmeric. It tastes quite a lot like chicken
broth, or at least what I remember of that taste. Then I will of-
ten mix in B complex, vitamin D3, zinc and magnesium sup-
plements. It is a high anti-inflammatory and high oxytocin di-
et. Sometimes I will add bananas and avocados. These make up
slightly for the chemicals I lack by not interacting with people or
feeling secure. My rings have slipped right off my joints...
Long since my youth I have been aware of the fact that my mind
functions on a different so-called wavelength than that of most,
and my cognitive profile is starkly unlike that of my family; how-
ever, throughout most of my existence I didn’t really chock up
these differences to intellectual capacity; after all, a lack of for-
mal education had prevented me from viewing myself as an in-
tellectual—that, in addition to coming from a place where in-
telligence is not particularly prized as is faith and obedience. So
this has affected my way of viewing people, where by instinct I
view all conflicts as a problem of values and morals. It took me a
while to finally begin to grasp just how few incidents in life actu-
ally represent some deliberate stance or deliberate offense on the
part of the individual, let alone some glaring vility, and more and
more I am realizing the degree to which others are simply lack-
ing the mental capacity to transcend their lowest, most primitive
instincts. I would surely argue that most people lack the capabil-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 101
Right around the end of my social period (in spring 2019) I re-
call I had spent a bit of money on skincare products—some-
thing over which I never concerned myself before—seeing as
video shoots and photo shoots were coming up, and I remember
cleansing my face before the mirror using an assortment of beau-
ty products I had just purchased and having a sincere “What am
I doing... what has become of me... ” moment. This was like the
Tendon equivalent of waking up in a puddle of vomit and sur-
rounded by empty bottles of alcohol. This simply wasn’t the life
I wanted for myself.
102 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
it is the only life that I know. But it can be very difficult to live
my life when every noise, every media clip, every conversation
somehow forces me to relive the nightmare. I am caught like a
fly in an intricate web of unwanted memories, an unwanted life;
and when the triggers are so numerous there is simply no hope
of evasion and I must go about my life normally, not changing
my behaviors or becoming avoidant, though as much as I wish to
be able to say that this dauntless approach has worked for me, I
don’t see how it has benefited me at all.
For the last and final time I have poured out my whole soul to
the chirp of crickets, willing that the crickets should benefit from
my sincerity if no man will!
has seen upwards of a hundred times at this point. I find the task
of tackling this topic to be so emotionally taxing that I have not
been able to write up any sort of article on his nature and its im-
pact on my late family out of worry that the emotional taxation
will take a toll on my physical health (as it famously did in the
spring of 2018 when it forced me to take a six month break from
typing).
They look upon the pages of my life with pity! The pity breeds
guilt and guilt breeds anger. Then suddenly they are looking with
hatred upon me! I am an unwelcomed poignance! A long-haired
tarantula! Beware his complications! Beware his strange inquisi-
tiveness! Beware his mythopoeic renderings! But I have asked for
nothing from you! I would have been content to witness a smile.
Those who use their art as a means to flaunt their ability often
do so at the expense of genuine self-expression.
mysticism didn’t really seem like ‘magick’ to most people and felt
like I needed to Hollywoodize it in a way just to get the desired
reaction out of them. I’ve since fixed it, though, so that problem
doesn’t remain, or not to the same extent.
My whole life has been spent in battle, and to many that would
be cause to be called a soldier, yet I still tend to see myself as
more of a boy thrust onto a battlefield. I was not a soldier, nor a
philosopher, nor a master of anything at all.
see within these chapters does not fit in perfectly with the rest of
Clyssus of Man, into which these chapters were later forced.
All are given access to this water that I drink, leaving no defense
for them who opt to thirst.
Why did I bother to fight for so long! This is not a world that
can understand the value of man! And if I were to one day find
healing after decades of fighting, what then! I would receive not
claps but conspiratorial claims which say that I was never suffi-
ciently sick to begin with. There is no means of winning!
I often have difficulty separating the wheat from the chaff when
it comes to writing, and if you look at the Traumaturgy drafts
you’ll see just what I mean. It is mighty difficult for someone like
myself to say that any information is irrelevant, or unworthy of
inclusion, or what have you, especially given my personal philos-
ophy which reveres utterly every aspect of living. The point that I
am here to make is that the whole idea of the Cactus Patch really
helped me to mature as a writer, and quite swiftly, since I was able
to get rid of the unnecessary text without casting it off into the
abyss, giving it its own text which would be released separately,
as supplementary. It made these otherwise difficult editing deci-
sions quite easy, relatively speaking, since none of it is really un-
necessary or irrelevant, but would often subtract from the book
by adding too much bulk.
Cactus Patch takes its name from the fact that a cactus icon was
used as a markup to signify the lines and paragraphs which were
to be cut from my book, so each paragraph contained within this
text was initially preceded by a cactus, signifying text which was
considered ‘rough’.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 125
Oh, hair and skin and night-scented breath! I am recalling all the
days of my life; I am calling on fire from the apex of my final war-
ring winter.
“We are here, after all, to ensure your victory. Pull out my blade
and you shall see a surgeon’s bistoury!”
life. Each and every day for thirty years I have had to conscious-
ly shape my existence. I’ve had to cook up thousands of fun and
creative ways and games which would allow me to reap enjoy-
ment from the world and to need the people. Diligently I rose
and diligently I fell. This is why I get so touchy about matters re-
lating to my relationship with the population and the realization
that my stance is going to have me discredited as a misanthrope.
I have never met anyone who truly excited me. I have never
met anyone who made me feel more passion than I felt in alone-
ness. So what I have to do is give out tickets without anyone
meriting such in the hopes that I will be surprised. I am always
putting myself out there hoping to be proven wrong, hoping to
be caught off guard. I walk away from every interaction feeling a
mixture of shame and anger. I’m sad to admit this, because I have
convinced myself that to feel this way I have failed to adapt, as
if it’s all on me. I have made it my aim to make this work, and I
have worked endlessly at it.
I spent decades arguing against the idea that a higher intel-
lectual capacity must necessarily lead one to depression and lone-
liness, arguing that one with sufficient intelligence must neces-
sarily be competent enough to create a workaround, or else must
his intelligence be disputed! And let us not even factor in a high
empathetic capacity which is arguably far greater as a burden.
That belief of mine fueled this last decade of my life. But I can’t
overlook the menagerie. I can’t overlook the barking and hump-
ing and biting that passes as intelligent, sentient existence. I can’t
consider myself a part of this species. I don’t, really. If this is hu-
manity then what am I? Of course we aren’t allowed to speak
such things lest we be pulled down into the depths of censure
and condemnation by the pool of corpses which constitutes our
society. My worry of being dubbed arrogant by the lot of them
often keeps me from expressing the full scope of my emotions.
132 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
And what you’re left with is all of these defensive and torn rants
which consist of justifications and are likely as exhausting to all
my readers as they are to me... (no, not quite).
To the lost and uncertain I have only this to say: allot the entire-
ty of your focus to matters of ardor and intent and the pathway
will form thereby on its own in accordance with the verities of
this existence. Honor the will of the fire, allowing it to burn as it
must!
One of the most damning mistakes that one can make in this life,
and coming with especially severe consequences for the mystic,
is to believe that they are somehow responsible for the redemp-
tion of others. I say this as one who has struggled immensely with
such a sense of responsibility. There aren’t a whole lot of honest
THE DISSOLVING PATH 133
all who seek in earnestness and humility will come upon all that
they seek after. It even seems pointless, from a rational level, that
one should ever attempt to provide others with any sort of wis-
dom or counsel at all when I must expect that those who wish
to be here are already there by their own strength, for which rea-
son I aim not to inform but to affirm and validate the weary. We
are all where we are meant to be in terms of capability and prior-
ity. Those who have the capability for more will naturally desire
more and, by nature, will achieve more. It took me a long time to
understand this basic sentiment...
As a child I didn’t get out all that much. I didn’t attend school
and I didn’t socialize outside of church. My father would some-
times drive my sister and I to one of several large, wooden play-
grounds that were everywhere in the nineties. There were bridges
to cross and stairs to climb and blocks to spin and crests to con-
quer; but these things, they did not appeal to me like a certain
secret spot to which I would sneak off in every visit to this play-
ground: a sandy area on the far end of the structure where I had
found a missing board in the wall into which I was able to fit my
body. Once inside, I would find myself within the very structure
of the playground—a shadowy space replete with beehives and
plastic wrappers—and I would scour the dark underbelly of the
playground searching for lost toys while pretending that I was
some accursed creature whispering through the cracks at the oth-
er children as they passed.
Your average child finds their identity in that which brings them
comfort and joy. Why did I differ from this, finding my soul in
that which evoked feelings of confusion and overwhelm?
It has not been easy for me to describe the sound of her voice,
since a lot of the adjectives coming to mind might be deemed un-
flattering and may be taken the wrong way, presenting an unlove-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 137
ly impression which does not match the reality. She has sort of a
stuffy, headcoldy kind of voice, which sort of cracks (but not like
what we normally consider voice cracks). The adjective I some-
times use is shimmery. It’s very cute, in my opinion. I just wish it
wasn’t so difficult to describe. I have heard some female Japanese
singers who have a similar vocal type and so I would surmise that
it is more common with that population.
They were also very strict in terms of what they would allow into
the household, permitting next to nothing of secular origin. This
created a most notable problem in my teenage years due to my
love of music, and so I was required to go to great lengths to
smuggle in secular music.
Then there is also the matter of homeschooling and the fact
that, despite removing me from the schooling system at age six
and claiming to homeschool me, it is arguable that such can re-
ally be said when I was essentially given a stack of books and
locked away within my room without much, if any, accountabili-
ty, thus resulting in a very lopsided education. I may demonstrate
a fair level of insightfulness in many situations, which has often
allowed me to skirt by in the absence of textbook knowledge, but
I consider myself uneducated in the traditional, scholastic sense
of the word. After all, they believed we would soon be raptured
by God and all the world before us would be overtaken by fire
and plagues and literal horsemen. As a direct result of their be-
liefs, we lived in a most insular and detached manner and they
neither taught us about nor prepared us for the real world in any
legitimate way.
The extent of my ignorance led to an awful lot of embar-
rassment in my teenage years as I rarely seemed to actually know
what my peers were talking about and it became a part of my
character in which others found amusement, especially when it
came to matters relating to sexuality. It took me well into my
teenage years to come to learn the names of genitalia. For some
unknown reason I thought that women had a pinochle (pee-
knuckle? right?). An insufficient and late-coming sexual educa-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 139
tion is often considered as having been the catalyst for the in-
ternal revolt which ultimately led to the Ritual of Nullity and,
therefore, my entire mystical practice, in that it not only left me
feeling foolish before others but because it shocked my system
to be learning of something so momentous so very late into the
process of living.
I find her sitting on the floor beside a sink on the downstairs lev-
el. It would seem that she has suffered some sort of moderate al-
lergic response and it is upsetting her. I bring her a cup of lemon
water and sit down beside her to provide consolation. Later on
we move to the upstairs kitchen and she sees that I have baked
a batch of muffins to make her feel better, although they appear
like cupcakes since I have chosen to frost them. Every time she
takes one for herself she removes the buttercream flower from
atop the cake and transfers it to a separate cake in the corner
of the tray which, by now, stands at about six inches tall—two-
thirds of which are entirely made up of frosting—and, according
to her, I will be eating that one.
The primitive mind does not look upon the details and merely
forms its conclusions in response to a set of impressions. This
is not caused by laziness or inability, but due to a need respond
quickly to stimuli and intimations for the good of its own
longevity, as it is based on none other than fear, security and
ensuring its survival. Mystery, complexity and intensity are all
things that the uninspired know to avoid, seeing all things
through the lens of such primitive survivalism, and it has left me
tragically disadvantaged when it reached a point in which I was
in need of help. To others I am only a risk. Their minds were
not made to compute such supposedly contradictory things. No
matter what I give of myself and no matter how I behave, I shall
always be regarded as a threat if only due to the complicated na-
ture that I embody.
[...] and at this stage of mutation it is often the case that the de-
sires of the self have coalesced with the demands of the spirit, or
rather the will of Existence, whereby the requisite integrity is nei-
ther experienced as a chore nor as a struggle requiring great dis-
cipline but as a rewarding experience to which one is naturally
inclined.
[2016] I may have even bought into the spiels of the soulless,
where after a lifetime built upon a sort of superstitious idealism,
I became convinced that the development of a more grounded
and worldly set of expectations was a natural part of my develop-
mental process. “This is just how the world operates!” I sought to
convince myself. “This is the reality of relationships!” and in my
mind it was presented as a choice between learning to accept and
acclimate to a miserable existence filled with abuse and invalida-
tion or be left to die alone on my hill of sad ideals.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 149
I had waited for such a moment for many years. A release from
my prison; an embrace from someone who claimed to love me. It
was all I thought about for a decade, during which I disallowed
all hugs and affection amid my greatest hardships in avoidance
of lessening the victory that I would one day know once I found
Anita. Of course this was not that girl after whom I aspired so
long, but still I anticipated I would cry and never stop. I was
looking forward to it in a sense, if symbolically, if cinematical-
ly. I looked forward to it with certain anticipation. I imagined I
would weep so profusely it winded me. I wanted it all to come
out like an exorcism bringing all the demons out into the air.
It never came—not a glittery tear. And it bothered me, since at
the time I couldn’t understand why, after all those years of agony
and suffering and believing I would never experience another
embrace... believing I would never get out of my basement... It
was like that moment when you have a false awakening within a
150 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Is it not the truth! Yet what of the truth? For it is also true that
I must suffer and celebrate in solitude. It is also true that I must
spend my holidays alone, drinking my meals from a plastic cup. If
a tree experiences its birthdays and no one is around to acknowl-
edge it, does it age at all?
someone’s melodies, and you think there is the chance that they
suffer like you, that they love like you, that they dream like you,
and then their social media account is replete with pictures of
cars, kids and casseroles. Oh, and the worst of all is perhaps the
amount of times in which I have found the artists who I enjoy
complaining about writing and performing music, treating it like
some chore and not a choice. It destroys my attachment and it is
a terrible shame.
A lot of this has to do with the seriousness with which I
treated music and art in my formative years as a result of limited
socialization—a seriousness which has remained relatively intact
into adulthood. Throughout the course of my life, music has
comprised my only company, my only friendships, my sole affir-
mation. It was never merely a source of entertainment for me. It
was seen as a lifeline. And once I became a composer in my own
right I sought to build my empire upon all such things, incorpo-
rating all that I looked for as a child, by which I refer as much (or
more) to the person that I am beyond the songs and art.
As all our erstwhile heroes and celebrities are outed one after
another as wretches and rapists, I experienced a certain sense of
satisfaction in the security of knowing that I could not disap-
point others in this way—which isn’t to assert that I am beyond
fault but that, in addition to my dedicated striving for excellence,
I have left my closet door widely ajar and sufficiently lit. My aver-
sion to disappointing others as I have been disappointed in mine
own life has even informed my infamous ‘worst foot forward’ ap-
proach which seeks to forestall such an outcome by putting my
most controversial facts upfront.
In fact, one may even say that I had previously conflated the con-
cept of a ‘collective unconscious’ with the likes of some navi-
154 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Imagine how I felt after all my years of suffering when I had fi-
nally worked up the strength and resolve to meet with medical
practitioners, having decided I could not go on any longer like
this, only to be denied the help. The trauma of being told that my
illness can not be identified and having the more asinine of the
doctors trying to write it off as psychology before even giving me
any imaging... it was utterly traumatizing to me, and I have rarely
been willing to talk about my gripes and experiences for fear that
it will cause others to take the side of the incompetent doctors.
That is what my father did, being all too willing to believe that a
THE DISSOLVING PATH 157
doctor who has seen me for eight minutes of his time knew more
about my body than I did. They themselves seemed to think so,
sometimes becoming irate when I would ask questions or chal-
lenge their cold conclusions, in which case I was never discour-
teous or out-of-line in my tone but only a trusting individual ex-
pecting to get what such industry is promising. Once I finally be-
gan to receive some actual diagnoses (around late 2016 and early
2017) I was out of money and out of time.
I looked out upon the world with new eyes—a new perceptual
paradigm—yet as altered were my perceptions, it did not affect
my ability to gain the favor of the masses. I was ever able to do
the same old things, but I couldn’t always allow it of myself. It
was becoming more and more difficult to act in the way that
I once did, indulging in that which I now found wasteful and
worthless. I went through phases, but I could never manage to
maintain my social presence without experiencing some sort of
dissociation. My appetite for meaning has caused a rift so un-
mendable.
In recent years I have suffered non-epileptic seizures and
other psychogenic symptoms following occasions of significant
THE DISSOLVING PATH 159
As I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that perhaps I am just not that
into art for its own sake. That will likely sound like a strange
thing to be coming from someone who appears at a glance like
the quintessential artist, but I’ve often denied that I am an artist.
I am someone with a lot to say and no one to say it to and my
body of work is the natural result of such lonely circumstances.
That’s not to say that I can’t enjoy something aesthetically—sure-
ly I can. This is especially true of music, in my case. But the
context is so important to me, and if something doesn’t tie into
something larger... something ‘realer’ than itself, I find it difficult
to become engaged with it I think that the value of my own work
is not in the work itself but how it fits into my life, forming a
constellation which, when seen from a distance, forms a whole.
I like constellations as a symbol, as opposed to random floating
stars, which one cannot identify so easily among the night sky. A
thing’s value is regularly determined by its context and relation-
ships, after all.
Having got my start with prog rock, I still consider myself a prog
musician to some extent, despite the fact that my available works
lack a lot of the most fundamental elements of mainstream prog,
such as long-form songs. I still think in terms of movements, sto-
rylines, motifs/leitmotifs and reprisals, and if I were to actual-
160 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
And may the legacy that I leave in my wake have me being viewed
not through the lens of that which I have lost but through that
which I have given in sacrifice to this Existence.
Take, for example, a trophy that is won via honest means versus a
trophy that is won via cheating. The physical trophy remains the
same, yet they are very different objects on the metaphysical lev-
164 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
el; and though we can all agree that such a distinction exists, as
evidenced by the behavior that we take toward the act of cheat-
ing, our society does nothing to acknowledge the abstract caus-
es and their momentousness. I am not but some cloudfighting
rambler unwilling to accept things as they are. I look out with
sadness upon a world that denies, overlooks and manipulates the
abstract realm which accounts for so much of our Existence. It
hurts me like I cannot describe, and I hurt for all those who shun
the invisible reality, as the realm which defines our connections,
our meaning, our consequences is being neglected, and yet we all
wonder why humanity is falling apart.
It is all too easy to lose sight of one’s riches when they exist in the
abstract, especially within a world which measures success by the
size of one’s property and one’s audience—all of it being worth-
less stock. It can bring unimaginable pain and suffering to have
our efforts unacknowledged and even denied by those who are
unwilling to trust in our personal vision or self-evaluations. This
has long been a particularly sore spot with me, seeing as I’ve in-
vested all my energy into areas which can be so easily denied or
disrespected while nearly every other form of skill or develop-
ment is readily measurable and acknowledged accordingly.
I’ve been living off of liquidized oats, turmeric, ginger and salt,
creating for an almost buttery flavor.
These people in my life seem to think that just because they have
a reason to do something that it excuses them from having to
apologize and answer for their behavior. I don’t understand how
they can be so utterly cut off from matters of empathetic con-
cern.
166 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
If given the choice, one should always opt for madness over
numbness.
I wouldn’t say that any part of this reality is actually ‘fake’ in the
sense of it being some meaningless illusion, yet most Essence is
lacking that certain spark of life which must necessarily come
through an acknowledgment of Existence as such that I have
hereinbefore described. This is understood by saying that we
must reflect Existence for Existence to reflect us. Fundamentally,
most individuals do not recognize their own existence beyond
a basic noetic acknowledgment, if that, and... it really shows. I
think of it like spermatozoon, ovum and zygote. There exists bil-
lions of eggs, all of them actual, but few are actually coming into
contact with the actuating agent.
And may all who seek in earnest and with courage after the invi-
olable truths be rewarded in full.
There are things that I have not experienced which... I’m having
difficulty explaining it in a way that is liable to make sense to oth-
ers. Things like simply laying in bed and being comfortable and
hugging the blankets and feeling the... just feeling... feeling this
reality against my skin... being aware of my surroundings... and
feeling welcomed, protected, pleasured... it is such an alien con-
cept to me, I can’t even explain it. On the rarest of occasions I’ll
get a momentary glimpse into something... something seeming-
ly mundane, but oh so coveted. We see videos of others... they
wake up, and then they lay in bed, yawn, stretch, look relaxed...
none of that happens for me. I am always in the same mode of be-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 167
Love is not owed to any one of us. We do not merit love simply
for being. We must build ourselves up in virtue, and we must
open ourselves up in sincerity, becoming honest, vulnerable. It
is not a one-sided act. Where one reaches out in love, and that
love is voided by the unlovablity of the recipient, hatred forms
naturally. Yea, so I posit in confidence: hatred, or veritable ha-
tred—as contrasted with fear-fueled disdain—is the product of
a love which is disallowed its existence. Yea, so I state in sorrow:
I hate this world into which I was born.
A dead world rips its claw through the milk and poses the ques-
tion: “Whose wish was it to draw the maps?”
When growing up, every time someone spent the night or came
over we would make a movie or record songs (sometimes entire
albums). It’s quite funny to look back on. Everyone enjoyed
sleeping over at my house because they knew we would create
something exciting and tangible, rather than just watching televi-
sion and playing video games all night. To me it wasn’t about art.
It was about having something to show for our time... our lives...
168 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
All in all, I have never looked back on her memory and thought
to myself that I wish she were still alive; only that I wish things
had unfolded differently.
One of the most problematic issues faced in my life has been that
of how to work in the face of death and degradation, referring
to proper levels of productivity. When one is injured or ill, it is
customary for them to take a respite from their work and oblig-
ations. I, on the other hand, have instead declared “If I am soon
to die, then I must accomplish as much as I can in the mean-
time.” This was notably seen in the case of my singing, leading to
a throat injury from which I never recovered, as I refused to rest
my voice. On almost all occasions I have opted to work harder,
rather than taking the necessary respite. It is clearly inadvisable,
but I am still making such decisions daily, opting to work harder
when the world would encourage me to rest. Mora has jokingly
referred to this as the Leviyey Paradox: the thing which is caus-
ing me trouble is grasped ever tighter as a result of the trouble
that it causes, since I feel that if I must lose it then I will get every
last bit that I can from it, but that only ends up hastening the
loss, like a self-fulfilling prophecy carried out in romantic igno-
rance.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 169
There existed one book among this lot which appeared so sym-
bolically rich and strange in tone that it consumed my thoughts
for weeks on end. It was captivating, yet at the same time so dis-
turbing that I hesitate to speak up on its nature. The title of this
text often appeared as The Widow Burns With Her Husband
and it began with what I interpreted as a string of confused in-
vestigations into whether or not I have had sexual relations with
my sister. The book then begets a more poetic tone as it takes to
illustrating the story of twins who were lovers: a strange, albeit
mystical romance conveyed through cryptic verse. I did all that I
could to analyze the symbols present therein, believing it to con-
ceal some important information, and I was fortunate enough
to gain access thereto on multiple discrete occasions through-
out this period, yet it soon began to trouble me on some deep,
visceral level of my being, to the point where it seemed that all
things within my life were referring back to said tale in one way
or another. The mysterious Stock Bird Stork album once again
became relevant in this instance, sending me down a rabbit hole
of natal symbolism and long-forgotten memories which rose to
the surface in a surge of confusion. The confusion within my soul
THE DISSOLVING PATH 171
ers living their lives and wish that I was them. I never wished to
be anyone but myself. I only wish for improved circumstances,
but that is all. I observe context so firmly, so strictly, and context
disallows any sort of comparisons.
Over the years I’ve devised many a theory to explain her ( Jeiez-
za’s) nature, some of which were fabricated outright and speak
to my need to have everything make sense. The same can be said
about the Thummim up until around the spring of 2018 when
his nature became increasingly clear to me. Before that I had pro-
pounded a rather farfetched narrative regarding his nature and
our relationship, which my readers should bear in mind as they
read old depictions. It’s nice to finally have these mysteries re-
solve themselves.
sense of need and urgency which often drove these feelings and
how I was successfully able to overcome these feelings, convinc-
ing myself that I didn’t need to act out. But I don’t think the
world is ready to listen. Why listen to what one is really saying
when we can assume and write lazy presuppositions which were
never even accurate to begin with!
So I am sorry that I could not provide more insights into this
part of myself, for I know that the stupid ones will trip and break
their noses on these difficult steps.
mind without regard for the domestic hell which I have had to
live through. I pulled myself up by mine own might and contin-
ued to develop in spite of shattered trust and damaged portray-
als, refusing to shut myself off from opportunities even when the
temptations arose, and I looked to make it my platform in life,
using my experience to assist other misanthropes and trauma vic-
tims. Well-intentioned though I was, I now have mixed feelings
over the amount of time that I have allocated to this focus, since
by seeking out the ‘damaged’ I have invited negativity and abuse
into my life which could have otherwise been avoided.
The fact that I spend an average of fifteen hours out of each and
every day engaged with my projects leaves few openings in my
armor and I can often get by with as little as two or so hours of
compounded harmful rumination; yet on days where my defense
is lessened, either due to a lack of work, an inability to work due
THE DISSOLVING PATH 177
The percipient will easily be able to pick out a certain set of qua-
si-neurotic preoccupations within my speech patterns and inter-
active history which stem from these fixations. My purportedly
THE DISSOLVING PATH 179
Assuming that some confusion may arise from the fact that I
have been called by various names, I have this to say: Tendon
Levey should simply be treated as a project name, referring to the
THE DISSOLVING PATH 181
real damage to me. And as I said, I’ve sort of been left to fill in the
blanks myself and to arrive at my own understanding as to why
these things occur. Maybe people feel they can’t tell me no? Then
I go out of my way to make it easier for them. Nothing changes.
In most cases where a confrontation came about it was learned
that it was not caused by something I did at all, which I’m not
sure is better or worse. Yet somehow I’m wrong for expecting
people to mean and do as they say. All I can say is that it has al-
tered my makeup in undesirable and damning ways. Now you’ll
understand the damage caused by the latter years of my life, par-
ticularly 2018.
I must also clarify that these are not positions adopted with ra-
tional deliberation but attitudes innate to my person, and I do
not seek to defend the less-than-sensible parts of my being, see-
ing them for what they are; however, at the same time, I can not
seem to give them up without giving up all that I am (or all that
I perceive myself to be) and it is this element of identification
THE DISSOLVING PATH 187
After all that effort, not a single one of them would ever attempt
to contact me in the wake of my departure in 2019 (which was
188 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I bend to each and every soul who walks willingly through the
darkness on their way to the light.
however, has its limits and may not be considered practical for
understanding the complexities of these matters which depend
on wisdom beyond that which is offered unto us by the prevalent
paradigm.
This has a lot to say for why I repeatedly end up falling back
into the trap of old, abusive relationships—not because I am es-
pecially fond of the people in question but because it can be dif-
ficult for me to admit that anything comes about without prop-
er cause in the greater scheme, leading to all these semi-desperate
attempts on my part to find a use for all components of my exis-
tence, from the diseases in my body to the people I have known.
As someone who has just been spitting and twirling for decades
on end, not willing to interpret anything as impersonal, irrele-
vant or unnecessary, it is the first instance in which I have been
given a sense for the parts of my being and my philosophies
which are with the most potency and of the highest use to this
sphere, and I have to say that it has altered my perspective on my
own body of work just a bit (and I mean that positively).
THE DISSOLVING PATH 193
One of the only pieces of information that I ever did receive re-
garding this phenomenon was some equivocal metaphor com-
paring Parashurna to the blinking of the eyes, along with some
line which simply stated “Its word is PHRENESIS.” Years went
by before I would end up learning the word in question to be an
obsolete term meaning madness or frenzy.
I’ve long taken issue with the concept of astral projection and
how it is classified, believing that the experience to which indi-
viduals are referring to with use of this term relates to hypna-
gogia rather than any sort of supposedly astral realm. Recent rev-
elations regarding aspatiality and nonlocality have left me quite
assured that the phenomenon, should it truly exist as any more
than man’s imagination, is actually related not to space but a lack
of space which is achieved through Agnosis which is achieved
through meditative trance, hypnagogia or other states regular-
ly associated with Agnosis (Aspatial Projection?). Then again, I
don’t even think that this applies in most cases dubbed as astral
projection which is simply fantasy and doesn’t even go so far as
hypnagogia.
me to live a life with decisions based not off of fear but authen-
ticity and resonancy.
The name Collbalchasse, however, was not its original name but
a modification made to what I felt was somewhat of an informi-
dable name.
So as the bee buries itself within the rose, the two of us have
become as one meaningful concept from which emanates one
work.
All Absence is alike, all Presence is unique. Here, within this for-
mula, it is explained why I count in threes and not fours.
[...] and when the womb withered up and bells rang out I re-
solved to carry my head through gore in every hue in my em-
bracement of the necessity of sacrifice.
As a child, when first setting out into the deeper spheres of the
psyche, I was acquainted with an abstract phenomenon that I
likened to a black hole, and this force was later anthropomor-
phized and given the name Parashurna within my narrative: Ag-
nosis pure (or as it is sometimes termed, Absence). I don’t want
to speak from my ignorance and end up giving way to conjec-
tural obsessions, but I do see this as a meaningful comparison
and something may be gained by pursuing it further, particularly
via means of the myriachoron. Each and every time black holes
come up in the news I always perk up like a fresh-pressed peep.
The end of my operation does not spell an end for the develop-
ment of my being. The means and aim of development simply see
202 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
the pharynx and it was the resultant insights which exposed the
identities of the company among which I traveled.
I dearly wished for something to occur in him and within our re-
lationship that left me feeling I did not have to share this infor-
mation with the public. You have to understand that my mind
has been rewired by prolonged and extensive trauma and there
exists a very defensive undertone to everything that I do and
say following a lifetime of having my claims challenged, ignored
and/or delegitimized. I feel a constant need to defend the fact
that I am in my current situation for valid reasons, and that my
condition should not undermine my strong and ambitious char-
acter. Unfortunately, my life has been filled with the types of
individuals who will break your legs and then ridicule you for
being unable to walk. My willingness to release so many details
about myself and my experiences derives, in part, from this con-
stant need that I feel to justify myself, and I hate to frame it in
that manner, but it is the truth. I will not allow my identity to be
decided by a world which never cared to get to know me. I will
THE DISSOLVING PATH 205
“My heart aches from its wasted depths to know that I was once
a brother! I was once a lover! But that which may be lost is never
truly possessed! The cock has crowed as it was told, and all that I
have said and done—it counts for nothing.”
This life is genuinely a lottery, and even where our efforts grant
us each our own ticket of entry, the chances of a given ticket be-
ing called upon remain woefully unaffected.
Consider it once again like a mind and its thoughts in the sense
that, in order for our thoughts to be truly useful to us, we must
meet many preconditions relating to our grasp on context. If our
understanding of our circumstances and how we fit thereinto is
THE DISSOLVING PATH 211
While writing my book, or any text for that matter, all question
of whether or not something embarrasses me or causes me dis-
comfort is ultimately trumped by one question: “...but did it hap-
pen?” I am so indebted to the facts of my lived experience, and to
reality as I know it, that such reasoning always wins out, as I do
not see myself as having the rights to be ashamed of that which
genuinely occurred, and if I am indeed so ashamed of my actions
at some point in time, then it is my responsibility to make sure
that these actions are not carried out repeatedly; but I will not
deny their existence or their inclusion within my accounts.
redeems me.” On the reverse side of the scroll was written a short
bio. And on some occasions, I decorated the entire outside of
the (shipping) box by printing out full pages from the above-
said book onto clear sticker paper which then overlaid the card-
board. The landing page of the original Tendon Levey website al-
so contained a quote from The Phantom of the Opera: “He had
a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and,
in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar.” I have also
been known to pull lines from The Man Who Laughs and The
Divine Comedy, the latter of which I have not actually read (de-
spite having a decent idea of its story, and my imagining, accu-
rate or inaccurate, of what said story is actually about has actually
served as an inspiration in some cases).
I don’t do any of this for the ‘art world’, the ‘literary world’, or
what have you. I do it for the child that I was, and I do it for
all those curious adolescents on the cusp of youth and adult-
hood who sit now in silence, weighing out whether to pursue a
life of security or one of meaning, because surely you can’t have
both—not within our current climate.
216 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Water tastes funny since the trial. I’m not clear on whether it is
physiological, psychogenic or... funny water.
Oh, but I would sure hate for this (and all else that I am saying)
to be appropriated by poorest bastards in the wake of my death,
becoming some hollowed-out New Age concept after being
ripped from context and turned into a consolatory memetic sug-
ar pill for some cat collector.
For the most part, people can only be so conscious of their ac-
tions and intentions (and the ripples thereof ) and for so long be-
fore it drives them insane. Accountability and awareness are sim-
ply not as engaging as pornography and video games for most.
How strange it is to now be almost at the age that Lajos and Ru-
bid were when I took part in the fraternity.
world can’t all be bad.” I’m stuck in a fractal that goes on forever,
and if you do not understand this about me then I’m afraid you
understand nothing at all about my offering.
rienced and I don’t expect that to change, given her living condi-
tions.
If I had more time and funds I would work to have beautiful il-
lustrations created for Clyssus of Man, and I would add a lot of
additional research materials and charts. I am a fan of elaborate
layouts and luxurious packaging and would never put out any-
thing so ‘bare bones’ and basic, but I am fading fast, and the fact
that I could actually manage to accomplish as much as I have
with this text is so utterly unexpected that I must be grateful.
226 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
She is his will to pour, his love of pouring and the reward that it
brings!
The thing about this (third and final) astragon, or this story, is
that it really wrote itself, taking hundreds of symbols which have
festered, born from nothing, and bringing them at once unto
230 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The thing about genre is... if you create something decent, you’ve
got an instant audience. If I should pump out a metal album, for
instance, I would have a community already at the ready. That
doesn’t necessarily translate to having fans, but I would have a
target demographic, and that on its own would go a long way.
I would have labels that are willing to listen, I would be eligible
for being added to specialized playlists, dezinezinet. I would at
least know where to start a campaign, or who might actually ap-
preciate my work. With Tendon Levey I had absolutely nothing
to work with, and it has been a very upsetting experience since
2017. There is no niche carved out for what I’ve done, and... sad-
ly, I no longer take pride in that. The pain outweighs the pride.
It is so awful to me that, were I still recording, I think it would
have definitely influenced my direction going forward. That isn’t
to say that I would have abandoned my style and sensibility out-
right, but I would have been more conscious of conveying my-
self through the more common tropes and means people could
understand. I hate feeling as though no one can grasp the dark-
ness, sorrow and romance of my music without my having to tell
them that it’s there. They just hear my weary opiate voice and
dissociated melodies and write it off as meaningless avant-garde,
or worse—silly. So I would probably make my music “dark” in
a way they could easily understand, playing more into their de-
finitions so as to avoid such confusion and the hassle it brings
with it. Honestly, I often wish that I had a different audience/de-
mographic than my output naturally allots me. ‘Genre dyspho-
ria’, I’ve jokingly called it.
232 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
It doesn’t just feel swollen. It feels like the whole internal struc-
ture of my face is collapsing in on itself (referring to my palate,
which is currently inflamed due to inflammation in my larynx).
It’s a most dehumanizing sensation.
I have lapsed in and out of over sixty fevers during the writing of
this book, with my larynx having become so swollen that it has
caused my nasopharynx and palate to malfunction. This has led
my nose, throat and airways to clamp shut with any sniff, cough,
or anything at all, and I constantly feel as though I’ve knives in
234 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The track ‘Stag of Charm’ references the stag to which I was tied
and sent off to the Edge of Knowledge amid my first astragon.
The cover artwork of Ear to the Oven depicts this event, or these
elements, and features a snakelike man in a mask and turban
(representative of a dipa) showing me to a stag. Following the
events of this past year (2019/2020), I find it very intriguing that
this symbol featured prominently within the spring of 2008, and
was preceded by the stork on the following album. Truly, this
most mysterious period of my life was inspired. I also find it very
curious that the stag appearing on the cover of Ear to the Oven,
based on the stag from my first astragon, was skeletal, while the
stag I once knew wasn’t skeletal at all; however, in its recent re-
turn to me it was very clearly skeletal.
If I had three wishes I would ask for perfect health, a loving fam-
ily and a singing voice limited only by my imagination.
We look at those who are vocal in their love for their parents,
their families and/or their communities as virtuous and upstand-
ing, and I shudder in my heartache, for I would have given any-
thing to be able to be in such a situation where I could feel love
and warmth and closeness with those in my life, and it should be
evident in how willing I was to give my all to anyone who would
have simply listened to me, looked at me. All my life I have felt
myself judged for my inability to speak highly of the people in
my world, yet how else should I respond to those who abuse and
mistreat me?
sue died down I’ve shed my frustrations and would now consider
myself a ‘dog person’, after all). While looking for the perfect dat-
ing questionnaire I incidentally came upon a network for asexu-
als. I quickly got sidetracked, forgetting what I had come there
for. Most of the people on the site seemed to just be interested in
friendship, as was I, and I made a couple pen pals in the process,
although I only clicked with one of them. You can probably fig-
ure out what this is leading into, although I don’t know that I
ever offered an explanation on how, exactly, the two of us met,
preferring to keep it vague and mysterious. Or maybe I did offer
an explanation. It has become so difficult to keep track of what
I have said in all of my old documents, and sheer embarrassment
keeps me from sifting through anything older than six months.
...
I hear the voice of the ancients rustling like the dry paper of this
book, and they say these words:
...
We are going on [...]
And I say, and I say, and I say [...]
We are going on a trip, to see the face of God, and to find the
house that houses the pyramid.
The pyramid is hollow. The pyramid is open. The pyramid is the
gateway through which the darkness can come and go (preferably at
the height of winter).
The arch opens.
The prophecy of the pyramid being hollow itself fills me with a
kind of longing. It is a shortsighted feeling, perhaps, but I wonder if
the pyramid may conceal a secret or two about the universe that has
yet to be found.
It is impossible to discern all of the strange things that we are all
about.
And the more we are, the less we see.
And the more we can do, the more impossible it is.
No, not impossible.
Nothing of real, or of expected value is impossible.
I hope to take it up with the ancients.
Now we have to go—
Make it stop!
...
I’m ready to off myself. The Hierophantissa is still carrying the
baby sphinx.
I’ve been trying to keep the body going, but I’m failing.
I’m giving you nothing.
This is lava and ashes. It is not a thing that I’d want or pass
along to another generation.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 247
...
Incomplete.
Curse me. I am not to be trusted.
No one should ever listen to these two.
Cleft, cut, gash, and lacerate.
I am content to creep and hover and make my own.
This is what I am.
Here we are offered a strange and valuable insight into the value
of the void, for as Gnosis is likened to an open eye in that it rep-
resents the sum of what is acknowledged by Existence, and Ag-
nosis, a shut eye, represents the sum of that which lies beyond
its purview, Gnosis requires Agnosis, ignorance, for its own ex-
istence, since it is within the darkness of ignorance that the so-
lutions to its plights are to be found, and Essence is the probe
which reaches into these abyssal cracks. Consider it as the rela-
tionship between society and the outsider: those lying outside of
the norm are shunned for their refusal to play by the rules and
standard logic, yet society depends upon these same individu-
als and their risk-taking behaviors for its progress, being that the
masses are confined to building upon what is already known and
established. New knowledge must be gathered from unknown
voids where Existence does not look: Agnosis. Is this a decent ex-
planation of what I mean to convey? No, I don’t think so.
1. STRANGLE
2. GLOBUS
3. STRAIN
4. SUFFOCATION
5. NEURALGIA
6. TONGUE
7. PALATE
8. NERVE
9. GAG
10. SWALLOW
1. STRANGLE (2008)
STRANGLE, which is the oldest of these sensations and ar-
guably the most prominent, was first noticed in the fall of 2008
(although I am convinced that it was lingering for a bit by that
point, if below my radar of concern, and so I wasn’t paying it
much attention). My earliest specific memory pertaining to this
condition was as I was sitting in a parked car outside of a bank
and took a swig of my friend’s energy drink, only to experience
the sensation of my throat growing tight. It was very uncomfort-
able, although I don’t think that I ever mentioned it to him at the
time. A similar sensation occurred only a month later when re-
turning from a trip to Michigan with that same friend and I had
taken a swig of espresso. The caffeine, combined with the cold-
ness of the weather, was creating for great discomfort in me and
my neck was very tight for hours during the ride. A couple of
weeks later I went to stay with another associate at their apart-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 251
ment and my throat was so constricted during the drive that I re-
quired my father to pull over so that I could go and lay down on
the floor of a gas station restroom and recover. Once again, I be-
lieve that the issue was occurring more often than just these in-
stances, although these are the moments that I recall most from
early on. That being said, I don’t recall it being much of an issue
over the next couple of seasons. My next memory of dealing with
throat tightness was July 2009, during a period in which I was be-
having erratically and prone to frequent shrieking and screaming
and other abnormal behaviors which were acted out as part of
a quasi-therapeutic process in which I was then engaged. In ret-
rospect I look at these actions as leading into what would come,
and by September the problem would develop beyond what I
ever thought possible, becoming one of the more notable night-
mares of my lifetime.
In the early years, STRANGLE was prominently associated
with anxiety, physical tension and vocal abuse, however, over the
course of time, as anxiety has become less of an issue and I have
stopped vocalizing altogether, it has come to be more so associ-
ated with the use of my hands. Thus, when you hear me speak-
ing of my inability to type and carry out other tasks involving my
hands, this is the ailment that is invoked when I use my hands
overmuch, tying into my Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. So if I type
more than the allotted amount within a given period of time,
strangulation comes on strong. I do not understand the mechan-
ics perfectly, although I assume that my brachial plexus (which
innervates the hand and forearm and is often implicated in cases
of TOS) is trapped by my damaged SCM muscle and every time
I use my hand I am inadvertently tugging at the nerves in my
neck. I have tried various techniques to tackle this issue, such as
massaging and manipulating my neck, hand and underarm in the
area where the nerve passes through—at which I have sometimes
252 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
with this one, as it comes with a huge debt (possibly the largest
debt of any of my ailments) meaning that the consequences are
long-lasting and a singular, ill-considered action, like cutting out
a couple of small pictures with scissors or something seemingly
benign in nature, will leave me suffering for several months with-
out ease, both from incessant strangulation and also heavy re-
strictions on what I am able to achieve. This is especially a prob-
lem due to my writing, and I can often not type at all in these
situations without exasperating the issue. I have put in great ef-
forts to understand the cause of the problem and why I can type
1,000 words on my phone but can barely type a single sentence
on my desktop keyboard before it becomes an issue. This issue
has loomed over the last many years of my life, restricting my ca-
pabilities and rendering most hobbies off-limits.
This ailment, along with many others, is directly impacted by
the ‘rawness’ of my throat. So if I am coughing and clearing my
throat more than a little bit within a given time frame I am go-
ing to be far more sensitive to injury, so if I should take a seat
and write out 2,000 words while my throat is raw it could lead
to months of suffering, while on a day when my throat is not
so raw, I can put out that same amount of words with no trou-
ble. Physical tension also has a direct effect on my condition, so
if my tension gets out of control and goes unchecked for an ex-
tended period of time—say, a couple of days of straight tension
and anxiety—it is very likely to be followed by weeks of tightness
in the throat, if not longer, as seen in the spring of 2018 when
an interaction with my abusive father caused me so much pain
and trauma that I had to give up posting in my blog for roughly
six months. This occurred once more in December of that same
year following a damaging incident involving a sudden outburst
from someone in whom I had placed my trust and the resultant
anxiety amounted to strangulation which left me limited in my
THE DISSOLVING PATH 255
life unfolds more like the Olympics, and perhaps it’s the Special
Olympics in that it entails a high level of restriction and may not
scream excitement and intensity from the outside, yet it’s calling
on all that I am and I am risking all that I have just to be able to
achieve that which most people can achieve with ease and in the
absence of thought and planning. Say that the average, able-bod-
ied individual is given a thousand credits to spend each and every
day, and those credits relate to the abilities of body and mind
and the liberty that can be achieved thereby before a breaking
point is reached, while I am given a mere one-hundred credits in-
stead. Whereas the commoner man will maybe spend two hun-
dred credits daily, or one-fifth of their allotted allowance, I will
spend ninety-nine of mine own, taking it right up to the ceiling
of what I am authorized so that each day resolves with me gasp-
ing for air and barely pulling through—but oh so glad to look
back upon a day of accomplishment. You must understand, that
without the accomplishments of today, I cannot provide a reason
for why I did not kill myself yesterday. Thus is the nature of my
work: I am forever justifying my decision to remain in this Hell.
Through the deeds of today I justify tomorrow.
It is seldom acknowledged but unfortunately the case that,
despite the pain, discomfort and sheer danger brought on by my
ailments, I focus more often on the tasks I am to accomplish than
on mine own comfort levels. That shouldn’t imply that I neglect
my health, as I am very much on top of it, doing all that I can
to stay out of the danger zone, so to speak, though suffering is a
given at this point in my life and if I am to live to see tomorrow
I must focus on something more constructive and life-affirming.
And so I view the severity of my illness not so much through
how it makes me feel but through how it limits me. When my
physical body throws me for a loop, I foremostly fear what it will
mean for my ability to write and express myself, caring less that
THE DISSOLVING PATH 257
2. GLOBUS (2009)
The earliest incident that I can recall, in terms of GLOBUS
variation, occurred in the final weeks of September 2009. It was
a dreary day. I was working on the I Recant album. The lights in
my bedroom were ambient, having been swapped out for blue
bulbs. I was laying on my mattress, waiting on my father to re-
turn from the grocery store with snacks or some such, and I recall
feeling the need to burp, as in the feeling of there being a little
air trapped in the throat, but it was very slight, and when I tried
to burp, it didn’t come out, so I tried to force it, and I don’t recall
it being anything crazy. I don’t expect that anything about this is
uncommon; yet in trying to force it, I incidentally brought about
a very, very uncomfortable feeling in my throat which stayed
with me all throughout the day. I’m foggy on the exact time-
line, though I’m pretty certain that this was where everything be-
gan to fall apart for me. I was very young at that time (twenty)
and not all that used to health problems of this sort, so I had no
means to expect that it would last, or grow worse. Within days
I began to choke on food, from pasta dishes to candy. I fought
it at first, thinking it a fluke, but after a couple weeks I modified
my diet as I couldn’t continue to deal with the constant anxiety
while eating which only appeared to get worse over time. I then
began to eat oatmeal for each meal, with yogurt taken between
meal times and serving primarily as an electuary in which to take
my kratom and other bitter herbs which I would not swallow as
pills.
That September afternoon would give way to a most un-
forgettable period of time known in retrospect as ‘the win-
ternecine’: a period of three months coming at the close of 2009
which were so nightmarish and jarring as to haunt me forever-
more. GLOBUS was by and large responsible for this shift in
THE DISSOLVING PATH 259
blers) and sugar wafers which, as I recall, were often stale and I
would rarely go a day without forcing myself to take a bite, al-
though it rarely went well. I did also eat saltines with some fre-
quency and for some reason they never caused me as much of a
problem, as I could grind them up to a paste within my mouth,
though it seems I could not do the same with the pretzels which
often caused me to choke. Still, I kept with it over time, never be-
ing one to resign myself to inability. Sometimes I would utilize
the chew and spit technique to enjoy chocolate and other sweets,
which I had done quite often during my years as an anorexic.
In 2016 I began consuming solid food on a more regular ba-
sis, branching off into more and more complex territory and it
came without any notable incidents or suffering, being a great
success which I owe to the chemicals in my body at that time
from being in the company of my ex-partner. It seemed, at that
point, that fewer foods were off-limits than the opposite, and I
was very pleased to have made it so far when I never imagined I
would be able to eat solid food once more after the never end-
ing nightmare that I experienced in life, choking alone in a base-
ment day and night. I continued with a fairly regular diet until
the late summer months of 2017 when SUFFOCATION began
and I feared I was suffering a sudden allergic reaction to certain
foods, such as peanuts and coconut, yet I could not pinpoint the
issue and ultimately reverted to an oatmeal-only diet once again
to avoid flare-ups. Though I never ended up getting tested for al-
lergies, it later occurred to me that I may have developed a prob-
lem with my histamine which, as of 2020, has made it impossi-
ble for me to step outside for even the merest minute, regardless
of the season, without suffering an array of disturbing symptoms
within my throat and sinuses. Perfumes or scented soaps are also
off-limits to me at this point and I require a special hand soap as
most cause my throat to tighten. This was not a problem prior to
THE DISSOLVING PATH 261
3. STRAIN (2010)
THE DISSOLVING PATH 263
what took place, I can at least say that the location of those heads
match up with the locations in which the pain was concentrated.
Symptomatically speaking, it was a muscular injury, so there
was a lot of heat, especially in the first few weeks, and the worst
of the pain ran from the base of my shoulder to right under my
right ear (the length of the SCM).
I medicated with alcohol, kratom and an excessive intake of
ibuprofen. I was taking three ibuprofen pills in four hour inter-
vals from November 2010 through all of 2011, 2012 and 2013
(in which case I was taking them long after my sprain had seemed
to heal, taking them as a sort of preventative or in the hopes that
they would decrease the overall swelling within my throat). I’m
sure that it didn’t do my system any good to be taking such large
daily dosages for years and years. It was my sudden abdominal in-
jury at the end of 2013 which caused me to switch off of ibupro-
fen and start taking turmeric powder as an alternative, although
I am not sure on its efficacy.
Shortly after injuring my SCM for the second time I began
to suffer from a debilitating gastroparesis which manifested with
the most intense and overwhelming abdominal pains that I had
ever experienced at that point, coming on so suddenly and with
such intensity after eating that I would be forced to lay in a very
particular position on my mattress for anywhere from a half hour
to several hours while waiting on the pressure to subside. The
pressure, which was so intense as to take my breath away and
leave me unable to sit up or stand to my feet, was not confined
to my stomach, but could be felt within my neck when at its
worst. As I later realized, my condition (gastroparesis) was like-
ly to have been caused by an interaction between the injured
SCM and my vagus nerve, which appeared to be trapped or oth-
erwise restricted by the inflamed muscle. This was a significant
discovery, as the vagus nerve is a very complex nerve which trav-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 265
els through much of the body and seems to relate to a lot of the
issues with which I have suffered over time (along with appear-
ing to have a very mysterious link to that which we regard as the
mind-body relation, which could potentially have something to
say for my apparent susceptibility to somatism between the years
of 2009-2014).
At that point in my life, the muscular pain that I was experi-
encing in my neck, coupled with the pain of gastroparesis, were
the worst pains I had ever experienced in all my life. My battle
with these ailments is subtly depicted on the cover of my 57th
album, The Cloud on the Altar, which was my first attempt at
recording after returning to singing in early 2011.
I have pulled a couple of muscles in the neck and throat re-
gion since then, often as the result of excessive yawning or la-
bored breathing, although nothing to the degree that was expe-
rienced in 2010-2011. This singular injury seems to have come
with many ramifications ranging from the aforementioned inter-
actions with the vagus which are still ongoing to issues with the
brachial nerve (as seen in TOS). I have noted elsewhere that the
texture of my dextral sternocleidomastoid muscle is very hard,
inflexible and bears all the roughness of a tire, with many palpa-
ble nodules.
4. SUFFOCATION (2011)
The proper medical term, I believe, for this issue, is VCD,
or Vocal Cord Dysfunction, although whereas many sufferers
report shorter episodes lasting only minutes, my episodes have
been known to last many hours, if not days at a time, making this
among the worst of all issues I have experienced.
This ailment made its first appearance in the holiday season
of 2011, in which case my family and I suspected it to be an al-
266 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
from this and I have been for several months. It is like an asthma
attack that never ends, although it does ebb and flow throughout
the day depending on my activities. I would perhaps consider it
the worst of the lot if simply because of how long it lasts, but al-
so because it has brought me nearest to death. My throat literally
changes shape during these instances and my temples tingle and
my extremities go numb and my bowels loosen. As breathing be-
comes labored, I breathe via sporadic sips and slurps. Yawning, as
I noted, is another measure of getting in my breaths. In the worst
scenarios I will be trying to catalyze my trigeminal neuralgia by
pushing the notch behind my right ear in an attempt to coun-
terbalance the symptoms of suffocation which are more danger-
ous and more difficult to bear than the severe, cutting pain of the
neuralgia. It is unfortunate that I am forced to choose between
the worst discomfort of my life and the worst pain of my life, but
sometimes the situation calls for it.
When you hear me speak about low oxygen levels and other
things of that sort, I am referring to this issue in particular, since
my other issues, while debilitating in their own ways, do not nor-
mally hinder my ability to breathe (unless they are combined
with this particular ailment to make up a hideous and frightful
combo). This facet is also associated with what is colloquially re-
ferred to as “Animal Mode” by my partner and I, which refers
to a point that is reached when the suffocation is at its peak and
it will be so overwhelming, so all-consuming, so alarming, that
I just enter into this survivalistic trance state where I’m not re-
ally capable of listening or paying attention to what’s going on
around me and I sort of just begin to wander around or crawl
upon the floor doing random things based less on sense than
on instinct, as I am simply trying to figure out a way to survive
this moment, this minute, this second. And that’s really what it
is... the issue has become so severe that the mind begins to take
268 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
5. NEURALGIA (2014)
In December 2014 I developed trigeminal neuralgia, likely
as a result of nerves being pinched beneath my muscles and also
entailed or interacted with sinus/dental troubles. It first started
270 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
6. TONGUE (2019)
On the date of my thirtieth birthday I suffered a major set-
back in my condition. I had cleared my throat a bit over the
course of a day or two making my throat slightly sore, and then
attended an all-day concert event where I was talking a lot. This
caused for an increase in pain and rawness in my throat, and
partway through the event I had to swing by my home to pop
some ibuprofen pills to manage the pain, and while that seemed
to mask my pain enough to where I could speak, it was a very
poor decision on my part to continue my activity.
This was made worse only a few days thereafter when I con-
sumed an antacid tablet which had been sitting for an unknown
274 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
7. PALATE (2020)
A more recent problem affecting my palate cropped up late
in life, first becoming an issue on the date of September 26, 2020
when my palate and sinuses became so inflamed (as a result of la-
ryngeal attrition) that I felt my whole head was caving in on it-
self and was required to sleep in a sitting position while wearing
a helmet just to be able to breathe—as the helmet applied pres-
sure to the bridge of my nose which, for some reason, alleviated
the worst of my symptoms just enough to where I could breathe.
It genuinely felt as if my head was caving in on itself, with
my palate and the back of my sinuses feeling swollen to the point
where most movements were often cutting off my air supply.
When I inhaled through my nose it would clamp shut and cut
off my breathing and it was extremely frightening. I can’t even
imagine what must have been taking place anatomically. The ap-
plication of pressure to the bridge of my nose worked sometimes,
though not always, and that was mostly in the early stages of the
issue.
The issue was at its worst between September and November
of that year and has not since reached that same level of intensity,
although it did manage to shake me up in ways that few prob-
lems before it could. And for all the terror that it caused, it did
bring with it one advantage in that it largely seemed to counter-
act STRANGLE (arguably by reshaping my throat) and thereby
THE DISSOLVING PATH 277
they will become tighter, and so it seems that they are sensitive
to the touch.
8. MOLAR (2021)
In September 2021 I began to suffer severe pain in the area
of my back molar (left side). Since part of the tooth had eroded
or broken off in the previous year or two (as a result of a cavity
which came from my favoring that side of my mouth when chew-
ing, which I had been doing since 2009), I assumed that it was
a problem relating to the nerve and tried approaching it with
ibuprofen, garlic and clove oil, though nothing really worked.
The only thing to minimize the pain was peppermint oil applied
directly to the molar, although the problem with that is that it
would also trigger SUFFOCATION and that just wasn’t a wor-
thy trade, so I don’t know if the peppermint oil was actually
numbing it or if it was all just being counterbalanced by a sepa-
rate ailment which was triggered by the oil.
This I consider to have been the worst pain of my lifetime.
A sip of water could be felt entering the cavity and I could feel
it traveling down... traveling down where? I don’t know. Into the
gums? Riding the nerve? I don’t know, but I would feel this hor-
rible sensation as if the liquid was traveling down some passage
within me and it was so abhorrent I can hardly speak of it. It felt
somehow surgical, like when you’ve got an IV pumping you with
contrast. I would have to brace myself before each drink of liq-
uid, and at this point I’m already on an all-liquids diet so I can’t
even imagine having had to chew in this condition. I tried fa-
voring one side of my mouth and swallowing without first hold-
ing it in my cheeks, though it was very difficult to pull off and
risked exacerbating other problems, such as choking, because I
was swallowing quickly and urgently and trying to get the whole
THE DISSOLVING PATH 279
9. GAG (2022)
Finally, in the early days of 2022 I suffered a new variation
in which I felt as though a finger was pushing firmly upon my la-
ryngeal prominence (Adam’s apple)—more so from the interior
than the exterior—and not just strangling my throat, but bring-
ing me to the brink of vomiting. I spent nearly a week unable to
move while waiting on the issue to subside, although it contin-
ued to crop up over several months whenever I would cough or
make use of my hands. It is believed that this related to a sprained
thumb in my right hand which came as a result of attempting
to carry too many water jugs at one time, leading to mixed com-
munications between my hand and throat and resulting in a new
type of tightness. It doesn’t sound nearly as severe as a lot of
the other problems that I have been up against, though it was
strangely severe and frightening. What was strange about this
particular ailment, to me, was that activities which would have
normally evoked STRANGLE were now evoking GAG instead,
which seemed much worse in that even in its lightest stages it
could incapacitate me. I would be keeled over on the floor trying
as hard as humanly possible not to vomit, knowing I would suf-
focate at best, and at worst the acidity would do so much dam-
age to my throat that I would be dealing with some serious con-
sequences and for who knows how long. This problem lasted for
roughly two months before it began to subside and it seemed to
heal up alongside the aforementioned thumb sprain, as was sus-
pected from the outset.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 283
10. SWALLOW
In recent weeks, after clearing my throat a little bit too much
one night due to sheer nervous energy—which merely means a
handful of times spread out over several hours—I ended up with
a very raw, painful throat which would lead to all sorts of prob-
lems over the coming days and weeks. It is the worst pain that
I have experienced within my actual throat, which has not been
associated with much pain in the past (whereas trigeminal neu-
ralgia and the molar pain were not belonging to my throat but
to my face and mouth, respectively). The slightest movements of
the tongue, laughter or throat-clearing will lead to extreme pain.
Over several weeks of time I worked day and night to get the
attrition down through basic discipline and hoping that ‘time
would do its thing’, so to speak, but following a painful episode,
284 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
solation comes from the fact that I don’t know everything. Oth-
erwise I am bed-bound and barely able to move or consume any
food or liquid. My eyes also have a dark red ring around them,
which might look cool if I wasn’t dying. Writing and meditating
are all I’m good for at this point, and even those have become in-
credibly difficult due to the intensity of my situation.
I haven’t been able to achieve a sound night sleep in days out
of worry that I will do something within a state of sleep that will
upset my fragile condition (which is a very reasonable thing to
be worried about). I am unable to eat or drink, yet I am neither
tired, nor hungry. I am spraying my living space and my mouth
area with a spray bottle to keep the humidity up. My hands, my
arms, my legs, my feet, my face—they tingle intensely due to in-
adequate circulation. It’s like my whole body has fallen asleep
and prickles with electrocutionary jolts. I do not fear for myself. I
am concerned only for the people, and for Existence. I lay on the
floor before my farthest altar in my extinction pose—somewhat
of a haphazard pose which I will often take when on the verge
of death. I’ve been able to go hours at a time without swallowing
even once. I would be able to go longer if I wasn’t having involun-
tary swallows which force themselves into the weirdest moments
like a hiccup.
It’s gotten to the point where I must essentially decide each
day between whether I wish to eat, hydrate or sleep (since it is
impossible to sleep when it is at its worst, not only due to the
risk of aggravating it while unconscious, which can be done with
the merest vocalization or movement of my tongue, but because
I am often waking up in confusional arousals, unable to breathe
and blaming my condition on the weirdest scenarios or think-
ing that it is not I, but someone else who is suffocating). I try
to swallow no more than three times in an hour, unless when
eating and drinking, in which case my standard drink of water
286 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
the floor, but for some reason I find it more suitable than the bed
in these cases, and it is possible that the discomfort caused by the
hard floor keeps me focused and not growing distracted by the
comforts of bedding. During this time I cannot eat or drink, and
so my throat becomes dreadfully dry to where it feels I’ve a dry
rock in my throat and it becomes more and more impossible to
deal with in every passing second. I keep a spray bottle on hand
to help me hydrate in these moments, and it has sure come in
handy. I find that laying in front of a cool fan helps, though it
may not be good for the dryness, because it chills the air that I
am taking in and therefore lends to the illusion that I am getting
more air than I am, since it is more overtly experienced, and this
can be very helpful in such situations when I’m barely able to get
air (as long as I’ve a water bottle on hand to remedy the dryness).
Given the coldness of my environment, I have often set up camp
in the upstairs bathroom, in which there is a shower, so what I
will do is run the shower for a couple minutes to heat up the
room and then spend a few hours sitting on the floor beside the
shower. This alleviates some of the physical tension and appears
to reduce the occurrence of throat spasms and unintentional, re-
flexive swallows—the latter having become a persistent and un-
usual problem in this time (and very, very problematic). In each
instance that I feel I’ve got a handle on it, new problems and
side effects crop up. The worst of these was tonsillitis, which ap-
peared in conjunction with all else that I described here, bringing
not just pain, but increasing the inflammation within my throat.
This was utterly horrific, and fortunately I was able to nip it in
the bud within a single day, as I don’t think I would have lasted
any longer. After the tonsillitis went away, I was left with a lot of
phlegm which was causing me to cough and amounting to much
pain in my throat, along with other problems. After all of that, I
was unable to go to sleep due to the inability to breathe and kept
288 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
see a lot of issues with it and am not perfectly happy with the
progression, it is what it is, and changing it is like changing his-
tory. This is Clyssus of Man, for good or for ill, and I have to ac-
cept it just as I accepted Countertorch and all of my other al-
bums, knowing it is a period piece and not meant to be a canvas
which is constantly being updated to tell my story until the end.
I have to accept that not everything I have become will be told
in story, and that I have progressed and developed beyond what
is shared with the public. The misanthropic and bitter overtones
present in so much of Clyssus of Man (and The Dissolving Path)
seem almost like another life to me at this point, which is not to
say that I don’t still suffer with sadness from the state of society
and my relationship thereto (or lack thereof ), but so many of the
things I said are so unlike where I now stand after my trial, hav-
ing become so much more... objective in my paradigm, and all
the nights I spend weeping for the plights of the people...
I began employing this term, with this usage, back in 2019 when,
after tonsuring my hair, someone made a comment about
Thomas Aquinas, and while skimming his bio I recall reading
about Essence and Actus Essendi and I simply kept with the
term, not bothering to change it. As so, it is not the most original
term, though I don’t want to choose something that is so unfa-
miliar as to seem alien.
in like manner, were given faulty maps by those who, in like man-
ner, were given faulty maps.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 297
298 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Absence is not the denial of Presence but the demand for Pres-
ence.
Objectivity does not equate with literalism in this case; yet to at-
tempt an explanation of spiritual reality and the weight of the
myriachoron would require more from me than I am currently
willing to give.
It is not just the cruelty that I know to avoid. Irony has been
overdone by the modern generation, to whom all acts seem as a
grand joke. But it’s a means of distancing themselves from how
they really feel, and it’s reached a point where it all just seems in-
sidious to me. It’s not humor. It’s dissociation. It’s avoidance. It’s
inauthenticity.
“with each passing day, creeping, i fear a terrible siren... of me, there
is no fall; the spring will fall by my feet in coffins of brick and gold.
when there is a flame in the wind, and once in a way it is
seen, it is one of the plainest signals, and perversions of the promised
man, and these are the mistakes of the woman who saw me, the one
who must bring the story to pass... she couldn't know i would leave
her for so many to lose.
“did i not break the limbs of all who denied me? and now, what
is a man who plays the gauntlet of constriction? there is no way to
get out of the bathroom with the glass of the mirror all upon the
floor. i see no way to comment. i feel dead, as i am, incomplete as a
parent. there is no toll more dreary than the voice of a child. any
parents' ears that listen to my words are rather deafened... by the
sounds of their own... to disobey. i listen for the creatures trapped in
those two pools... the blisters, not quite so pretty... always with the
desire to be reduced... to little more than the nothing they're told to
be, so i choose my poison in a world of grey-faced depressives. and i
will tell you why you are wrong: i see no evil in looking at 10,000
things you could never find any use for... but i can't see any good in
taking one away, ever, if it wasn't wanted! (heaven forbid god favor
that long unspoken-for finger).
i locked myself in a bathroom to see if any of my family's words
could still reach me. i am a water-locked bubble... for the time in
which i am stuck in bitterness, i cannot speak. but i can listen. i am
sick of the zoo... beware the open birdcage by a man who is scarcely
a man, and might’ve fathered me. we are easy targets for the power-
ful, driven by a distorted pain. why are we so easily fooled? though
we're not? they are the ones to feed us, the ones to control us!
without choice, no judgment—and though there will be a judg-
ment, that is a simple truth—i see no redeeming of the wicked. i see:
a demised child, a son, who refuses me food. that boy holds the in-
terest of the person with ties to my stomach... and oh, i see he came to
THE DISSOLVING PATH 309
me as a starving dog, but that he will be the one who will eat me on
my floor. i know the face behind the door; i know the man as well as
any other who holds me prisoner. he is a shadow within a shadow,
a man in a nightmare who makes himself worse. he sits on chairs
with his bloated legs spread, and weeps without cause. i feel a need
to let him know that if it is all there is to love, then he should seek it
out in the world itself.”
“in the end, everyone leaves. it breaks him. he is koolaid, pulp
and prime TV. broken but more reliable than an empty can. i love
you.”
forms, thereby preparing my mind for the ensuing rites. Thus, the
ritual commenced with the First Rite of Consolidation which
has aimed to bring the Appendicular Priests into union, result-
ing in the essential unification of the ego-self, or self-concept.
“there are no ever-lasting wounds.” our control has been lost by the
magic we placed in the dogs and the courts and the bellies of the
houses. the police and the fire departments are not here to save us
from our operation. the buildings have fallen down. the beach has
gone away. we are living in another time. take our hearts. take our
lives. take our story and burn it to ash.
A key:
DEXTER —————— SINISTER
OPEN EYE ————— CLOSED EYE
GNOSIS —————— AGNOSIS
CONSCIOUSNESS — UNCONSCIOUSNESS
PRESENCE ————— ABSENCE
“THUMMIM” ——— “PARASHURNA”
CHOIR —————— “THE CHILD”
BEE ———————— SPIDER
CANDELABRUM —— AFTABA
FIRE ————————WATER
If you will not come for my heart, then will you come for my
soul? For years I tried to meet with you. Even in dreams you
failed to show. Only when I struggled on the verge of death
would I feel your presence. Only when I overdosed. Only when
THE DISSOLVING PATH 317
“The holy man knows that knowledge is not his and ignorance
is not his but belongs to this Existence.”
How does a man become wise? By making himself heard by
Existence, and by having his traits resonate.”
How does a man become alive?
No man is alive, and no man is dead.
“I tried to save you! I tried to bring you into my lifeboat! But you
have mocked my attempts and you have put a hole in my raft so
that I struggle even to save myself.”
320 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
How sad it is that we can not even bond over spiritual matters.
After all, I seek to live in honor of that which I serve. I seek to
acknowledge my purpose in every breath that I take and in all
hours of my day and not just for two hours on a Sunday. I want
to overcome my ignorance with knowledge and I want to hum-
ble myself in awe of this life. Yet you sit around claiming you have
already learned all there is to learn, and that you are ready for the
return of your God. Your arrogance is unparalleled!
Oh how horrid is the sight of your hollow carapace as it sits
around ‘in wait’ before the television while you indulge in all
the booze and nicotine and vice that you can justify, having no
meaning in your life, yet trying to tell everyone else that you have
all the answers to life and the universe. A man so joyless, so unin-
spired, so empty, so heartless.
It is no wonder that you refuse to accept that I am as I say I
am! It is no wonder that you refuse to acknowledge the success
of my spirit! It is no wonder that you seem to despise me so!
Seek out friendship in those who support your myth, look for
family in those who uphold your myth, and reject all those who
denigrate your myth: they will take without trading. There is no
worth in being ogled by eyes or adored by tongues. This is not
THE DISSOLVING PATH 323
respect as such that I am after, and I will trust only those who
opt to see me as a character, a symbol, within their own story, for
theirs is the only loyalty. All other relation is recreation.
Note that the part within Clyssus of Man wherein I black out
from illness and come to in the garden did not occur exactly as
I depicted, in that I didn’t actually black out, using that only as
a convenient means of breaking up the chapter and retelling the
story of the creation of the “amrita.” Given the state of my con-
sciousness, it would not be possible for me to black out in such a
way. All other details to do with this scene are factual, though.
What is madness in a man but the aspects of the self for which
he has surrendered all accountability!
As so, by the time that I have finished with this text, I hope to
have achieved a rare peace, and I will lay my head down upon my
lover’s lap and sleep to the song of my heart.
Oh, sacred dehiscence! I long for the moment with all that I am!
THE DISSOLVING PATH 325
[The following has been cut temporarily from Clyssus of Man and
could originally be found preceding the event of the First Rite of
Consolidation. I have always hesitated to expound upon the ap-
pendages and their associated priests, worried of misrepresenting or
otherwise locking in a certain symbol set. It is a very complex con-
cept and I typically offer only a very basic and superficial rundown.
I might just avoid descriptions altogether, though that feels wrong.
In any case, the following is considered overly laconic and largely in-
complete.]
The first egotectural appendage, known as KORNELI—the
name by which I was called during the first half of my earthly ex-
istence—represents automaticity, or the Automatic Self, which is
acknowledged as the natural standard of existence, whereas we
all start out in life as malleable dolls in the possession of greater
hierarchical powers, e.g., society and family, and few will ever de-
velop beyond this automatic and ambling state to realize their
purpose.
Accordingly, The Pour was the first such priestly manifesta-
tion to come about, representing the pinnacle, as it were, of the
Korneli appendage and serving as my active paradigm for the du-
ration of my first astragon (2004-2006). While it represents my
coming to awareness, I was still then operating under the ban-
ner of automaticity, a puppet unto the panes of life. I retained
my dependency in many ways, not yet having the knowledge,
the strength or perhaps the gall to seek fullest liberation, but I
had been wrenched from the hands of man and placed under the
ownership of a greater force, as it were.
My second and most notable appendage—TEN-
DON—represents autonomy, or the Autonomous Self, and may
be reframed as “the self which one decides to be”, operating on
the need for meaning and identity.
326 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
so). While very little was known about this appendage until re-
cently, I was long aware that there existed an inexplicable con-
nection between Mrtagrha and the Everycarcass ap-
pendage—both of which appeared to be somehow tied to the
greater mystery of Parashurna.
The aforesaid elements first came to my awareness some
twelve or thirteen years ago via a series of dreams set within a
dark alley which appeared to be a part of an apartment complex
in which resonated the sound of operatic vocals—a most curious
detail. Therein I would meet up with a cloaked stranger (called
Corpseweaver) by a dumpster to accept its exchanges, and by
exchanges I am referring to the fact that it appeared to collect
and ‘reanimate’ the rejected elements of my self-concept which
had been wrongfully refused and abandoned along the way, or
at least those which it considered essential to my being. The
Corpseweaver would take these refused contents and fashion
them into unstable versions of their former selves which must
then be reintegrated into my being if I ever wished to regain
my quality of life, resulting in what is known as Mahanava—the
nine murders of Everycarcass. Though these scenes first came
about in dreams, I eventually acknowledged them as being of a
mystical nature and canonized them thus (especially after learn-
ing Corpseweaver to relate to Parashurna).
The priest of Mrtagrha is Ism, dissolving priest, which took
its place as my active egoic paradigm in August 2019 following
my aborted attempts at social integration. While I have said rel-
atively little on this priest, the whole of this text was itself estab-
lished upon its empire of dissociation and dissolution and points
to its most transcendent application.
And whereas the Appendicular Priests are said, as a group,
to represent the nexus between the personal and the transcen-
dental, none of them embody that concept more literally than
THE DISSOLVING PATH 329
It’s like a sick obsession, always seeing how much more I can vul-
nerate myself. My standards are constantly shifting in terms of
what I will allow. I become fixated if I feel that I cannot show
something off to the public. I become fixated on embarrassment
and shame. It inflates the worth of that which it guards. The ob-
ject of my shame eventually converts itself into gold and I can
show it off in an absence of irony, with new perceptions. I can’t
possibly explain how much I think about it. I do consider it a
positive experience though. It’s addictive, like psycho-emotional
exhibitionism. That’s a base comparison and you shouldn’t take
it too literally, but I wouldn’t doubt a similitude of chemicals at
play (in that what I’m doing produces a high like exhibitionism...
perhaps on some level).
I was doing this even with my music, where my performances
would often leave me on the verge of passing out, and I would
spend my days dizzy and choking—possibly even suffering mi-
nor concussions from all the quavering that went into my vocal
performances. The outcome of my musical career is obvious. I do
not honor my own discomfort when it comes to expressing my-
self, believing nothing of worth comes about in the zone of com-
fort.
And though I have spent the last five years of my earthly exis-
tence mute, with it being twice as long since I was singing for the
Tendon Levey project, my voice still finds itself at the center of
330 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Moreover, since that entire affair was founded upon the use of a
false identity, the other persons who joined me for the venture
never actually knew my real identity and that became more and
more of a burden to conceal as our plans became more ambi-
tious. It is largely for that reason that I haven’t spoken a whole
lot about that venture publicly, though it had my fullest focus for
several years, explaining the presence of the white hexagon on a
lot of my clothing and furniture between 2013-2016.
I can’t bear this fever any longer. It isn’t breaking. It’s just a con-
tinuous fever that waxes and wanes but never really goes away. I
wouldn’t classify it as a high fever, putting it more in the interme-
diate range, but it is affecting my ability to work. I haven’t yield-
ed to it... but goddamn is it making everything so much more dif-
ficult and dreary than it needs to be (on top of all other physical
symptoms with which I must regularly contend).
Arrogance veils the faces and intentions of the young and the old
alike. Some opt to mislabel it as egoism or narcissism, though
it occurs to me that the reality is more complex. It is a perverse
form of confidence which is not based in or supplied by reality
but necessitated by the demands of broken self-concepts—egos
deprived of their needs and forced to fill in the void with what-
ever they can manage. Semantically speaking, I would argue that
the people of today are not more self-loving than in ages past.
They are more dissociated, and their dissociation is being glori-
fied and given a stage like in never a time before, wherefore that
which appears on the outside like excess confidence and self-ab-
sorption is more like a dance of death and desperation which oc-
curs after the body has ceased registering and/or receiving sig-
nals sent by the brain. Much like a dying body fights back with
fever and by shifting bodily processes to focus on preserving that
which is of greatest importance to our vitality, a dying sense of
self fights back through latching overmuch to the selfness, even
should its form be nothing that resembles a healthy selfness. This
does not change the disgustingness of the sight that we are see-
ing, though it ought to change our attitude toward it. This is not
a moral failure but something more akin to heart failure: a shut-
ting down of this most principal aspect of our paradigmatic con-
sciousness.
The problem is and has always been in the questions we are ask-
ing.
Given all that has been said regarding the symmetries existing be-
tween Existence and the Extant, it should come as no surprise
that many of the means and methods which I have utilized in my
practice along the way, from Hypnognosticism to Egomorpho-
sism, were inspired, directly or indirectly, by the words and in-
structions of Steulugalnemraiant—all of them appearing to ap-
proximate the Greater Operation underway which occurs in the
realm of Meaning. These methods, while optional, are consid-
ered by me as invaluable to the seeker.
deeper, and truly, it gets weirder. The personal and the imperson-
al have come together in such a way that I cannot hope to sur-
vive.
How sagacious is the finest plot! For I know now the intricacies
of this orchestration and I acknowledge the threads which pull
these puppets that have challenged and opposed us, bearing ven-
om on their tongues and suicidalia on their backs. I return thus
for a moment to the nights of poison to find my brethren weep-
ing behind a veneer of calloused flesh. So weeps all of history be-
fore us! So weeps all of us who do as we must.
cult. It wasn’t all bad, and I can easily be disarmed by the slightest
kind gesture which leaves me in conflict over what I am sharing,
because I don’t WANT to share this. I don’t WANT this to be
the reality of our relationship. Yet these are not mere emotion-
al disturbances. The semiotic foundations of my world have been
shifted, razed and perverted by his neglect. My whole ontolog-
ical structure has been disturbed by the careless actions of oth-
ers. This is not a layer to which most people lay the appropriate
considerations. The average psychologist will only ask you about
how you are feeling and what led to what. Trauma entails more
than basic psychoemotional disturbation. It is semantic. It is on-
tological.
To someone like him, conflict begins and ends with decibels. Yet
for me, and for anyone with any sense in them, it ends with ac-
knowledgement. And because there has been no acknowledge-
ment, I have been living in a constant mode of conflict for thirty
years all because he is unwilling to recognize his wrongdoing. It
doesn’t matter how he is behaving, since every time I see him I
switch into the mindset of a war, at least on the inside (on the
THE DISSOLVING PATH 341
It may not change him to find my corpse, but at least it will force
him to do something he does not wish to do. I bet the bastard
will still hold a funeral despite my explicitly demanding no fu-
neral (and for many years at this point). The thought of being
given a Christian funeral by all of the conmen who hurt me is ab-
solutely sickening to consider. Everything is always for and about
him. He’ll find a way to convince himself otherwise. I abhor him,
and I abhor everyone who saw how he walked all over me and
endangered my life again and again and did nothing to stop it.
Each and every day I want to go up to him, not out of spite but
out of genuine care and concern, and say “Your burden is soon
THE DISSOLVING PATH 343
No one was ever there when I fell. No one. They all left, leaving
me to feel that my tears were too inconvenient and that I was
selfish to not keep my problems to myself. I have no gratitude to
offer anyone apart from Jeiezza, who has acted as my sole sup-
port in life (and for more than half of the time I have been alive).
There was no one else. No one. Ever. Not family. Not friends.
And it’s bizarre. I wasn’t demanding. I wasn’t dramatic. My needs
weren’t strange. My tears weren’t turbulent. Sometimes I just re-
quired a leaning support, or maybe some help reading the map.
You can only suffer for so long before people either cease car-
ing or they stop believing, and it is quite tragic, really, that those
who have endured the worst must often, as a result, receive the
least amount of sympathy. As noted, I am not even a dramat-
ic, obnoxious sort who parades their suffering about, seeking to
344 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The first couple of years after returning to society were very diffi-
cult because I wasn’t really responding to reality as much as I was
forcing the ideals that I had developed in isolation.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 345
They cannot see me. It is for their own good, and in their own
defense, that the reality of my person should remain forever ob-
scured in their minds.
I’ve had two thousand songs and all of my art up online for years
at this point and I’ve had less than five people actually pay me
any sort of compliment or feedback (which, on most occasions
are very vague and only relate to a single work). Though I sure-
ly remember those that did have the kindness in them to speak
up. I recall everything verbatim. But at the end of it all, I do not
want this world and this world does not want me. Until the end
of it all, I was looked at as if I hadn’t accomplished anything at
all but making people uncomfortable.
It would have taken only one person: to look into my eyes; to tell
me that they hear me; to tell me that they see me: to tell me I
didn’t deserve this; to tell me that my music is beautiful; to tell
me that I am not alone; to touch my hand; to hold me close; to
stay by my side through the night, or even just the afternoon... or
even just lunch. No one. There was no one. Not one.
Have we not a word to describe the good deeds which are carried
out in the absence of notice? In other words, the antithesis of
eyeservice. There should really be a word for this, if there isn’t al-
ready, as language promotes awareness of concepts in our daily
lives and I think the world could certainly use a bit more of this.
There was a time when the wound only hurt when it was dis-
turbed; when it was interacted with; when it was directly
touched, tapped, peeled back. That is what we think of as ‘trau-
ma’. The year 2018 marked a turning point within my life. The
wound now hurts ceaselessly. It sounds like hyperbole, but I
don’t think ten minutes ever go by without my experiencing
some emotional turmoil caused by my experiences. So if it seems
I bring this topic up ‘too frequently’ then there is a valid reason,
as it is constantly fighting for my attention, and my hope is that
by expressing it as openly as possible that I am weakening its hold
on me. Like termites swarming a rotten log, so has trauma over-
taken this rotten life.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 349
ness seems like only a dream to me. I was never acknowledged for
my work ethic which I maintained in spite of depression, anxiety
and the loss of physical dexterity, where most tasks require a sac-
rifice, unless it is to be told that I ‘work too much’ by those who
are projecting upon me.
*And I look out into a sphere where others are renown and
beloved by millions for reasons relating to the way that they look
or because their parents were famous or because they eat food
in front of a camera or share their opinions and criticisms with
an audience and there is so, so much I don’t understand about
what others value. I didn’t care to be famous. I would have been
happy if only a few people saw value in my life and my efforts
and wished to be my friend—where by friend I refer to someone
who wished to challenge and be challenged by me; someone who
wished to grow alongside me in mind of the sun of suns.
I’m very much a “be the change you want to see” type of person
and unfortunately I never found my niche or my respect in life.
But with any luck, I hope that this will pave the way for new con-
siderations going forward. Should society one day learn of my
life, hopefully it will begin a new conversation. Oh what a weird
conversation.
ing by example. And the actual contents of my texts are often sec-
ondary to that act.
I fear that my brain has finally had all it can take, and I am find-
ing myself stuck in a locked groove. I keep assuring myself that
the music is still playing, and I must only wait it out, but the
song, as it were, is over and will continue this nauseating loop ad
infinitum unless I should intervene, and intervene I will.
I feel as though there are dull knives set deep within my sinuses
and they are pushing against the nasal frame. It’s not especially
painful, but it feels like I’ve something sharp lodged in both nos-
trils. It relates to the inflammation of my larynx, which has re-
sulted in an inflamed palate, and it is horrible and frightening.
At its worst it pushes up against my gag reflex and that becomes
a serious problem as it can rest there for hours and I just have this
urge to vomit that won’t go away. The fevers are becoming worse
and more commonplace. My eyes are frequently bloodshot and
warm. I am breaking out in acne around the sites where the pres-
sure and inflammation have occurred.
How quickly I have forgotten the various tastes and scents that
make up this life. How quickly I have lost the ability to imagine
city lights within my mind’s eye. How quickly I have lost all con-
cept of variation, for there is no variation within my world. I
wake to the same thoughts, the same dishes, the same torments,
the same duties day after day after goddamn day.
It was in many ways a sad existence, but it could have been sad-
der. And at this point, I’m so welcoming of death that I don’t
really wish for anything pleasant to happen so suddenly after all
these years and screw up my resolve. I know how these things
typically pan out, and I am just glad I don’t have to stick around
and deal with any monster I may have inadvertently created from
the release of these works. The misunderstandings. The misap-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 365
That is not to say that I was not rejected by the world until the
very end, but I did not compromise my vision so as to elicit their
favor, hoping my vision would translate to others. Sadly, it did
not, and I remained a reject until the end of my life, achieving
less attention and certainly less respect than a teenage girl in a
tube top.
“Please don’t do x because that really hurts me,” and then they all
proceed in doing just that.
Me, I’m like some antique accessory that doesn’t fit with any out-
fit. Some may think it unique, but at the end of the day, no one
wishes to wear it, as it doesn’t go with any outfit.
And when I am gone and these works become public domain all
the arrogant and sociopathic rat scabs can come on out of their
holes and scoff at me for expressing my hurt and disappoint-
ment, as I know that they are ever looking for opportunities to
370 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
tell someone to “Get over it,” since that is apparently the only
way that they can prove to themselves that they are strong and
sturdy, themselves—those whose reality is determined by what is
common and standard rather than what is rightful. I cannot help
but envision these people whenever I write. These are the peo-
ple that have been a part of my life: horrible individuals who put
others down and make them feel like their problems are inferior
to their own. That is why I so frequently take a defensive tone in
my writings: because I don’t have any other mental image in my
mind of my potential audience apart from those who hurt me. I
don’t know anything else. I don’t know what a real supporter or
admirer looks like. Nevertheless, I do feel very foolish and imma-
ture to be so bothered about something like social media, and I
imagine that is how my remarks will be received: ill-adjusted. Yet
how is that fair? When, overall, these things about which I com-
plain form the focus of the modern man, having become our cur-
rency, the means by which we achieve status which verily deter-
mines how far we get in this world. Though it’s not like I’m be-
ing forced to share all of this with the public. I am not some hose
that splatters uncontrollably and can’t help himself. I choose to
put all of this on the record. And it goes beyond simply wish-
ing to paint an accurate picture of who I am. To me it seems that
there aren’t a lot of people speaking openly about these sorts of
things—which surely ain’t to say that there aren’t a lot of peo-
ple who feel as I do. I believe that there are. And if I keep these
thoughts to myself—out of shame, out of avoidance—I may end
up missing out on an opportunity for a connection. I’m not in
the business of only sharing what makes me look good or con-
forms to this image of some mysterious subterranean magick-
ian. You should know this by now. I subscribe to the ideal of the
wholliman. And though it may be the weird stories and experi-
ences that catch their attention and draw them in, I believe it’s
THE DISSOLVING PATH 371
the humanness that will stay with them. That’s what I believe, for
I have seen.
On the other hand, I remember and I cherish every kind
bit of feedback that I ever received along the way and I thank
every one of you who took the time to share kind words with me.
Whether you were considering my feelings, or simply wished to
wee on the wall, I am grateful, and I am sorry that your kind-
ness is not necessarily reflected in my attitude and worldview. It’s
been a long life. Thirty years is a long time to be screaming for
help.
ly made for those who had some time to dedicate to solving mys-
teries and decoding secret messages and other things that anyone
apart from the fanatic no longer has the time or attention for.
like I’m allowed to talk about these things openly. I’m not al-
lowed to talk about death. My physical decline has gone ignored,
disregarded or written off by absolutely everyone in my life. It’s
an inconvenience to them. They have chosen not to believe it,
or they have chosen not to care. So I’ve had to resort to writ-
ing out these private texts while those who claim to care about
me have done all they can to stitch my mouth shut. I wonder
if my willingness to explore such topics leads to the misconcep-
tion that I am unpredictable simply because I am already work-
ing off a model beyond that with which they are familiar or com-
fortable. It is surely a common occurrence that people misat-
tribute the traits of volatility and unpredictability to anything
which exceeds their grasp, even by a little bit, but I am not with-
out a method, a pattern. However, it is ultimately untrue and it
is why I’ve released some videos which capture my interaction
style. That brings me to another assumption: sometimes I won-
der if people will think to blame my social struggle on the fact
that I have divulged so much information—often times nega-
tive—regarding past and ongoing relationships, and it would be
reasonable to think that people are scared off by someone who
seems likely to broadcast their meeting to the public, though it
wasn’t until late 2018 or even after I had already retired from the
social sphere in 2019 that I finally started sharing these write-ups
to my personal blog, which at that point mostly had to do with
my failed 2016 relationship, so it’s not like I have this longstand-
ing reputation as someone who blasts people. I only became so
open with the public after receding into hermitry. Also, no one
has ever asked me not to share something and I’ve always been
given consent in some form. So if people didn’t want to be writ-
ten about in one of my biographical texts then all they really had
to do is say so. I’m not some nasty person who ignores what oth-
ers are asking of me. So once again, I don’t believe this is even re-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 375
motely part of the problem, but I won’t discount that some peo-
ple may try to bring that up in retrospect as if to suggest that it
contributed to my situation, for I am well aware that there are
plenty of artistic types running amok who use others for inspi-
ration in that way, exploiting the lives of their so-called friends
in the name of material. That’s simply not the game I’m playing
over here. Additionally, I’m not after art and worldly success but
truth and healing. All in all, I don’t think their reasons are that
complicated, if they exist in the form of “reasons” after all, as op-
posed to some animal impulse. I’ve dramatically overestimated
the role of reason and intent within the lives of the population.
At the end of the day, most of these motherfuckers are probably
just put off by my mustache or by the fact that I don’t play video
games or watch television which a) makes me unrelatable and b)
unable or unwilling to affirm their own tastes. Something stupid
like that. And here I am over-analyzing myself into the ground
like an ever-spinning auger.
*Once again, you have to take context into account: I’ve
been given zero information to work with and this has left me to
ruminate and asphyxiate in this swamp. No one has ever called
me unstable. No one has ever called me a bad guy. I’ve been told
the opposite. Yet when the actions of those I meet are so con-
tradictory and negligent and I can’t help but notice, my world
becomes utterly scrambled because the sum of the equations is
not appropriate in respect to its summands. It’s always that way
when society is involved. 7+6=20. 63+14=45. It’s all so wrong,
and a lack of honesty and introspection on the part of the out-
side world is not allowing for a change.
It will make them all so glad to hear of how poorly I was received
and how much misery it caused me. If not outwardly filled with
glee, their guilt will be allowed to subside, since it just enforces
their horrid acts against me by telling them that I wasn’t deserv-
ing of anything more. They should celebrate.
feel can benefit the lives of others. It’s only a shame to think that
others will see it as ironic, in the end, and that makes me want
to give up all the more, because the more I fight this misery, the
more I struggle to do what I must, the more I destroy the chances
of ever having my word and my work taken seriously when peo-
ple won’t accept their pills from a man so withered.
One can only go so far into the personal before arriving at
the universal. This is one of the more prominent maxims of my
lifetime. It colors my attitude, my motivation and all things that
I create. As personal is my approach, I take the approach that I do
because I believe that this is the way of effecting change within
society. Not by catering to the desires of the people... that doesn’t
create a lasting impact. I would say it even delays progress, since
satisfaction has been known to create complacency. I scan the
crowds and I observe what appears to be lacking in their lives.
I look for what is causing them the most grief at the end of the
night (and at the end of their lives) and I try to find a remedy.
There’s a danger in this, as I’ve now learned. There is, after all, a
reason why people aren’t coming upon a solution to their needs.
It’s like the whole world is after gold, treasure, and so I try to re-
trieve it for them from the caves, the catacombs. Now that I’ve
come all this way, my own idiocy finally dawns on me: but the
people knew the treasure was here all along, and yet I stand alone
in this cave...? I always thought I was the wise one to end up in
this place, but perhaps it is my foolishness that brought me here.
I never really achieved the proper closure from these false friends
who wore down my hopes, nor did I ever get the chance to say
how I felt to their faces. That is for three reasons. Firstly, I don’t
like confrontation, since instead of taking real criticism they’ll
just find a means to fire back at me and I don’t need that. For ex-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 379
As you read from what I have to say, you must remember that
this is coming about as the product of a lifetime devoid of any
explanation as to why I have met with such negligence, and I
am forced to work it out on my own, which breeds in me obses-
sion... fixation... enough to constitute an irremediable trauma. I
am constantly mulling these things over, arguing with phantom
panels; defending myself against the infinite demands, right and
wrong, of infinite unborn.
The name Leviyey came about in 2015 (and was made my legal
surname in 2016) and is the result of adding the long ‘A’ sound to
382 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
the end of Levey, with the ‘A’ being representative of Anita and
her influence on my person. I don’t typically acknowledge that
much publicly, mostly because I wish for people to view Leviyey
as the only surname that I ever had, yet that’s my explanation. I
always sort of double, or even triple layer my identity and name,
because I don’t wish to be associated with my birth name—not
only because I, personally, want no association with the family
that abused me, but because it could also cause problems for a
lot of people if this information became public knowledge, hav-
ing spoken so openly about the people in my life. I don’t expect
that it can be hidden. It’s pretty easy to search for records and
whatnot. I say this more in mind of things like Wikipedia entries
and places that sometimes include “birth name” as distinct from
“legal name” and I oppose any attempts to link me to my birth
name.
I am my father’s father.
I am the non-returning teacher.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 383
He made sure that I never felt myself at home, like this house
was not actually mine. He wanted me to see it not as a safe haven
but as an unearned privilege that could be taken away from me at
the drop of a pin. It’s difficult to convey the damage done by his
methods. A hermit though I am, I never had a home.
I returned with smiling eyes and ears so open to all taking place.
Memories so vivid in my mind, could have been yesterday, were
now worlds away to others. “Get over it,” they say, but I am the
one who has taken the path of passion and respect in this life. We
weren’t supposed to forget where we came from.
I think that people can simply sense that I have more to lose
when it comes to relationships and all that, whether that is actu-
ally true or not, as they are basing that assessment on a combi-
nation of my circumstances and my relative lack of connections
and intimates, and this assumption on their part seems to create
for some smug sense of immunity (and possibly even superiority)
in them that results in them thinking that they have room to play
around, and that they can do and say whatever they wish with
me and I won’t bite back, because then I’ll be back in the gutters
or forced to endure more abuse from my family. That’s how I per-
ceive it, anyhow.
I had been waving goodbye all along and no one ever thought
to wave back. Again, I cannot fault them, or I try not to, but
when I have labored the last decade of my life on writing—and
such weighty things at that—I do wish that it was not seen as so
inaccessible to the average individual as to be picked up by not
a single person in my time of life. It’s hard to be okay with the
fact that I could have accomplished more with a single video up-
loaded online than multiple books and dissertations—especially
when I had every intention of and ability to create such videos
until the loss of my voice killed that path. And because they don’t
know much about my experiments or my accomplishments, I of-
ten feel self-conscious when sharing videos and writings via so-
cial media, as if I am being looked at as some dramatic guy who
is acting out some tortured façade or something of that sort, and
I can just feel people judging the tone of my videos from afar,
as if it’s all just an ‘aesthetic’. That’s the impression that I get; I
feel like I am being lumped in with your average angsty teenager
despite the philosophical complexity and emotional richness of
what I choose to share with the public (albeit on rare occasion
and growing rarer all the time).
In these years I’ve never had a home. I’ve never had a place to
state what bothers or upsets me, or to ask for accommodation,
since I’ll invariably be met with the same neglectful, callous re-
sponse of “You shouldn’t even be here since you’re over eigh-
teen.” I was forced to lived out the first eighteen years of my life
as some fetus deprived of all agency, being told that I had no say
due to my infancy, and then once I finally reached that mark I
was immediately expected to understand absolutely everything
in life and have since spent the last twelve years treated as an un-
welcome guest who ought to be lucky he ain’t licking gum on the
curbside.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 389
I am relieved knowing that it is all over and that I will never have
to offer up my trust unto another person ever again only to have
it destroy me. Trust and hope never got me anywhere. And un-
like those who are hurt and stop giving others the opportunity to
change their views and prove themselves trustworthy (not that I
would ever think to blame such individuals for their inability to
trust others), I never allowed myself to give in to the hurt and
preferred instead to follow hope (with a bit of Gambler’s Fal-
lacy in the mix). “Can’t all be tails!” And I kept at it until the
end. I wasn’t a fool. I wasn’t a doormat. I was an idealist, and I
was courageous in my acts. I continued to choose trust even af-
ter faith left me. I can’t say that it worked out for me at all. At
least I never failed to take every opportunity that presented it-
self. At least I always made myself available. At least then it can
be said that the little that I received in life was the little that I
merited. Honestly, though, I think I would die a much happier
man if I was able to stand convinced that it was by my own fault
that I knew such a fate, or that I could have worked harder or
that something on my end was blatantly wrong. Then I could die
thinking “Maybe... maybe if...” even that sounds sad, but to me
that sounds like a fantasy carnival, oh so much better than where
I am in this crypt of puzzlement.
I wish to weep and care and kiss the air. I loved life. I did. I loved
the concept of life, that is—so, so much.
tion would have ended well for me. All hope of an enjoyable and
friendly dinner was out the window within the first twenty min-
utes. The remaining hour or so was simply a survival game during
which I had practically lost all awareness of my environment as I
put all of my energy into processing what was going on and fight-
ing to maintain the equanimity that I had developed over many
long years in isolation.
When asked what I do, I answered that I do work as an in-
dependent psychologist, to which she responded most rudely:
“And I suppose you think you’re qualified for that.”
I wish that I would have stood up and walked out right there,
but my instinct was to stick it out in the belief that if I continued
to speak with kindness, openness and honesty then it will even-
tually register and they will adjust their behavior accordingly.
As I have stressed in times before: I am not one for compe-
tition. That may come as a surprise to anyone who automatical-
ly tends to equate industriousness with competitiveness—a silly
but common assumption. An outsider as such that I am is more
often desperate for companionship or for a sign that they are not
alone. As so, competition would be entirely counterproductive
in my situation and it is simply not the lens through which I view
the world. The thought of being able to find others of equiva-
lent or greater potency is a very warming thought to me, honest-
ly, and one look at my past would confirm that much. Then you
also have the fact that I harbor a growth mindset, and so I am
not threatened by these matters when it is my fundamental belief
that I have it within my means to become greater in all aspects if
I should so choose.
There is also the fact that I would rather leave people feeling
regretful than angry, where necessary, and for the simple reason
that anger occludes self-awareness, precluding self-reformation.
Thus I have concluded that by not retaliating, the percipient will
394 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
be met in the night with shame which will likely bring them to
analyze—and hopefully change—their behaviors; but if they be-
come angered by my response to their offense then they are high-
ly unlikely to analyze the offending behaviors, as they will pin all
fault on me, becoming further convinced that they were right to
do as they did and they are less likely to consider the situation
further or from a different angle if anger or indignation has en-
tered the mix.
As sound was my reasoning, time has revealed my naïveté
and I no longer trust the ability of others to feel guilt or shame
for their wrongdoings, for I have seen how others would sooner
rearrange the world and rewrite the encyclopedia if it means
eliminating such painful feelings from their heart.
I tripped over my words on one occasion within the first
half hour and she was quick to pounce. The word was oxytocin,
which I pronounced with a hard ‘c’ despite knowing it has a soft
c, since my first time hearing the word was at a summer camp
when our youth pastor, during a speech, confused the word with
OxyContin and that always come to mind whenever I think of
oxytocin.
She immediately acknowledged how rude she was being
(and without me having to say anything) but then continued
with the same behavior for which she was apologizing. And I
never had an ill word to say of it. In the first such instance that
she corrected me I simply smiled and said “That’s okay, I’m al-
ways up for learning something new.” That’s honestly what I said,
dorky though it sounds. All of this is confirmed by the audio
recording which I picked up on my discreet voice recorder. I felt
quite satisfied with myself and the maturity with which I han-
dled the matter, though perhaps I shouldn’t have been so well-
mannered. Again, if you have read through certain logs and doc-
uments of mine you will know that the manner in which I ap-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 395
the world, and yet they still get off acting like the captain of the
football team. This is not meant to speak for all Ti-dominants,
surely, though it is a pattern I have observed in my own life and
I adamantly prefer the company of others operating on the Fi-Te
axis (despite having developed my own Ti and Fe over the years).
And the reason for that confidence is often ridiculous. I truly
can’t stand to be around those who think they’ve won life be-
cause they can rhyme a couple words. It is absolutely preposter-
ous. You see, I acknowledge my own intelligence and creativ-
ity and I see no point in denying my ability so as to appease
some inane standard of propriety, but I am so far past the point
of thinking that my talent makes me exempt from the tides of
life (as my health and circumstances have plainly demonstrated).
Humility doesn’t mean denying my worth, but it means ac-
knowledging that all food looks the same when swallowed. And
these types of situations really just make me so grateful that I had
my ass kicked so hard in life and didn’t end up so full of myself.
I was definitely at risk for such a mindset in my youth, so it’s
not like I don’t have it in me. My autodidactic approach has al-
ways kept me somewhat grounded in that I am so aware of my
ignorance, but sometimes that wasn’t enough to keep me hum-
ble, and health made the first boot mark in 2009 which real-
ly knocked me back. 2017 came like another huge boot to the
face, and while I remain confident in myself and my work, I have
adapted my behavior to the realization that others do not share
in my self-perceptions. Many people go the other way, and in-
stead of adapting to the realization of their insignificance, at-
tempt to compensate, and that’s one way that you end up with
all of these crazy fucking Spotify and last.fm bios that make it
out to sound like they’re saving the world with their four-chord
song. That isn’t to shoot down the balloon of those who aim big
with their creative works. It’s good to aspire toward great things.
404 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
likelihood of gossip and all I was doing was filling the world with
more false interpretations of my person that had nothing what-
soever to do with me. So I quit, and I do not regret it. I wish I
would have done so sooner—say, before the nightmare that was
2018. Of course I did end up learning a lot of valuable lessons in
that year and I don’t doubt their necessity to my mystical jour-
ney, but goddamn...!
Anyway, that’s that. This is my first time speaking about it
publicly. Ever since that day I have found it difficult to look at
people with blue eyes, although it may be more specific than
that, since I don’t think that all blue eyes trigger such a reaction. I
don’t even know if the girl in question had blue eyes. I just end up
getting this knee jerk response to them that makes me uncom-
fortable.
410 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
THE DISSOLVING PATH 411
After all that I have said, I don’t think that the masses of society
will get an accurate sense of of my daily living circumstances. I
don’t think they’ll realize just how much my life differed from
the established standard of humanity and human comfort. I
don’t think it possible for one to fathom how, for me, going out
to a restaurant and eating with a friend or acquaintance bears
much the same ecstasy and surreality that one will usually experi-
ence only on special occasions, like winning a lottery or vacation-
ing on a fantasy island or something of that magnitude. I can’t
even remember the taste of chocolate or the glare of sunlight on
my face. These words are my surroundings. This song is my land-
scape. Nowhere else will allow me.
I’m quite fine with the fact that I never traveled the world, and
I am fine with having taken in so little of this sphere’s offerings,
though I do not know how to process the fact that I never dis-
played my anger and destructive capabilities unto this society. It
sounds like such a sick thing to be voicing, but the mind is more
complex than ‘well and unwell’, ‘right and wrong’. It likely has to
do with my constantly feeling the need to substantiate myself,
my emotions and my experiences, and it cannot be denied that
THE DISSOLVING PATH 415
There was this store in the New Jersey mall, probably Echelon
(although it could have been Deptford, but I don’t think so).
It was like a children's store, and its name reflected that. It was
like ‘the kid’s place’ or something similar, I think. In the display
window was this circular hole in which you could sit. It was the
funnest thing: a simple, round opening in the window. And I
always wanted to sit in it and stare at the passersby. That same
THE DISSOLVING PATH 417
store also had a sort of play place with stairs. Oh, the days of sim-
ple pleasures. I loved it. I still do. “Whoa! That floor is a strange
color!” or “Wow, you can crawl underneath that!” amounted to
endless fun and satisfaction—the impressions of which have nev-
er left me.
Malls were a big part of growing up in New Jersey, so I am, by
nature, very keen on malls. My memory from that time is still so
vivid and welcoming. I went with my mother, sister and grand-
mother to the mall on a weekly basis throughout my childhood
while the men were off at work and we would pick up some mall
pretzels as we strolled about. There was KB Toys, which had that
circular table out front on which they would set up all their hot
electronic toys that would be jumping and barking and endless-
ly entertaining. There was Electronics Boutique, where we would
browse the video games. Boscov’s had a great toy selection as
well. And then when Pokémon came on the scene it was like the
shofar had sounded and Heaven came early. I would trade twen-
ty years of my life to revisit that reality for only five minutes.
As a young child I had a yellow water pail with a red lid in which
I was always catching caterpillars out in my yard. I recall my first
caterpillar very well. Its name was George. I was five years old.
I enjoyed my sandbox and the play-set built over it, with a slide
and such. I don’t recall it being depicted in any of my old home
movies, though, so I’m not sure that my readers can picture it.
My father was a carpenter for much of his life until switching
over to installing telephones, communications and security sys-
tems, so he was always doing projects and building cool sets and
additions throughout the house and yard. It’s why my bedroom
had such a cool layout, with that curved closet space, the shelves
and the weird elevated bed with a ladder. There was also a door
418 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
inside the closet that led to my sister's room. I don’t know why
that was even allowed. It locked and whatnot, but it was always
leading to fighting and teasing during our punishments (speak-
ing of instances in which we were confined to our rooms).
They are so out of touch with their own will that they can only
seem to substantiate their selfness by defying the cries and re-
quests of others.
day’s quota on its own...” both worth the same satisfaction, some-
how. Hilariously, the latter is still more difficult for me; to inter-
rupt my brain flow and to clean a room or write an email... that
I’ve delayed for weeks... and each morning and night it GNAWS
at me...! Hangs like a cumulonimbus above my life... but that’s
not enough to stop my mental-detective-inventor-mystic-trance.
And it takes all of eight minutes. Every four hours I have to make
a smoothie—you know, to sustain myself and stave off starva-
tion—and Mora has drawn my attention to the fact that I let out
a loud disgruntled sigh every time I go to mix the ingredients,
which takes about three or four minutes out of my schedule. I al-
so usually have to take short intercessions along the way. I wash
the container, then I have to sit down and be irritable, then I get
up and juice the fruits, then I have to sit down and stare, then I
concede to drinking.
I would rather stand alone than with those who do not seek un-
derstanding.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 425
that I was in her way so much as she was just being a drunk jack-
ass who didn’t see the point in walking around me if she didn’t
have to. And I couldn’t speak. I just stood there feeling helpless
as she got up in my face and raised her voice at me. That was my
last outing. I couldn’t take it. Another girl tried to start a friendly
conversation with me that night about a symbol I was wearing,
and while I was happy in that instance that someone was speak-
ing to me in an attempt to strike up a conversation, I felt bad that
I couldn’t convey that or say anything and I probably seemed
very rude and that kind of just left me feeling shitty in a different
way, and I hope I didn’t hurt or embarrass her with my strange
and insufficient gesture of a response since I know how difficult
it can be to approach strangers. This was only a short while be-
fore I began my third astragon. I thought I would refuse to let
my voicelessness hold me back, but holy hell... what a horrible
world this is when you can’t communicate. It’s horrible enough
for me as it is and all the social barriers that I face unnecessari-
ly simply because I live in a Christian college town and have in-
terests that other people think of as ‘intellectual’ and stuffy. I al-
ready feel alone when out in public, but on those occasions when
I went out and couldn’t speak... goddamn... it was a loneliness
and isolation like nothing I ever knew in my years of hermitry.
**There are a handful of individuals of whom I have not spo-
ken in any written account—referring to individuals who have
hurt or harmed me in a way that is deemed significant in some
regard. If I’ve chosen not to speak up on certain individuals it is
often because I am conflicted on the ethics of including infor-
mation on certain persons. After all, not everyone who harmed
me was really invested in me or knew what they were getting in-
to, and I don’t feel it is right to speak about them for precisely
that reason, regardless of the weight of their offenses. Like trying
to pet a rabbit and it bites you. It seemed like such an unneces-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 429
hands feel tied in such scenarios because it’s like... I’m at work
and can’t do anything to fuck up or be a jerk because I just don’t
want their experience with “Tendon Levey” to be a negative ex-
perience, both because I don’t want they, themselves, to have any
negative feelings about me, and because I don’t want any nega-
tive comments to spread. I care so much about not only kindness,
but I also really want to surprise people with my generosity and
groundedness when anyone who has read my shorter bios proba-
bly expects a more maladaptive and antisocial individual, which
I am not. So when someone claiming to be a fan of my work also
ends up being a jackass I just feel like my hands are tied behind
my back and I’m not able to do or say anything that will cause
them to feel negatively about me (and standing up for myself in
the face of negligent and dishonest behaviors is sadly enough to
get people to feel negatively about you when it means that they
are having their own ego put down). It is sufficient to say that
this avenue, which I thought would change my life, has quickly
shown itself to invite some of the darkest spirits into my life, so
to speak.
The masses have such low standards of friendship that when you
say that you don’t have any friends many will assume that that
means that you’re just some poor individual who can’t get any-
one to spend some time with you. Yet it has nothing to do with
the desirability of an individual or about one’s ability to socialize
(or the frequency at which said socialization is carried out).
that I couldn’t move, and I could only sleep. I cannot even de-
scribe how heavy I felt. After considering the connection, I went
and did a thorough brushing of the area, but as fate would have
it, that worsened my symptoms exponentially, perhaps since the
food within the socket was acting as a sort of shield, and that
night would go on to be one of the worst that I ever experi-
enced in my lifetime, with pain so extreme and unmanageable ra-
diating throughout my mouth, jaw and neck. I had resolved to
sleep sitting up all to stay elevated, but something to do with the
physiological transition into sleep was, itself, upsetting the tooth,
as if the blood was changing its flow or circulation in that mo-
ment. So what would happen is I would be sitting there with my
back flat against the wall, and I would be on the very edge of
sleep, when the pain would start up, and I would then have to
spend the next twenty or more minutes doing all sorts of head
and neck exercises and gargling and whatever I could do to al-
leviate the pain. Once that was done, I would try to sleep once
more. Then, as I was finally drifting off to sleep, the excruciating
pain would set in once again and the process would repeat. This
process repeated upwards of thirty times within a single night,
with my eventually having given up on falling asleep altogether,
simply hoping to get enough rest via these microsleeps to make
it through the night. It was one of the most maddening experi-
ences I have ever known. Meanwhile, my insensate father is up-
stairs operating chainsaws and pounding away above my head
with hammers at intervals, and even after begging him to chill
out for just one day as I attempt to navigate this most nightmar-
ish experience he only responds with his typical answers of “Life
goes on,” or “This is the way of the world,” with which he often
disregards my cries for cooperation in times of crises. And what
he’s doing isn’t even necessary, let alone urgent in any way. It is
the same bullshit he’s been up to all his life: thinking that he can
THE DISSOLVING PATH 433
cure all of the abstract problems in his life which he ignores and
disrespects by organizing and remodeling his physical environ-
ment like an obsessive, insatiable lunatic. I did not end up getting
any sleep for over fifty hours, and I don’t even remember falling
asleep. I only remember waking up and being totally confused as
to what had happened and whether I had fully slept. I went and
jumped on my partner, saying “Six! Six hours have passed!” The
following week would be one of extreme ups and downs, with
my needing to take every opportunity I could to catch up on my
sleep since I couldn’t predict if and when this would recur. The
pain is so extreme, flaring up all throughout the day, though es-
pecially after my vegetable smoothies, that I don’t know what to
do. I’ll sit here beating my head with a jug, hoping to do some-
thing, anything, to alleviate the pain, the pressure. A single sip of
room temperature water or a kale smoothie will result in an hour
of severe, unmanageable pain which usually sets in within 1-3
minutes following contact with a liquid. I have become unwill-
ing to eat and drink, and I will consolidate my smoothies with
my kratom dosing to the extent that I am able to cut down on in-
stances of ingestion. I began to suspect that all of this was related
in some way to my throat problem—not only since I had been
clearing my throat a bit overmuch in the week prior, causing oth-
er issues for me, but because it was exasperated by much the same
acts as my existing issues. I want to believe that, since that makes
me feel it is more treatable, requiring only rest without necessi-
tating some grand treatment, but as the days go on I am less able
to believe in these ideas.
After approximately two weeks of profoundest agony, the
molar in question suddenly appears to be raised, causing it to sit
strangely within my mouth, and if the pain were not enough on
its own to keep me awake, I am grinding the tooth at every turn.
Ever since becoming raised and inflamed, I have had an even
434 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
In this crypt
In this oubliette
In this carcass
Why am I still devoting all of my time to creating and writ-
ing despite the physical ramifications... which are only backfiring
on me socially...
Why am I still doing this...
Each time I take a shower I try to increase the heat by a little
bit.
I pretend that it is fire.
Yesterday I felt fire within my body.
I don’t know how or why.
It felt like fire, anyhow.
It was a strange sensation.
I felt like I was burning from the inside out.
I had never experienced such a sensation before.
I can’t tell if I am really enjoying it or not, though I seek
to convince myself of as much, knowing I must take pleasure in
what awaits me.
A notable problem within this past year was a swelling and sen-
sitivity with my lower gums, although it is not what we normally
consider when speaking of the gums, since it is on the interior
of the teeth as opposed to the visible exterior of the mouth, and
so looking into the anatomy of this area has been very difficult,
for some reason, and I cannot understand why. The gum inte-
rior, especially on the right side, is often swollen, although not
in a way that is visibly noticeable. I would describe the sensa-
tion as if the gums are tightening, and pain comes about in some
instances, though not if I am careful. The tightness and inflam-
mation seem to increase increases whenever I move my tongue
436 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Our family held an annual Christmas party for some years which
brought in a lot of our fellow churchgoers and was actually quite
a talked-about event. We would create these elaborate invitations
and send them out to a hundred or so people, the best of which
was a cringeworthy cover version of The Cars’ “Just What I
Needed” which featured contributions from my father, mother
and myself. My sister was always too embarrassed to get involved
in any of the eccentric things we did and was often absent... just
like when we were kids and my family briefly decided to change
our last name to Frankenstein and become storm chasers and
everyone was super into the idea except my sister who was sob-
bing. Anyhow, the main attraction of these parties was arguably
my having converted the basement into a disco area (known as
THE DISSOLVING PATH 437
The Boogie Room) where all the kids would go to dance while
the adults carried on their discussions on the main floor of the
house. I would get all dressed up as The Boogie Man and put
together some specialty compilations (which I recall seeing in
a stack of CD-R’s not so long ago with the words GROOVY
BOOTY written in all caps). Then my mom would inevitably
end up getting plastered and flirting with my friends.
all needs. This is how a powerful ‘God’ could develop from the
neediness of Existence: the belief that there must be something
capable of satisfying these needs, but without knowing what that
could be... the mind has its way, and it’s quite as simple as that (or
has the potential to be).
All I can say at this point is that my dedication is clearly not con-
tingent on my enjoyment.
I have become too aware at all times and of all happenings, with-
in and without. I dare say a brain was not meant to function in
this manner, but I am not one to hold that against my brain. It
might have been a different experience if I didn’t lead such a dark
existence, but as it stands it feels like I am in a never ending bad
trip.
440 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
For me, the difficult part is not that I appear to have failed. It is
the extent to which I tried that tends to bother me most of all. It
is that I was consistently and heroically proactive from beginning
to end, not allowing my physical and mental suffering to slow my
pace; not allowing my sense of hopelessness to have its say over
my actions. It is that I maintained a positive attitude, despite the
image that recent writings may be giving off, and I intend to do
so until my last hour alive. It is that I tried a hundred million
means of keeping my head above the water. This late-life agony
that I am experiencing can often be chocked up to the fact that
mine own virtues have assisted my demise. The train that got me
here consists of all those things I worked so hard for: my open-
ness and honesty, my unwillingness to compromise my beliefs
and live a life that douts my passion, my unwillingness to manip-
ulate others in seeking after an authentic intimacy, dezinezinet.
This queer cloud of irony hangs over my tomb at all times. It is
a philosophical nightmare. I look out and see a population who
will live out long lives of cursing, drinking and betraying their
promises while the universe turns a blind eye for eighty years,
and then there is I: a child whose gravest mistakes were singing
and dancing and putting my faith and trust in the wrong people.
also do not see fit to apply the term to the sort of physical illness
I’ve endured, extreme though it is. ‘Disturbed,’ by my definition,
and how I use it in reference to myself, entails that I am func-
tioning in a way unlike I normally would as a direct outcome of
excessive unresolved trauma and grief. It does not imply any sort
of insanity or detachment from reality.
It’s all a game of Tetris: we have to deal with all of this shit rain-
ing down from above. That is to be expected if you wish to play
the game. It’s the little victories and affirmations that happen
along the way that keep us from being overwhelmed and willing
to deal with more of whatever is coming at us, taking us down
layer by layer, and in my case, I didn’t have those victories, and
the shit just piled up to the sky and I lost the game before I even
got to feel that I had started.
I do not know how to feel about the fact that actors and enter-
tainers are widely considered the heroes of our time, being idol-
ized by all ages and demographics as if to contain any inherent
virtue. It’s a losing game to be infuriating myself over such things,
but I cannot overlook the effect of such enterprises upon the un-
raveling of reality.
**I take issue with fiction, as well, in that these writers are de-
sensitizing us to reality in a multitude of ways, and for no pur-
pose but boredom, escapism. I honestly do not expect others to
450 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I rise each day to the reminder that I have never known the priv-
ilege of a single apology. I rise each day to the knowledge that,
after all I have achieved, it was never enough to leave anyone feel-
ing proud to know me. They wrote me off if I said or did even a
single thing that they did not like or understand. They never let
my words mean what I wished for them to mean, telling me I am
wrong, lacking in self-awareness, or that I am lying, or manipu-
lating, or unqualified, or that I simply don’t know what I am feel-
ing. They’ve done all they can to strip my words and actions of
meaning, not permitting me to despise that which I despise and
to love that which I love.
what they can offer me. I don’t know why. I do not think it nat-
ural but the product of hard work and conscious efforts. Howev-
er, I can’t help but feel that I would have been better off without
such perceptions (although I guess it really depends on how we
are defining our terms).
And I guess that when I say these things there is just no part of
me that expects to be believed, or at least I don’t expect these
words will carry weight. I feel transparent, mute and worthless
before the public, and it’s so strange to be saying that as I am such
a proud and confident individual.
Others are schooled and socialized and put through all of these
situations in which the value of others is questioned, minimized
and degraded. And I think that’s what makes it all so difficult for
me. I still impart high, holy value to the people around me. And
to exist within society we must necessarily give up this exaltation
for the good and safety of our own beings, our own professional
progress, while we are taught that we can’t answer every call; we
THE DISSOLVING PATH 455
can’t return every smile; we can’t put out every fire. School teach-
es us to see people as irrelevant to us. I never saw it that way. I
often think of this as a product of nurture, but it is also very pos-
sible that it relates to nature.
cus my eyes as much on the self and what we are called to give
to those whose presence and participation we value within our
lives. Friendship and interaction should require as much or more
attention and responsibility than any occupation we may ever
fill. Yea, though it may bring to us our hearty relief, it should not
be considered some playground, some break from the world of
responsibility and accountability which effectively functions as a
happy pill and no more. This is where you get the concept of ‘fair
weather friends’—individuals who are only after that relief and
pleasant effects of interaction without actually having any com-
mitment to you as a person.
I see a lot of people upset that their friends don’t care about
or support their efforts, artistic achievements, passions and
whatnot. And sadly it’s become a standard for others to answer
this by saying “Ahh, that’s always how it is. Friends and family
can’t be depended on for that stuff,” yet I don’t believe that that is
right at all. These people who totally fail to support you are not
your friends. They are people whose time happens to be spent in
your company. These people who eat your center and then toss
your crust aren’t real friends. These people who eat your creme
and toss your cracker... hahaha, I could go on and on, but hope-
fully you understand what I am saying. I am obviously more sen-
sible than to sit here and postulate that in order for one to qual-
ify as a friend they must enjoy absolutely every little belch that
you put out, but there should still be some blanket sense of sup-
port coming from those with whom we know true intimacy and
trust.
Oh, I just got all excited thinking that someone had downloaded
several of my albums but then I realized that it was counting all
of the albums that I had downloaded this week while attempt-
ing to finalize different compilations of unreleased material. Oh
well.
What infuriates me is not the idea that these things are beyond
being transcended, but the fact that they are capable of being
transcended, and that we choose not to: through our priorities,
our beliefs and our instincts.
Then if I should die by suicide they will say such things as “Oh,
he was troubled,” or “I wish I had known.” I was a forthright,
open and articulate individual who did not hold back the fact
that I was suffering and in dire need of a network, a helping
hand, and I never once used my condition in a way that should
lead others to think my cries deceptive or manipulative. I have
done all that I could to make this life work and to find healing,
to find light, to find oxygen, but my sincerest efforts landed me
no support. I was neglected and betrayed—stranded in this box
of black. And still I fought for more than a decade. I fought in
silence without ever complaining, while forced to achieve my
catharsis by endless writing and creating so as to make up for the
fact that everyone has shut their eyes and ears to me for no con-
ceivable reason, as I had never done anything that could have be-
trayed my character or been off-putting—unless suffering in it-
self is off-putting to them who seek peace and they will not toler-
ate these intimations of struggle and disconsolation as such that
I represent with my blood. Then they’ll still find a way to say it
was a ‘tragedy’ or that I must have been mentally deranged or
inebriated to commit such an act. Fuck you. Fuck every one of
you who is with the gall to call themselves my family, my friend.
I would have spoken my condemnation to your face if I knew
that you would listen and not just defensively reciprocate with-
out cause. I would have condemned you all if I wasn’t so bent
THE DISSOLVING PATH 461
I was always made to feel like my existence was just asking too
much. My suffering was too much. My joy was too much. My de-
sire was too much. I felt these judgments constantly in the pres-
ence of others—a lethargic and nihilistic breed indeed. And I
can’t wait for all of this to be over. I really, sincerely can’t. I feel
like my biggest ‘flaw’ was perhaps that I couldn’t stop caring, or
couldn’t pretend that I didn’t care. I cared about everyone and
everything within and without me and that simply doesn’t fly
in this reality. That’s not to act as if I loved everyone and every-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 465
ing the call to participate. Such ignorance does not occur in the
absence of consequences, and nothing follows after such arrant
negligence but the tragic destruction of a species, a world, which
had it in them to be so much more.
**It amazes me the ease with which others can claim that I am
fixating overmuch on my traumas and disturbances. They can sit
there and tell me to accept it and get over it, yet they’re the ones
that can’t get through an hour sober, and will divorce three times
and fuck up their children so horribly. What I’m saying is... the
population isn’t healing from its trauma, so who’s to say I am
unreasonable for actually focusing on that which hurt me! The
difference between us is not that I fell prey to some obsession
whereas they did not. It is that I have been willing to acknowl-
edge the true weight and ramifications of these pains that society
asks and even expects us to brush on past and cover up with god-
468 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
There were occasions when the nurse(s) would say “I hope you
feel better,” while walking out of the room to fetch the doctor.
That always caught me off-guard and made me realize that no
one had ever spoken those words to me before. It was far more
common for me to see my suffering denied outright so as to pre-
serve the security of the other party, or I was told “Of course it
will get better, don’t be silly,” take-it-for-granted attitude which,
though they may have thought as supportive, only seemed negli-
gent.
don’t like it one bit, and I sure do not like that my work has be-
come associated with the sort. When I see the sort of bands that
crop up in the “Related Artists” section of my online music pro-
file I have to wonder: do my listeners view this all as some joke?
Is my project but some amusing bit of whimsy spaffed out in the
name of ‘art’ and nothing more? Can they not tell the difference
between irony, comedy and the work of one who is rather emo-
tionally delirious (or just a senseless addict)...? For instance, I was
just listening to The Rifles in Mind Recoil, considered to be one
of my darkest albums—an album confronting what seemed like
an inevitable suicide scheduled to take place within days of my
recording. Some may take the quality at face value, in which case
they may think “It doesn’t seem like he is putting much effort in-
to his vocals,” or “He sounds like he’s trying to be weird,” but in
my mind I hear a tortured child who just took his dose of opiates
and hopes to god it will change something... anything. And he
wants to sing... his sanity depends upon it... but he doesn’t know
what to sing about if not the ever-present terror that closes in on
him from all angles concomitantly... and he hardly contains the
energy to make for any more than the most lethargic noises... but
it’s still worth it to him even if that is all that comes out, because
at least, then, he will have something to show for this experience,
and with that song, how unlistenable it may be, he will be able
to convince himself that this nightmare was not entirely without
benefit. I would say that the majority of foundations were laid
down while I was on the come-up of Kratom/opiates and then
fleshed out between doses, mostly since that is when I felt the
strongest sense of positivity—not related to the actual effects of
the drug, but due to the hope that it might change something,
anything, and allow me to get by a little bit longer without suf-
fering a total collapse.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 471
I dearly wish to imagine that there will come those who ded-
icate themselves to the task of taking in my work within its prop-
er context and respecting my vision as I’ve laid it out. I’ll have
my passive, inattentive listeners who give the albums a rating as
if it all comes down to ‘good’, ‘bad’ and ‘basic’ creativity, with
no greater consideration to be paid my way. Yet the progression
heard in these albums was not merely that of a musician chang-
ing or evolving his style in a natural fashion over the course of
four years, but a very dark transformation taking place within the
turbulent life of a helpless and neglected individual. When it is
taken in like a story, as in from start to finish, it tends to sound
very different. Things that might otherwise sound odd or amus-
ing now seem sad. Things that, in some circumstances, might
sound triumphant now sound unusually dark or ironic. Context
is crucial in all cases. I know this society hates it. It gives them
cramps, affecting their ability to make reality into whatever they
want it to be, but it is so important to all of life and not less to
art.
myself AND to others. The public benefits most from the per-
sonal, in a sense, although I’m not sure that that is the best way
of wording/framing it.
I do not consider myself iconoclastic or rebellious. Perhaps
I would be called such things by the standards of society due to
my unwillingness to compromise, but surely I do not deliberate-
ly seek out anything but creation, and I am willing to do what is
necessary to create. If that requires destruction I will consent un-
questioningly.
ing ‘yes’ and meaning ‘no’; being punished without being offered
a proper reason; being locked away in your closet of a bedroom
for fifteen years and indoctrinated with the most horrible lies
and propaganda which paints the world as it is not.
Not being seen by the world for who and what we are is the price
that some of us must pay to see the world for what it is.
Don’t let that leave you with the impression that I have found no
favor with others. Yet even those with whom I have found favor
never seem to actually see me. They just look right through me,
even while claiming to value my contribution, yet without actu-
ally appearing as if they are actually capable of listing off a single
goddamn attribute which sets me apart from the others in their
life. It’s not like I’m asking to be praised and esteemed for my
‘uniqueness’. I am neither so unrealistic nor egotistical; but I’ve
put in too great an effort to be looked at as mere timepass. I have
too much to offer to be appreciated simply for my presence. And
unfortunately I was right to feel so unfulfilled, because not a sin-
gle individual ever made an attempt to keep in touch with me af-
ter I stopped showing up in the spring.
Many within the spiritual circuit subscribe to this idea that ‘we
are all one’, and though I do not believe in that idea myself, I be-
480 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
He was never able to strike a balance in his life. It’s either that
he is all in for himself at the expense of others or living out some
self-depriving existence. It is madness to me. I, on the other hand,
am approaching each situation in terms of how I could build for
myself and for others simultaneously, as in how I can create one
work that benefits all. That’s how I generally operate. I wouldn’t
say that it has anything to do with virtue. It’s just my default.
It’s very surreal to have lived so long, and through all that I have.
As far as I am concerned, I am a decade past my breaking point.
Sometimes we live through dreadful experiences and discover
that it wasn’t as bad as we once thought, or that we are stronger
than we give ourselves credit for. I don’t always know how to feel
about the events of this past decade. I could speak some pret-
ty motivational verses, and I’m tempted to, feeling that my po-
sition gives me a platform to inspire, but it is not so simple to
organize my thoughts on the matter. My reality has been ripped
from me: physically, conceptually. I am not living in the same
world in which I started out and I can’t smile and pretend that
it was worth it—not yet. This isn’t life... what I’ve experienced. I
am tucked away in some private black hole. It’s sort of like how I
remember my diphenhydramine overdose all those years ago (at
the age of seventeen): it’s weird, it’s trippy, and I thought I want-
ed all of that; but it’s not enjoyable at all... it’s just this disgust-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 481
In many ways it can be said that I have spent my life more fo-
cused on the bridge between Heaven and earth, as it were, than
on Heaven itself. For me there is no relief in escaping the fire: not
until everyone is out of the building; not until we understand the
cause of the fire with enough confidence to say that it is within
our control and shall never reoccur.
“One who has sacrificed everything for you, lies in the dust on
his way to you.” (from Laila and Majnun, written on the inner lip
of my “Honey Trunk” in which is contained my 70-CD collec-
tion created in 2015 and intended for Anita).
the term means bindweed. Cesare was taken from The Cabinet
of Dr. Caligari: Cesare the somnambulist.
Perhaps it is all for the best that I could leave this world without
having to see my cherished work and revelations picked apart
and scrutinized by heartless scholars and anonymous degener-
ates on the internet.
The point is, I never once sat down and thought “I am going to
put my all into making a great album.” No, I didn’t think in terms
of albums, specifically, when working on the Tendon Levey pro-
ject (which is actually very unlike my nature). So my ‘albums’ are
rather clusters which lump together a specific feeling or epoch.
When the epoch ends, or the feeling leaves, I start anew. If I
was trying to make a solid album I would have done things very,
very differently—especially considering I’ve my roots in the prog
genre and prefer to make complex conceptual albums. I’ve said it
before: the Tendon Levey discography is not a good example of
my writing, and not necessarily even my tastes. It’s all an exercise
484 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
sessions: they were never meant to stand alone, existing like stars
within a grand constellation. Only once we recognize their rela-
tionship to one another can we begin to discover the shape that
our constellation takes and the myth that it produces.
As a kid I had these WWE ‘squirt heads’ and they would always
be lying around in the yard and in the sandbox (I was never ac-
tually into wrestling but for some reason I owned a lot of the
toys way back when). It looks like they only created these ‘squirt
heads’ for a limited time, which is surprising to me, since I always
thought of them as a cool idea. I would love to see a ‘squirt head’
made of my own face and people can be encouraged to fill it with
red wine. Then it spits wine... which also looks like blood. I don’t
know. That just seemed appropriate. Merchandisers take note.
weight of what was to come. I don’t know if I’ve written out that
analogy as best as I could, but it works.
There is something to be said for the fact that we see others’ im-
mediate reactions to us through the lens of our self-perceived of-
fering. For example, I interpret my reception in life foremostly
through the lens of my art and mysticism and this determines my
stance. This is also why so many people are quick to respond with
cynicism and offense, because they give the world their bod-
ies, their sex, their attitude, and then they anticipate that every-
one wants them for the wrong reasons. Yet those are the rea-
sons we’ve given them to want us! Our own instincts are in re-
volt against our so-called choices. Still, they spend all their time
dancing in their underwear and flexing their muscles on the in-
ternet and social media, and then they doubt the intentions of
everyone they meet. It’s so self-defeating. And all I would like to
say to that is this: we disparage the intent of others by harbor-
ing ill motives within ourselves. I know this to be true of my own
life, having previously said “The reason they are so quick to dis-
trust me is the same reason I am so quick to trust them: because
we expect from others what we know to be true of ourselves.” It’s
why I do not resemble the standard misanthrope or cynic, de-
spite my tendency to brandish those terms. In reality, I am more
like someone who sees the state we’re in and weeps. I’ve never let
my awareness become a reason to pull me away from the world.
It only changes the approach that I take.
Think of it like when you encounter a wild animal and you
simply wish to help it out or feed it, yet it ends up fleeing, and
496 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I cannot help but regret all interactions that I have had in life,
knowing that nothing of lasting value ever came from a single
one of them. Whether or not that is actually true—upon a more
thorough examination—it is how I feel day after day. It seems
that I gained nothing whatsoever from all the effort I put into
it. It all feels like such a waste of my time, seeing as everything
that I ever learned; every feeling of power, encouragement, love
THE DISSOLVING PATH 497
The masses of this earth, who are programmed to view all things
through the lens of their survival, have convinced themselves
that I am the damaged one, as they are not able to discern be-
tween the wounds of a clumsy child and those of a soldier that
fights willingly for the honor and advancement of all mankind.
I am sick of living among a population which observes what is
commonplace over what is rightful and then behaves towards me
as if I am broken for adhering to a higher standard as if it is mere-
ly some foible, some maladaptive trait that I possess; as if I am
so out of touch from reality and so out of line with the expecta-
tions that I hold, when I am working toward an outcome which
would actually benefit us and not simply sustain the unsustain-
able. Whether or not I have achieved any such outcome is debat-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 499
able, surely, but it has ever been my goal to advance us all, how-
ever could it be done.
**I find it horrific to look out upon the world and see that every-
thing is just practice and memorization. All the knowledge on
which the masses act is something that they simply picked up
via memorization in school through repetition. Their seduction
is all practiced. Their kindness is practiced, conjured in knowl-
edge of what it will allow them. The insincerity is more than I
can bear. It is all practiced. It is all without heart, without verity,
and I can not bear to base my camp among such contrivance.
This is why stress is an interesting function. It doesn’t cause peo-
504 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Their joy isn’t joy. Their grief isn’t grief. They are collectors of ac-
tions and responses which they believe will allot them their de-
sired outcome. Nothing that is built upon inauthentic and igno-
rant foundations can be called authentic. I lose my mind looking
at them, watching them, watching them pretend. There is an ar-
rogance to it all that nauseates me, and I can’t expect that oth-
ers will see it, but it’s there: an ugly complacency, ugly as sin. It’s
what allows them to settle for less than living. And I want out. I
want a silver bullet. I am in a nightmare of absent meaning and
that meaning cannot even be cultivated when the absence has
been substituted for by air pillows and dross—the only purpose
of which is to take up space, satisfying a necessary void. Yet who
is satisfied?
The outer layer is gone—forever gone. The parts of this life
that excite and turn us on are gone from my view. I can hardly
recall at this point what it was like to experience it at all. I am
tempted to cry out, saying “Give it back!” Yet the Thummim
stares back upon me with a familiar glare which, by now, I take
to mean that I must learn to live in its absence. Oh, absence...!
you want than what you need: they do not care for your victory,
because they do not actually care for you, and only want to see
you pacified so that you are more likely to fall in line with their
expectations of you, whether they require a helpful presence or
wish for you to leave them alone.
I won’t make the statement that selflessness, unconditional-
ity and genuineness are an impossibility. I do believe that there
are conditions in which they are possible, and I believe that I
have demonstrated their viability through mine own acts and
lifestyle, although opinions may vary. The truth of the matter is
that one must be in touch with their own souls in order to really
understand how to nurture the souls of those around them, and
for most this is simply not a reality. Though it is hard to demo-
nize those who abandon us over our failure to meet their expec-
tations when they are known for abandoning their own selves in
such situations, resorting to any variety of escapism and self-ini-
tiated dissociation.
rather they keep silent and fall in line. I put so much time and
energy into being a good friend to these people, showing pa-
tience, forgiveness and kindness in situations where they were
not the standard; offering valuable advice to all of their problems
and showing myself to be there for them even when no one else
showed, or when all else abandoned them; showing a love for
knowledge and creation and possibility that would be enough to
electrify the daily mundanity. How can I make this individual feel
heard, appreciated, charged? How can I ease the discomfort of their
embarrassment and faults and transform the situation into some-
thing positive? What can I say that will allow them to see the ben-
efit of each setback, the potential of each moment? The hurt and
disappointment that I feel to be walking away, scorned and be-
trayed, as every other moocher and sociopath dances in the sun,
knowing the favor of their species and being surrounded by lov-
ing family and friendships, is equivalent to the degree of care and
effort that I put into being a good friend; a good person—not
toward the attainment of some selfish end, such as sex, wealth or
fame, but simply to tilt the world, if even by a hair, nearer unto
the warmth of the sun. And upon further inspection I know that
that isn’t necessarily true, and that they haven’t actually gained
anything apart from more of their beloved delusions and empty
façades, and that the only reason they appear so lucky is because
they have accepted emptiness and pretense, but goddamn if it
isn’t difficult to look out through hungry eyes. It’s like prop food.
They’ve all accepted it as real, and they have convinced them-
selves that it nurtures them, but their bodies and spirits tell a dif-
ferent story. And then there’s me, famished and fucked, and even
though I know that the patties are plastic and the pills are place-
bos, I must wonder why I couldn’t have been satisfied with falsity
like all of the other smilers and smokers which flood the streets.
Why... why have I put truth above my own security and pleasure?
THE DISSOLVING PATH 507
It was like I had zero leeway. I did well, above my means, for
ninety-nine out of one hundred times. Then, that one time I
show even the slightest bit of frustration or desperation on the
surface after thirty years of unremitting abuse and mistreatment
they all point and say “See! See! I knew you were unstable! I
knew I was right to treat you like a wild animal!” And conse-
quently I must live out the rest of my days haunted by the fact
that I reacted in a way that was called for by the extremity of the
508 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
situation and the abuse that I had taken—as if I was the one who
was the monster in all of this.
They push me and they push me and they push me until get-
ting a rise out of me and then I must spend the rest of my life
feeling regretful for reacting, even smally, to the provocation, as
if I’ve committed some grand sin whereas they, themselves, are
justified.
Hey, maybe it’s that type of situation where everyone falsely as-
sumes that the attractive girl knows she is attractive and hears it
all the time, so no one actually goes out of their way and says it
to her, amounting to somewhat of an ironic outcome in that she
is entirely starved of kindness and attention. Maybe they look
THE DISSOLVING PATH 509
at me and think “Surely he’s heard it said that his work is good
and his efforts are acknowledged,” and they just don’t think it’s
necessary to say anything to me? “The guy has 2,000 songs and
a million writings and paintings... surely people are contacting
him with feedback. Surely he’s heard his share of compliments.”
Oh, I feel so silly to be thinking all of this aloud. I admit to these
things largely in the hopes that there are others out there who
can relate to my position and this will somehow prove cathartic
(while the other 99% will perhaps go on to speak disparagingly
of me as if I need to get over it and I’m just being ‘sensitive’).
My mother often used to spout off some line about how ‘friends
come and go but siblings are with you forever’. And of course
that’s not a rule. Though I really didn’t think I would be losing
my sibling in the first month she went off to college and got
drugged up and allowed her entire life to be hijacked by a so-
ciopathic parasite. I’ll never get over how quickly everything
changed. It wasn’t gradual. It happened within the span of a sin-
510 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
gle week: the very week that she met that punk ass piece of shit.
It was the week of her twenty-first birthday, and he convinced
her to abandon her friends, family and religion all in one go.
thing that comes, stays. Nothing ever heals. Wounds are forever.
The blood flows on.
In my youth, it was not the music and art alone that captivated
my heart but the story behind it. I’ve always been more invested
in the creator than in their creations, or rather, the relationship
between the two. It can make or break my attachment to a piece.
Accordingly, I will not indulge in works created by those whom
I find to be expressly disagreeable, or even boring. It isn’t even
some moral stance in my case. It simply does not appeal to me.
I am very critical of those whose art does not appear to reflect
their lives, their person. This has guided my art and music all
along. I was far less interested in creating works of a certain qual-
ity than in creating works which were deemed an accurate reflec-
tion of my person. It was always my will to be the sort of individ-
ual that troubled teens would want on a poster above their bed
(and by that I mean the sort of person I wanted on a poster above
mine own bed as a troubled teen...) and by ‘troubled’ I do not
mean pathological, but lonely and upset and more or less misun-
derstood. I know how much the listener benefits from that fasci-
nation.
I can no longer fight the demons when they are all around me.
It’s all there is. There is nothing left of the light. Everywhere I
look, every thought I think, it leads to darkness. It’s not hyper-
bole. I am trapped. I can’t get out. Every thought, word, color,
shape, form, connects to an agonizing memory. Every thought
and memory is cancerous. I have reached the absolute ceiling of
mortal suffering. If I didn’t have a mirror I wouldn’t even know
what I looked like. I don’t feel as I look. My body is deformed,
caving in on itself. No sanctuary. No rest. I’m fine with being
without pleasure and comfort. Can’t I just be in a state of neu-
trality wherein the agony isn’t so excruciating!
Diligence? Effort? It doesn’t pay off ?
Thirty years.
Of fighting. Of working. Of creating. Of strategizing. Of de-
votion. A million billion sperms and none brought life.
Every second of every minute of every day... I never slept... I
was always creating, building, planning, growing...
THE DISSOLVING PATH 515
real... the degree of suffering that I must endure, and how with
one wrong move... the slightest move... it will all be over, and I no
longer expect that it will get me anywhere or make me into some-
thing stronger or make my story a more interesting and dramatic
one than it already is... it is difficult to see the worth in a life that
cannot be conveyed. I can’t say that I haven’t, but it is truly and
overwhelmingly difficult. Measurement serves as an aid to man
in many ways of which we are not typically cognizant. It relates
to the idea that events and concepts lacking in a word or a way by
which to be referenced seem to go unnoticed within our every-
day life, as if they do not exist at all, belonging to the innominate
void.
ple getting riled up and picketing Santa Claus, and they saw such
protests as proof that God and Jesus are real and that “people just
hate the truth,” because otherwise it would not be deemed so of-
fensive. Uh, except that in the myth of Santa Claus he gives gifts
to children and he has not been the basis of almost every strife
and fear in human history. The most ridiculous part about all of
this is how long it took me to see through what they were say-
ing and to actually gain some sensibility. The modern Christian
essentially lives by the skewed notion that everyone believes in
the existence of Christ, and that what truly separates the believ-
er form the nonbeliever is whether or not one chooses to accept
or reject that indisputable grace and mercy. What a foolish, fal-
lacious premise which allows them to view all who disagree with
their views as begrudging antagonists and saboteurs rather than
as those who simply derive a different impression from the faces
before them
The ones who tell you to ‘get over’ mistreatment and abuse are
almost always those who haven’t sufficiently vulnerated them-
selves. It is a very different experience when one is honest and
well-intentioned; you cannot hide behind these rocks. It's like a
game of poker: I went all in, I felt the loss and I’m not going
to then be told by someone who didn’t even have the courage
to place a bet that I shouldn’t react in a realistic manner to the
events that occurred. My pain is perfectly proportionate to the
size of my bet, and I bet all that I could; all that I had.
college student, down to what she ate. I don’t hold it against her.
That’s her choice. It simply might have affected my actions had I
been more aware of context.
Her social standing could be called the main tool in her ar-
senal. It was the one thing she actually had to her claim, and the
one thing I didn’t. What is scary is that, because she was reliant
on the opinion of others, this made it necessary for her to manip-
ulate others in order to generate that opinion that she was after.
I don’t understand it, being someone who is obsessed with veri-
ty. I’m the type who won’t even start a gofundme because I feel
that if I must ask for something then it isn’t authentic (that and...
I don’t expect that anyone would help me out in a crisis anyway
and I would prefer to spare myself of the horrendous pain that
followed from such a situation). It’s odd to see that those who
accuse others of manipulation are regularly those who employ
this tactic themselves. As for me... it’s not even a concept in my
book... perhaps because I do not naturally view emotion and val-
ues as that which can be swayed or shaped from the outside, by
others. I have my ways in which I am susceptible, or gullible, so
I ain’t some tinman, but this is simply not one of them, and as
a result, I do not believe I have ever accused anyone of manipu-
lating me, or even so much as thought it. It’s just not a concept
within my world, and I was intrigued to realize this. I am highly
vulnerable when it comes to being made to feel misunderstood,
crazy or like I don’t know what I’m talking about, though. That’s
my personal heel... my personal hell... but the thought of hold-
ing others responsible for my emotions is utterly bizarre to me.
However, typology helps with my ability to make sense of this:
Extraverted Thinking acts upon an objective standard of success,
whereas Extraverted Feeling acts upon an objective standard of
agreeableness. Note that objectivity, in this case, refers only to
that which is deemed acceptable or commonplace within society.
524 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I’ve never felt that I can hide, or that I can deceive others and get
away with it, and I live my life accordingly. I don’t know what it
is. Nature? Nurture? The outcome of having been raised believ-
ing in an omniscient God? There is just no part of me that be-
lieves I can get away with ignoble deeds. I fully expect that all
dishonest acts will find their way back to me. I don’t believe in
THE DISSOLVING PATH 525
First they neglected to teach me and then they had the gall to
mock and insult me for my ‘failure’ to develop like my peers
who were schooled and instructed and offered adequate guid-
ance (and still came out underprepared for existence). It is a very
damaging combination. They locked me in my room like some
animal, depriving me of an education, depriving me of medical
access, and then I must live out the latter half of my life as a veg-
526 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The population may wonder “How the hell would Existence not
know what is good for itself and what it wants? How could it
still be figuring things out?” It’s funny how we find it so difficult
or troublesome to imagine such a scenario when it occurs in ex-
actly the same manner and for exactly the same reasons that we,
as humans, often don’t understand what’s best for us or our own
motivations and require trial and error, knowledge, and a host
of other integrants. It’s the same damn operating system, guys.
Break out of your Omniscient God/Ignorant Slave dichotomy.
Existence hasn’t forced us to be ignorant while it gets to be all-
knowing. Same cup, separate straws.
Call it what you will, since this isn’t about me and my stupid ter-
minologies, but a collection of insights into something greater
than I—something greater than us all. Beware the guardsmen
and ticket scalpers. Anything which attempts to mediate be-
tween man and Existence, as has been the case with religion, psy-
choactive drugs, dezinezinet, is an arrant fucking lie.
If you suffer under the right lights and with the right music play-
ing over the speakers, all that painful twitching and writhing can
be experienced like an orgasm. A sort of romantic desperation
feeds me and I would not be myself without its color. I do not
seek out my agony like a fool, but I do adorn it when it comes for
THE DISSOLVING PATH 527
**I do not regret having not ‘seen the world’, as they say. Those
who travel, those who skydive, those who swim with the sharks,
whatever it be: it isn’t about what they do, but what they reap
from the experience. The setting is subsidiary to the psychoemo-
tional experience of happiness, excitement, satisfaction, connec-
tion, inspiration, dezinezinet. If one can achieve the same from
in their solitude, let no disconsolate bastard say otherwise. I see
myself as fortunate in relation to those who rely so much on their
hope in the new and the unknown to convince them of purpose.
I feel sad for those who never establish a home. Moreover, I feel
sad for those who seek a home outside of themselves. And what
I mean by that is that there are those, like myself, whose life is
given meaning by that which I have already known and expe-
rienced, while there are many out there whose smile only per-
528 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Although I have led a very unpleasant life, I still feel that I had
more than my peers and would not trade what I had for their
ambling lives. I hesitate to say as much since I wouldn’t wish to
minimize the pain and agony of my experience, but that’s real-
ly part of the point I am making: that the most heinous suffer-
ing, when undertaken with purpose, is still preferable over some-
thing so meaningless as that which this species calls living. I wish
I could have known comfort and security in conjunction with
THE DISSOLVING PATH 529
All art and labor that does not contribute to a greater whole is
worthless expenditure.
and such simple ideas have worked so, so well for me. There may
be abstract elements or rivcorvpeu for which I am failing to ac-
count. But even if it’s more complex than I explain, I’ve shown
what I am doing, and that should be enough.
It’s basically evoking the trances of fiction writing (or read-
ing) while acting on actual, real world elements with real world
application, and the result is utterly mesmerizing. It’s not very
technical in its composition so my viewer may be prone to un-
derestimating the immensity of the practice and pseudo-para-
digms in question based on what I’ve had to say. One must nec-
essarily be Inspired to undergo a successful process as such. Start
with a simple glossary or terms. As these things are acknowl-
edged, connections should naturally begin to form, creating for
interactions. These interactions effectively pull one down into
the coliseum.
It truly bothers me when I come upon some art that I can appre-
ciate on a holistic level and the artist’s bio is simply a list of past
and ongoing exhibitions. I feel similarly when a musician’s bio
consists only of them waxing poetic about past tour dates and
who they’ve played with. It also irks me when a so-called com-
mentary album is just a track-by-track commentary about what
the songs sound like—sonically—as if the listener couldn’t read-
ily discern as much for themselves. I want to be hearing about
the lives of the performers which led them to this place where art
became an essential outlet for them; the emotional experience. I
want to hear about the emotions and the experiences that went
into these compositions, but all I get is the musician telling me
“Ya, this is the heaviest number on the album, and we just want-
ed to do one with a powerful verse and urheieneowbruehabeoe-
jqp.” Really, does anyone have anything to say about themselves?
THE DISSOLVING PATH 533
I do not relate at all to that world and their idea of art and mys-
ticism. It only seems to exist if and when you’re looking at it, and
for no other purpose. I don’t want to rant about how inauthentic
it is, if only because I don’t want to be ‘that guy’, but what else can
be said about it! These people who are so connected that they’re
not growing... a bloody vacuum... fucking art schools... what if
all social progress truly does come from those living beyond the
bounds of society!
**I can’t be on social media for more than a couple days without
being overtaken with intense inner agony. It’s so hard on me. I
feel myself being eaten alive. Whenever I wish to post an update
or new album, I’ll have to spend a decent amount of time prepar-
ing my mind beforehand so that I can handle a total lack of re-
sponse from those who claim to care. I have to prepare myself
for the fact that I am likely to lose followers in each and every
instance that I post, and for no conceivable reason. And I do.
It doesn’t matter what I say or do. I am simply reminding them
of my existence. I’m not asocial. I’m not too busy to interact. I
would treat it as a priority if someone requested to talk. The rea-
son I can’t keep social media ... and every six months to a year
I’ll consider another approach or a different medium altogether
and I’ll try again and I’ll get excited and spend a day or two get-
ting everything set up and looking aesthetically pleasing but the
agony starts up soon after.
I lose followers at a faster rate than I gain them. I have less
monthly listeners and “followers” now than I did in 2017—the
year I got myself set up. This would be upsetting even if I hadn’t
spent so much effort to make these highly personal and ‘deep’
posts. This would be upsetting even if each one of these posts
536 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
How queer it is that the things that bring me the most ‘shame’
as I writhe in bed at night are those things I did willingly and
proudly (and would likely do again if I were to find myself in
similar circumstances and conditions). The shame whereof I
speak does not stem from foibles and falls—no. Such faults do
not bother my ego. It is the effort that I put into every little thing
that I do. It is my guileless willingness to reveal my hand to any
and all. I was open—‘open to a fault’—and it was the cause of
my demise, but I wouldn’t change my ways. The mere fact that it
hurt me does not make it a mistake. It’s a cause worth dying for,
and I think that if the degree to which we trusted one another
was based not upon ignorance or cynicism but courage then we
would finally move forward as a species: it’s just hard to do when
no one else does it. So if just one person moves forward out of
the phalanx they get picked off by gunfire, having made of them-
selves a target. I want this to be known... unequivocally... despite
my feelings. I died for the cause of my choosing. In another soci-
ety, in which human life was considered precious and our hearts
and minds were granted the same level of acknowledgment as
our ability to turn a crank, I would have flourished.
for it is better to believe what is said and risk falling prey to lies
than to risk extinguishing the cries of the hurting. Even where it
is said to be a tool, it is still a sign of someone in distress and in
need (even if the degree or nature of their need is misrepresent-
ed). I guess I am asking: do not be desensitized to the cries of
others, and certainly do not assert your own understanding up-
on them. This is how lives are ruined. This is how we destroy our
abstract networks of value and understanding. Instead of losing
our ability to believe in the words of others we must seek to re-
prove and rehabilitate the liars, the wrong ones.
I know I’ve said it before, yet I want to emphasize the fact that
100% of my time is occupied by my mystical undertaking, espe-
cially since I’ve realized that others don’t normally operate in this
way, including many of ‘the greats’ on whom history looks fond-
ly. When we learn of a mystic it is our tendency to imagine some-
one who spends all their days by light of candle, pouring over the
pages, but I’ve learned that that just isn’t the case. And it’s not
that it’s impossible—clearly not—but it is rare that you will find
that sort of dedication: not just a love for your craft, but a com-
mitment to organizing your life around it so that it becomes pos-
sible to remain in a never ending trance. I have been especially fo-
cused since the summer of 2019 when I pulled back from society
fully. I do not interact with anyone. I do not watch television. I
do not shop. I don’t do whatever you people do. The only excep-
tion is that I do take a few minutes to figure out which music to
put on or to blend my green smoothies. An eightieth percentile
of my time (or more) is taken up by writing since I am an exter-
540 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
And do not let them say otherwise, the burners of books, the
mockers of influence. They will efface my mural: those who con-
fidently claim that nothing beyond their understanding can ex-
ist. Do not give them your ear. Do not give them your thought.
Do not give them your cooking.
I cannot give you my name, for the identity is not but a word
which is uttered aloud and abused by unclean mouths, but some-
thing nearer to Intension—the tether which ties us to our Exis-
tence. My name is as vast as the obsessions which disturb me, and
therein it is found.
I’m over here attempting to outline the philosophy that will save
mankind but I can’t stop thinking about graham crackers.
fend their own lot in life, along with their very understanding,
and they do so at the expense of recognizing their own trauma.
It took me a really long time to stop seeing myself as defective
in certain regards. It only recently occurred to me how much my
faults tie in to my upbringing, and I think I’ve done quite well
for myself considering my indoctrination and lack of education,
but at the same time the world, or the world that I have known,
is very, very unforgiving of inconvenience or difference whatso-
ever.
For example, and I hate admitting this out loud, but I can’t
imagine walking the world alone. I don’t understand it. I don’t
understand how others can get into a car and drive off and just
wander around the world by themselves. Now, that isn't to say
that I am incapable of adapting, and if I had my health I don’t
doubt that I would have the willpower to overcome whatever
fear or hesitancy I contain. Yet I’ve been self-conscious about
this my whole life, left here to wonder why I have to be this way
when the whole world around me seems to get on just fine. It
took me until the end to really put two and two together and
grasp the fact that this is not some innate disposition, or defect,
but a problem caused by my upbringing and poor, near-sight-
ed parenting. Now, that won’t work as an excuse or justification,
but it’s good to be able to differentiate finally between the innate
and the nurtured faults, although I can’t say that it makes me feel
much better.
[...] and it disturbs me very much because she doesn’t see how
she is perpetuating the sickness of the family. Oh, I guarantee
that she believes that because she is not guilty of identical offens-
es that she is a victor. That is how she carries herself; and yet she
has refused to face the reality before her and in so doing makes
herself a vector of the self-same illness, and a smug one at that.
There are very narrow definitions at play, and we see a similar at-
titude all throughout the population. The healing of intergener-
ational trauma is indeed a rarity; the form it takes is simply ma-
nipulated and form-fitted to each generation anew so that they
can feel they’ve come out on top. I don’t claim to have escaped
the painful effects of such trauma, but I do confidently declare
that I have rooted out all cause to perpetuate that trauma, pass-
ing it onto others.
come up with new words, but some of these aren’t all that bad.
For example:
scindova: my whole life I tried to figure out if this was a well-
known concept or at least deserving of a term. For a while I won-
dered if it might be what people referred to as racing thoughts,
although it is so much more disorienting than that sounds. It’s
like the moment before vomiting. It was one of my first memo-
ries in life. When shapes and colors and ideas blur into each oth-
er. The senses and nostalgia kind of revolt... it’s so difficult to de-
scribe... ledges, edges... man, I don’t know. Scindo + ova = split
eggs, on account of I always referred to the experience as “chop-
ping eggs” and even sung two or more songs about it.
possefalous: adjective. Posse + falsum + ous. Feasible falsi-
ties. This is something that has always disturbed me deeply and
I’ve discussed the concept at several points. Consider how anx-
ious I have been about getting in trouble for something that I
didn’t do simply because it sounds like something I would do.
This really has a lot to do with my defensive tone, because after
all I’ve shared, nothing seems beyond me, so I always felt that I
was having to defend myself against coming accusations. For ex-
ample, someone could go and tell everyone that I killed some-
one. That would be a possefalous statement or conclusion on ac-
count of it doesn’t sound beyond me, given some of the violent
art and lyrics I’ve put out in the past, so despite the fact that it is
untrue, it is highly likely to be believed. Not the most attractive
word but to hell with it. Most words are ugly. It’s all about famil-
iarity.
adanimam: ad + animam, for the soul. Basically the opposite
of eyeservice. That’s my intention, anyway. The things that are
done when no one is looking. Could also be broken up like ad
animam, I suppose. Surprised there isn’t already a term for this.
Maybe there is. I also considered ad sui. It’s something that ap-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 551
to see the beauty or the light or the colorful disguises. I can’t dis-
tract myself from what we are. I can’t go back to thinking of hu-
mankind as some complex, highly evolved, intelligent and empa-
thetic species. I don’t see the population in that way at all. Maybe
if you want to compare it to a fucking zoo exhibit then sure, our
courtship rituals are better developed than those of the common
macaque. How about we compare ourselves, instead, to what we
could have been—what we can still become. Then you shall see
that we are a failed race, the output of which comes nowhere
near its collective capacity. How few are our paragons on which
we rely, on which we base our own estimation! How rare is kind-
ness without condition! How rare is fervor felt for itself !
This isn’t depression. This isn’t nihilism. It is a paradigm to
which the earthbound individual shouldn’t have access (or so it
seems to me). Not that it doesn’t make sense to me why I would
“feel” this way. Not that it seems unnatural. Once again, I just
tend to feel utterly alone in my experience. And do you know
what might have helped me to feel a lot better? If someone had
taken the time to share a similar sentiment before me. In all like-
lihood, such texts probably exist. After all, I do not expect that I
am the only one to have ever experienced such a state of being;
yet without that physical evidence as consolation I am truly in-
consolable. I am writing all of this in the hopes that even one in-
dividual out there can end up feeling less alone.
I spill out in the belief that there are significant aspects of our
humanity which are insufficiently represented. I spill out in the
hopes that something that I have said along the way will end up
being the sentence, the statement of which these individuals are
in need: the affirmation that keeps them here. We find ourselves
within a dark age on a dark earth, but I am convinced that there
THE DISSOLVING PATH 553
friends, willing that I should become a success story; but the doc-
tors, the government in its various forms, they did not do their
part in allowing this story to occur. I knocked and they didn’t
open to me. And begging was never seen as an option in my
mind. And it’s such a fucking insult to think that many won’t
recognize this. Autonomy is relative. Career opportunities and
service and surgeries and warmth are not owed to any one of us.
Freedom is not as easy as getting in your car and driving away.
This makes so many assumptions: the DMV must pass you, gas
station must service you, the tollman must allow you through,
dezinezinet. It sounds silly to be saying all of this, but I feel we’ve
grown blind to the access and authorization that we require at
every step along the way. I did the absolute best that I could do
given my physical condition, and while being cautious with what
compromises I make, not doing anything that would damage my
soul, I was willing to compromise on a fair amount of issues, as
seen from my accounts, for the growth of my person comes be-
fore whatever pride I may hold in my ways; but I would not com-
promise on these core ideals which supply meaning to my exis-
tence, and if that is what has sent me to the gallows then I shall
give my executioner a sweet kiss.
I would have cherished it, and gratefully so. Yet I didn’t have even
a single person to tell me that they valued my existence or my
ideas. I didn’t have anyone to whom to say goodbye. I didn’t have
a single person to assure me that they will at least try to sustain
my work. I had zero affirmation, zero assurance. I lived each day
in a dissociated haze, unable to understand my fate. The cold-
ness I’ve been shown is so confounding as to seem conspirator-
ial—hence why I’ve had to waste the final years of my existence
fixated on ‘proving’ to the world that I didn’t deserve my treat-
556 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
ment. I wish I didn’t feel the need. I know it isn’t healthy. I know
it isn’t becoming. I’m simply hurting and I know no way around
it.
When studying Greek some years back, I took note that the
Greeks have two separate words to refer to the concept of time:
chronos and kairos. I have considered all of the ways in which
this could relate to some of my ideas of intension although I hes-
itate to bring the terms into my system as it seems that they are
already bound to various extant philosophies with a conflicting
nature. Still, it is an interesting distinction.
I have to imagine that very few people grasp the dark potential of
veritable ecstasy, veritable satisfaction, which becomes a burden
when unable to be shared. Think of it like sexual intimacy, which
is considered a most essential part of life for many (although ob-
viously not all). This urge, when it cannot be shared, becomes a
burden which, in contrast to the life-affirming qualities of physi-
cal intimacy, is enough to drive one to madness and death. I don’t
feel like I am explaining it as accurately as I could, but it’s some-
thing to consider. The happiness of the masses is not ecstasy as
I’ve experienced it: an overwhelming power which rips me apart.
Life for me is like an unending orgasm, and people might hear
that and think that it sounds great, but it all depends on context,
and... well, you know my story.
good long conversation and they actually seemed like they would
be open to or interested in my work then I would ask them if
they wanted a CD, patch and button which I carried on my
person at all times within my messenger bag. It was just a kind
gesture which I hoped would surprise or impress them (or at
least open up new avenues of conversation for us both). No one
ever had a thing to say afterwards. And it’s not like they avoid-
ed me after the fact. We always interacted afterwards, and we
would usually continue to meet in person; but there would be
zero acknowledgement of the music I had given them. Even if
they didn’t like it, there were so many ways they could have been
nice about it without that necessarily entailing some dishonest
response.
“Never heard anything like it!”
“Man you put in a lot of effort!”
Hell, I would have even accepted “Man, that’s crazy!”
One guy admitted a couple months after the fact that he had
never even opened the CD. He sounded apologetic, so I acted
like it wasn’t a big deal and laughed it off, admiring his honesty
at least. But when the moment ends and I return home at the
end of the night it all catches up to me and it hurts so bad (or
it would, if I hadn’t totally numbed myself ). That’s sort of how
I am when I socialize: I am just responding to everything kindly
and maturely and nothing negative really gets to me... but then
when I get back home and lie in bed, all the events of the day...
they swarm me like eschatological locusts.
and how greatly I suffer for it. I tried to go easy on them in the
chapter of Clyssus of Man which details my social affairs, focus-
ing on the fact that I interacted with some kindly individuals
along the way, but that passage, I feel, was way too gentle and I
wrote it in such a way simply so as to not offend these people
even though, all things considered, they probably deserve to feel
offended. Not everyone was an outright scumbag, but I was bet-
ter before having met them. And I wish I could tell them that. I
wish I could scream at them. Yet that won’t get them to think.
It won’t get them to change. It just invites knee jerk retaliations
and I can’t take that. Like when I gave Doug the finger after he
betrayed me. I did it with a silly expression rather than seeming
aggressive, but then he did it back to me, and I wanted to destroy
him. I had earned the right to despise him after what he did. I
had done nothing to him but show him kindness. I hate them all.
For making my memories unsafe. My mind unsafe. My dreams
unsafe. My hopes destroyed. My world dark. Every day I wake up
thinking “Today may be the day I tell them all how much they
hurt me and how much I hate them,” but if I do that then they’ll
never hear anything that I have to say thereafter. Besides, I’ve giv-
en away art, merchandise and other items to them and I don’t
want these things to be tainted by their humiliation or anger re-
lating to me. I don’t want them to have negative feelings when
they see my name or these things I have given away, and that’s all
that will end up happening if I should say anything that leaves
them feeling uncomfortable or ashamed with themselves.
It has taken me thirty years of working to improve my-
self—thirty years spent learning to adapt and become a better
person, a better friend—before finally realizing that I was not at
fault but simply unlucky.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 561
I’ve been utterly broke since 2018. Zero money, a hundred per-
cent reliant on credit, which I’ve finally maxed out (it was only
a grand to start with, anyhow). I don’t know what people think
of my circumstances, especially since I tend to give away most of
my art and merchandise for free, but the reality is that I have no
money whatsoever. Every buck that I get goes toward my month-
ly services and whatnot, such as these stupid subscriptions to im-
age editing programs on my phone and other things that I have
to use for formatting my websites. I’m not saying this to com-
plain. I am simply saying all of this to clarify, since my situation
may be a mystery to most. It’s why all or most of my websites have
since gone offline. I’m a cheap buy when it comes to food. I eat
about ten pounds of oatmeal each week and that’s it (it sounds
like a lot but it’s only priced at around eleven dollars).
Whenever I’ve had to give a reason for something the reason has
often been disrespected, as if it’s not valid as any more than a ma-
nipulative or otherwise insufficient excuse, and this has really left
me with a disturbed relationship with my own struggles in life. I
can’t even speak openly about my chronic suicidality due to the
fact that there are apparently people among us who use suicidal-
ity as a threat or as a means to get what they want, and I can’t ex-
plain to you how much that disturbs me to know that my claims
are liable to be considered in the same manner and via the same
filters as these deceptions.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 563
sic available to the public and I’m not really getting any fans, just
pompous drifters trying to grow their stack.
Those who defend the population and make the claim that peo-
ple are more good than not... I have to expect that the people
making such claims are those that are still within the graces of so-
ciety on account of they fit the mold; because once you fall out-
side of that mold and people no longer see any utility in you...
any reason to envy or rely on you... their true colors are revealed...
and the illusion of humanity’s goodness falls apart like sand in
the hands. I try... oh I try... to avoid overgeneralizations as such
that I am putting forward in this case... it just makes me look
less credible... even childish... honestly, I’m not even thinking
right now... I’m just typing without thinking... to ruminate is too
painful at this point and if I can allow even ten minutes of mind-
566 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
less typing without having to think about who I am and what I’m
doing and how I’ve been hurt then snowowbeo.
It is so weird to do anything knowing it won’t make a dif-
ference. I’m mute and invisible and no kindness or ingenuity or
patience or generosity or faith or tenacity or courage will bring
about even a sip of fortune, favor, security, love, relief, relief, re-
lief, relief, relief, relief, relief, relief. This desert of ashes...!
I fear to come in contact with others at this point. The pain
is so constant and so out of control that I don’t know if I can re-
ally hold back much longer from actually saying how I feel... oh
the disgrace!
The pain is so constant and so out of control...
It’s like I’ve got a vicious dog biting me from every angle,
at every appendage... there is no relief... there is no safe haven...
there is no place to turn... I will continue my work until I succeed
in concluding my life-long goals and I will make sure that all of
my works are set up in a way that is publicly accessible, if for a
little while, and then I will be content to die. I will be content
to rip my flesh from my bones like giftwrap from that special toy
that I’ve been wishing for—begging for—all my life.
Why isn’t it understood
That the people to whom we show kindness are more than
likely to become kind
While the people who we treat as monsters are more than
like to develop into monsters
Why then do we still treat people like we do
Why
Why
Why are we still creating monsters from beautiful children
whose only crime was being born under the wrong roof and rule.
You took a precious boy
And you demonized him
THE DISSOLVING PATH 567
that things will fall in line. Those who desire meaning must ac-
tively seek it out and also actively maintain and protect it.
I have not spoken up a whole lot about the fall of 2015, which
I consider to be perhaps the worst season of my life, followed
closely by the weeks in August and September 2016 during
which I was back in Lynchburg (between living in Connecticut
and Houston, while my then-fiancée was off skipping rope and
drinking champagne overseas). All extant documentation conve-
niently glosses right on over these periods—something that was
done in order to preserve my health and avoid bringing unwant-
ed traumata to the surface. I might end up throwing together a
quick summation before leaving, but I don’t know if I am will-
ing to risk the emotional consequences. Both such periods were
largely composed of the same ingredients: my falling out with
those I considered my only friends and family in life—one after
another after another after another in rapid, soul-raping succes-
sion.
It seems odd, now, to look back on all the years that I smoked
cigarettes, being that I quit so suddenly in 2015 and never once
relapsed or had the desire to return and it seems like a world
away. I think about how different individuals will require differ-
ent motivators, incentives and threats to surmount their addic-
tions. I remember that I tried to quit smoking as early as 2008.
It was some time in the spring of 2008, and amid that vortex of
a season, as I fell head over heels in awe of the one I called Ani-
ta, I remember looking at photos of tarry lungs and weeping, es-
pecially because I wanted to live a long and healthy life with the
one I love and I didn’t wish to hurt her. So I threw my cigarettes
in a sink filled with water and cried for an hour or two after-
wards. Unfortunately it didn’t take and I had to pick up a new
pack at sunrise. There were several other times that I tried and
the incentive was sharp, poignant, but it never took. The threat
of death, and even the more immediate threat of harm to my
throat, were just not enough for me and I would always convince
THE DISSOLVING PATH 573
not better than these nominally pro-life bastards who don’t actu-
ally give two shits about life and only actually care about control.
They’ll fight abortion laws tooth and nail but then abandon the
child once it is born. They’ll prevent the sick and helpless from
dying on their own terms and do nothing to improve conditions
for the living.
just so odd to look back at my childhood and see that I was very
much the same in my disposition. Of course I am just being sil-
ly by disparaging myself, since I know all too well how I come
across to the average individual. The point is, I don’t think that
anyone who knew me at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen will be sur-
prised to learn what became of me. This fate, this outcome that
I’ve landed... it was absolutely predictable. This really gets me
thinking about Volens all the more. Oh, such a loaded topic.
I know, now, that the reward for conquering one’s inner demons
is a lifetime spent dealing with those of everyone else! And don’t
even think for a moment that you can actually help any one of
them.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 577
578 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
even pretty scenery, but just them, and I, and it doesn’t have to be
romantic; there are so many other ways to be loving. And I want
people to leave my presence feeling seen, heard and invigorated.
I want them to experience vulnerability as they’ve never experi-
enced it before, yet so do I wish for them to feel a greater sense of
control than has been known to them, for that is the reward to
come of vulnerability which is not mishandled! Thus, this vul-
nerability whereof I speak does not equate to weakness, or not
to this despicable weakness of the masses, but to the weakness
that exists naturally within ourselves, a weaknesses we are wrong
to deny, for one who cannot accurately assess their own strength
and height will not only continue to place themselves in situ-
ations that endanger themselves, typically without realizing it,
but also prevent actual growth from taking place. Oh, I just have
such an abstract but serene scene playing out in my mind. Our
humanity is rarely made the focal point, as with our Existence,
and a lot of that may have to do with the fact that... well, most
individuals are out of touch with their humanity; but then it is
also not helped by the fact that the very concept is tangled with
other concepts such as weakness and carnality. Humanity is my
spirituality, in a sense. They may not be synonymous as concepts,
but at the same time it wouldn’t feel correct to call them sepa-
rate. Oh god, I just want to do things for people—thoughtful
things—and see how it changes the very foundation on which
they walk.
I can effortlessly sit and list off hundreds of problems facing our
world, our society, within the current age, though these are but
symptoms of a condition and nearly every single one of these
problems would be done away with if and when we actually came
to value this Existence, which shall allow us to value all life,and
THE DISSOLVING PATH 581
tertorch against other albums of the age, specifically for the rea-
son that I actually sound like a performer trying to make de-
cent music. That sounds like a funny way to phrase it, since I was
always attempting as much. Yet when you look at albums like
Demon Daycare, Rifles, Man Made Clavos... there’s something
wrong with that kid... and you don’t WANT those albums to
have better fidelity, as it would rob from them in some manner,
since they were made in an underground torture chamber, and
they absolutely sound like it. I wonder if others will share my per-
spective. I think that as soon as I started to sound slightly more
‘tight’ in my performance abilities it raised the expectation for
there to be a more professional overall quality and I couldn’t sat-
isfy that...? For instance, If I had access to a studio, I could surely
improve upon Reaper Physical Place and Countertorch and other
albums created in that period, but the same cannot be said about
the insanity created in mid to late 2009. I don’t know. Over time,
I think my favorites are just shifting, and I’m starting to think
that my biggest accomplishments come from within the most re-
viled period of my output—the latter half of 2009, I mean. That
was before 2010 came around and my increasing self-awareness
paved the way for embarrassment. All in all, it’s just this weird
divide where amateur/erratic works seem to work better on low-
end equipment, while the higher the skill on display, the higher
the sensibility, the less it works with the low-fidelity. It’s a mental
association, in a sense, and I’m not sure if I have explained it in
a way that can be easily understood by my readers since I am es-
sentially just thinking out loud over here.
ing within our makeup and having a huge influence on our deci-
sion making going forward.
together as so, I fail to see it in the manner that I view the cre-
ative projects over which I have control and authority. Rather, I
feel I have been given a responsibility and am representing not
myself and my personal laws via this endeavor, but those of the
Existential fabric itself—a lofty claim if ever there was one!
In the case of Idem, there are certain voids, certain questions, cer-
tain planks that aren’t quite fitting right just yet, and it makes me
hesitant to really attempt to offer up some sort of complex ex-
planation, since I don’t really trust that I have the maturity, or
rather, I expect that I may be too invested in this particular con-
cept to really leave those voids as they are, rather than trying to
fill them in with speculation and self-serving soot. I’ll soon be
working with someone to combine resources and attempting to
improve our understanding of the matter and this should hope-
fully create for a more stable and accurate picture of exactly what
we are working with, but I don’t expect to be sharing this infor-
mation with the public.
I didn’t just sit here and create spectacles and beg or make people
feel awkward or guilty for not affirming or paying me attention
or appreciating my work. I didn’t compromise. I didn’t resort to
gimmicks or shameful displays of conceit or desperation. I main-
tained my vision and my commitment thereto. I channeled all
my hurt, how great it was, into improving, remaining consistent,
pumping out more work. I wanted to believe that if I simply kept
at it and did my best in every moment, taking every opportuni-
ty as it presented itself, that I would eventually begin to see re-
sults, but years and years have passed and it didn’t change any-
thing at all, and each successive work left me feeling less accom-
plished and not more. It was only within my private diary logs
that I was able to be wholly transparent in regards to how I ac-
tually feel, but anyone who has read even a single post from me
should have been able to sense my heartache, and I think they are
so used to just silencing and ignoring anything that makes them
uncomfortable.
I can’t do it any other way, because as I’ve said before, my ex-
perience doesn’t equate asking or begging with success.
I look around at the people that inhabit society and I see ab-
solutely no investment in their affiliations. All that they opt to
regard as family and friendship appears to me as an utter ruse;
an elaborate act that shall continue on until one or the other
becomes sufficiently frustrated. Their demeanor does not say “I
would like to get to know that person,” but “I’m here, they’re
here, let’s use each other to pass the time and then not communi-
cate otherwise,” and I am simply not about that. I am not about
such shallow, selfish interactions that add nothing to the lives of
those involved. Let us, instead, dedicate ourselves to something
worthy which benefits us and others not via pacification but via
inspiration.
who find ya first, and it can leave you feeling like your music ain’t
worth more, not worth enough for a deep dive or active discus-
sion.
way back in 2007 it was like “I’m not going to go without anyone
who doesn’t meet the following criteria for height, weight, intel-
ligence and taste.” These days I would be overjoyed if even a child
smiled at me, or I found food in the trash. My every expectation
that I carried within me for all those years was just completely
broken, shattered, and I was dropped so hard on the threshing
floor of a society which owes me nothing.
I find myself spiraling forever within a disorienting ordeal
which not only lacks input but also lacks an audience, despite
many failed attempts to actually broaden my ambit of opportu-
nity, and the result is an endless feedback loop which feeds into
a nightmare of inhuman proportions.
However, the unhealthiness of my situation isn’t to say that
my points aren’t valid or that they shouldn’t be taken into con-
sideration, providing a stark insight which I hope will be given
it’s appropriate due so that fewer people will have to struggle so
needlessly.
I am beyond the point where reparations are possible and do
not believe there is any chance that my life can be salvaged or
that my wounds can be healed. I write not in seeking after sal-
vation but in my continued attempts to affirm and console the
seekers who suffer similarly through this life.
that I had ignored all such solicitation for the reason that they al-
ways took without giving and damaged my ability to hope). I’ve
been kind, I’ve been open, and I always thought of myself as af-
fable, but it sadly doesn’t seem to have counted for anything in
this earthly existence. Even after seeing what became of my life, I
wouldn’t change my behavior, seeing as it was and is formulated
in response to what I believe to be rightful, and when one dis-
connects the outcome from the actions, I am perfectly content
with how I have conducted myself in public and in private, per-
haps with the exception of some awkwardness picked up in re-
cent years due to my isolative tendencies; but it has led to ex-
treme dissonance and derealization which is not diminishing but
growing more and more severe with age. I don’t mean to imply
anything along the lines of a psychotic detachment, but it has
certainly managed to modify my understanding of reality and
in ways that leave me feeling extremely claustrophobic and help-
less. There is certainly a dreamlike quality to my existence at this
point, though it can be very difficult to say what is the cause of
that—whether it is physical factors, such as ongoing fever and
malignancy, or if there are emotional or traumatic factors at play
(or some gruesome combination thereof—the likeliest possibili-
ty). In any case, my whole life has played out in such an unordi-
nary, dreamlike manner that it hardly seems worth acknowledg-
ing. It is like when an addict has acclimated to their substance
of choice and it becomes the new baseline, and all that would
strike others as unusual and disorienting seems so standard in my
case. I can’t really miss normalcy or comfort when I never actual-
ly knew them at all.
The ability to kill oneself (taking into account more than will-
ingness and having to do with the ability to bypass the survival
instinct) relates less to factors of satisfaction than factors of in-
vestment. In other words, I remain in place simply due to my
high levels of investment in the experience that is life. Moreover,
I have accepted that it is a responsibility, and that I am responsi-
ble for drinking every last drop within this bottle before throw-
ing that bottle away. For some, the bottle may empty at thirty,
whereas for others it may never empty. It has all to do with the
diligence with which we carry out the demands of our soul.
598 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I won’t deny the fact that my throat problems and other ongoing
factors, including my state of mind and consumption of alcohol
or opioids, had a noticeable effect on my performance
style—surely they did—but a lot of my sloppier vocals, for exam-
ple, had as much or more to do with the fact that I was pumping
out half a dozen songs on a daily basis for nearly four years with-
out pause and I wouldn’t normally give my most intense or fo-
cused performances unless I was sure of a) what I wanted to sing,
b) what vocal melody I wished to use and c) whether I would
even be adding this song to an album in the end. Therefore you
end up hearing my ‘tentative’ voice a whole lot—a sort of place-
holder style of vocals as heard commonly on the rejectamenta
and neuterocanonical collections which is basically just a loose,
lethargic mess that doesn’t really know where it’s going and is
simply hoping that a good melody comes out somewhere along
the way. Indeed, this was the worth of keeping my voice ‘loose’
and erratic, as it led me to come up with creative melodies almost
by accident—a sort of scattershot. I’m not saying that any of it
is inauthentic. Listening back to it now, I would say that it cap-
tures my state of being better than I ever intended; but I was un-
der no delusion about it being my peak performance. So it’s not
like I wasn’t capable of better. My creative strategy was essential-
ly, as I said, a scattershot: to run my mouth until something great
came of it (hence the frequent incoherent babbling). Combine
that with my lethargy and depression and it comes out sounding
THE DISSOLVING PATH 601
so many people taking art in the same way (even though I think
that most of us will agree that modern art, or what has come to
be known as “modern art” in terms of its style, is a sham of a
shame of a joke). I just think that visual art is a different beast al-
together, where the only failures are found in those who didn’t
try; and all other talent and passion is recognized—compara-
tively speaking. But then there is music, where any individual
who doesn’t immediately like my voice or the bitrate of my audio
will immediately say “This sucks,” and move on without trying to
actually gain an insight into what I mean to convey via my craft.
were, and I don’t really have any confidence that people can read-
ily distinguish between my careful, dedicated and intentful map-
ping of my inner life over three decades of time and the flaunted
flounces of foulest fucking fools.
which scares the masses shitless and ties in with my death. There
was a time in my life when I was all about that type of thing. It
has often seemed like the only means by which I felt that my suf-
fering could be justified or exorcized. I would have liked nothing
more than to slit my veins and force my sour blood down the gul-
lets of every man, woman and child who ever averted their eyes
from me. It is in this manner that I wanted to leave the world, or
it is how my emotional and irrational self wishes to take my exit.
Even now, such desires and attitude are not entirely beyond me,
for I am filled with grief and unutterable screams of a magnitude
that can not be fathomed by the fucking livestock that walks the
streets in summer fashion; however, my stated aim and purpose
in life has shifted greatly throughout the years and I have had to
overcome such impulses and temptations in the knowledge that
such selfish and erratic behavior would conflict with my acquired
knowledge on spiritual things and I feel like I am somewhat re-
stricted in my behavior due to my desire to live my life as a rep-
resentative of the spiritual revelations to which I have gained in-
sight. I would like nothing more than to descend into a self-in-
stated whirl of insanity from which I never return, speaking with
no intent of being understood, writhing and vomiting without
concern for what it does for my reputation. If it was really just
about my reputation then I wouldn’t much mind it, but I am a
representative of ideals greater than myself and I must sometimes
conform to the fact that the people will not hear what I have to
say if I should not conform to their idea of someone worth heed-
ing (although when has it ever actually worked for me?).
My kindergarten had pizza day every Friday. It was the only day
we ate in the cafeteria, from what I recall, since most days we just
ate from our lunch boxes in the classroom. I had a blue Power
Rangers lunch box to match my blue Power Rangers backpack.
And then I would have to sit there during pizza lunch surround-
ed by all the gross boys as they turned their eyelids inside out and
burped on cue while I would be staring at the girls at the next
table over wondering which one I would marry. I never went
through a ‘girls have cooties’ stage and was fixated on love and
marriage since the age of four, if not earlier.
The only times within my life in which I was not utterly mis-
erable are when I was cut off from all interaction and slaving
over work, having managed to convince myself that this work
would change my fate, my outreach, my renown. It is those times,
THE DISSOLVING PATH 613
this fact, since so many may look at me and think that my being
ascetic (and asexual) somehow makes me a damn droid devoid
of desire. Where I have succeeded is in not allowing it to alter my
course. Yes, it may trouble me, and indeed it does (as these di-
aries indicate), but it has not stifled my ability to express my soul
and my willingness to keep on my path despite the resistance, ig-
norance and opposition I have known always from start to end.
all too well the shallowness of our own boasts and moans. This
goes to show just one of the many ways in which our dishon-
esty, how simple it seems to us in our little spheres of irrespon-
sibility, can come with extremely harmful and far-reaching rami-
fications for society as a whole, spreading from person to person
like a damn pandemic which eats away at our paradigm and at
the very meaning of humanity by way of our perceptions there-
of. It is simply the standard that we expect everyone else to share
in our motivations and thought processes, and the fact that we
are rarely so transparent about our own processes with the pub-
lic does nothing for this erroneous knowledge derived from im-
pulse. Our fears and suspicions, especially on the social level,
thus serve as windows into our own deficiencies or faults.
For example, I am clearly fixated on judgment, and while I
have evolved beyond being subject to its control, it cannot be de-
nied that I am a very judgmental individual myself, with the na-
ture of my analytical rants often putting myself through the same
processes through which I put other people simply (or largely)
so that I can eradicate all potentiality of being adjudged guilty by
others in the same manner that I adjudge them guilty.
project itself. It makes us feel better about ourselves and our po-
tentiality/complacency. I don’t know that this is a conscious dri-
ve, but I do believe that it plays a role in what the masses latch
onto.
I previously referred to escapism and the fact that the lines be-
tween reality and fantasy used to be a lot clearer, being delin-
eated by stages and screens. It is not as simple as saying that es-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 619
capism has become more prevalent over time: our means of es-
cape have melded with reality in ways that have created for some
alarming chimera lacking all distinction and in which people are
never truly present in objective reality unless putting forward a
conscious and highly concentrated effort. The masses are so ea-
ger and excited for leaps in technology, being desperate for any-
thing that will numb their pain and boredom, and I am honest-
ly so glad that I won’t be here as virtual reality becomes more
widespread and advanced in application. It’s not something I am
looking forward to at all—not that I am incapable of appreciat-
ing such advances in technology on their own, but knowing full
well what it will mean for a population devoid of all sensibility
and self-government.
The only thing more difficult than putting oneself out there is to
put everything out there and receive zero acknowledgment. That
ain’t even a spoiled and entitled way of asking “Why ain’t I as
famous as I should be?!” while all the while still having at least
620 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
sure. It is simply the intensity that comes from the interaction be-
tween the greater and lesser paradigms. The greed, the violence,
the suffering, the animal cruelty and so much more—it’s not that
these things escape our attention as a population, but from my
position they become magnified beyond what is bearable. After
a lifetime of aspiring to become conscious, caring, capable, it re-
ally feels like a person wasn’t built to know such an experience,
experiencing the greater and lesser paradigms simultaneously. I
do not regret my path, nor do I regret my victory, and I would
not trade this awareness for anything at all, but I will not force
a smile when circumstances call for tears. I am tired, so tired,
though I have not yet received my allowance to rest.
And now I’ve spent my final years on earth feeling I must make
excuses for my authenticity. How ridiculous it seems when word-
ed as so! Though one should not overlook the fact that this has
less to due with my attempts to defend my reputation as an in-
dividual and more to do with my attempts to defend the reputa-
tion of the ideals and the methods that I espouse, knowing that
they could change the world and life as we know it if only they
can make it past the biases and the false knowledge inhabiting
the brains of the populace. If it were really about me as an in-
dividual, I have no qualms about appearing insane. That would
suck, surely it would, since I am not insane, but then again I
know that the misguided masses of society are probably more in-
trigued by the insane than by whatever is the reality of my per-
622 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
son and so it’s not like it would bear any effect on my poten-
tial to be heard. I imagine it would be quite freeing to simply ac-
cept all of that and live my life being as erratic and unintelligi-
ble as I willed. Yet in allowing that to be my legacy I am disre-
specting all those who have suffered similar circumstances in life,
be it physical, emotional or spiritual, and I want to offer them a
hope, a message, and perhaps a stunning 24”x32” poster (haha)
even if it means having to be a little more careful about where I
piss and spit. I make it sound like it’s such a burden, a sacrifice,
yet it’s much the same in concept as my being unwilling to be a
jerk or act on my negative and unwholesome impulses; it’s about
being unselfish and considering how my actions in life are en-
couraging or preventing others from accessing information that
might aid them in their own growth. I think that that is part
of what made the Tendon Levey years so amusing for me: I got
to be as wild and as ridiculous as I willed to be without paying
any mind to how it affected my legacy (although a more accu-
rate way of framing it would be to say that I actually wished for
madness to become my legacy, having prioritized a good story
over my responsibility to the population). In those years I had
fully embraced the idea of myself as being both mad and rotten:
a dangerous and amoral creature whose only obligation was to
howl at the plenilune. I wasn’t nearly as analytical in that time,
opting to force myself into certain molds and modes of behavior
rather than actually attempting to discover my inclination. That’s
what made that period so strange, dark and... blind. I was treat-
ing emotion and behavior as some decisions to be made rather
than as extant and irrefutable characteristics—a strange byprod-
uct of all my egomorphotic and traumaturgic meddling, I sup-
pose. It was oh so much easier to look myself in the mirror and
tell myself that I am “evil” and “tragic” and “lacking in restraints”
and whatever else I saw fit to think of myself than to actually sit
THE DISSOLVING PATH 623
myself down, wipe off the war paints and actually assess the hurt
in my eyes for what it was and what it was trying to say.
What do the masses seek after if not truth, if not the light of
real reality? Our society is replete with escapists and delusionists
seeking to see their ideals reflected back at them. They gravitate
toward music and entertainment that makes them feel ‘sexy’ and
‘powerful’ and all the things they envision of themselves (and
often without warrant). And then there is art and music which
does just the opposite in that it is more likely to remind us of our
vulnerabilities and animal natures and all of the things we are
trying to avoid in our lives. I would place my own work into this
camp. It isn’t simply that it is ‘dark’. The masses don’t mind ‘dark’,
after all, inasmuch as it can convey that sense of power that they
are so after—something readily found in the likes of metal, in-
dustrial and similar genres. It wasn’t that I was too dark for them.
It was that no one could possibly listen to what I’ve created and
see in it their ideal. Ah, but I say all of this as if I’ve had my work
rejected outright by the whole of the world, when that is quite
a distorted view of things perpetuated by mine own distraught
emotions. I’ve had a miserable experience, sure, but the problem,
as I imagine, is not about being disliked or rejected outright so
624 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Each night I turn to her and say “You’re all I have, but you’re all I
need.”
I cannot tell you how much they have hurt me. I cannot describe
the hurt. I cannot describe the way my body shakes upon waking.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 625
people worth chasing after, I must derive all pleasure from these
narratives i concoct.
even once over my words or fail to disguise the fact that I am fun-
damentally an awkward and uneducated outsider and that some-
times I put my foot in my mouth or behave in ways that demon-
strate my lack of understanding.
I don’t think people would believe how little it would have taken
for me to be ‘helped’ but how rare it was for me to get even a
modicum of support from the outside.
to confusion. Ah, but this is beside the point that I had original-
ly set out to make and I am much too tired to go back and start
again.
Many will ignore those who are in need under the assumption
that they’ll just find help somewhere else, yet what they fail to
632 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The problem, as I see it, is not that my methods were wrong, but
that the structure of society and, as a consequence, humanity, is
built upon a framework which does not permit such processes
and ends as those to which I have committed myself. It’s like liv-
638 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Such claims [regarding the notion that fame and influence are
so easily achieved by anyone and everyone in the modern era
due to advances in technology and social media algorithms] can
be extremely discouraging and even delegitimizing to those, like
myself, who ultimately fail to find an audience for my work. I
tend to view social media as I would a sort of prostitute who of-
fers to gratify anyone that pays them appropriately. In a world so
THE DISSOLVING PATH 639
I suppose I was never able to come to terms with the fact that
kicking a ball and living a fake, dishonest existence gains you the
respect and adulation of the world while all my efforts to be-
come something honest and honorable have only amounted to
a life of opposition and despisal, like some madman who ought
640 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
not exist in the same room as the pretties and their parties. As I
said previously, I labored for all of these years with the expecta-
tion that a different outcome awaited me. That isn’t to delegit-
imize the earnestness of my efforts, as it doesn’t change anything
about my motivations; however, it never truly occurred to me
that my attempts to improve myself and become a better, more
conscious person could actually damage my relationship with so-
ciety. I mean... isn’t it sensible to expect as much from a society
which purports to respect truth and honesty? Of course I realize
now that that is all a meaningless ruse, as are most of the self-es-
timations that drip off the tongues of the uninspired population
which is made up of those who would sooner consult their go-
nads than their heart and ‘soul’.
One of the most important things I can do... one of the most im-
portant things that I can create with my time... is affirmations.
Each experience that I share with an audience is, to me, like one
less excuse that a person has to feel lonely and isolated. It is a pos-
itive aspect to experiencing new depths of misery, because with
each floor that falls beneath me, I am able to reap a new offer-
ing which can hopefully reach and console and affirm an all-new
demographic that would not be reached by any other means. It
is this line of thinking that has gotten me through a lifetime so
dark and disturbed. I know from firsthand experience how much
it changes my experience, however negative it may seem, when I
know that others have endured something similar and that I am
not alone in my experience of this life, whether does that have
to do with suffering or even ideals, ambitions and joys. And it is
not enough to say “You’re not alone.” That’s not different than
saying “Don’t be so selfish as to think that out of billions of peo-
ple you’re the only one to experience such and such.” That may
sound objective to you, but even if it is accepted by the individ-
ual as an objective idea, it is... well, it’s impersonal and cold and
can’t be applied to anything on the personal level, such as our
emotions.
They think they can neglect, abuse and ignore you all they want,
and then when you pull back they can sit there and say “There
THE DISSOLVING PATH 651
ignorant and errant and vulnerable as are all humans then I will
cherish my torment as truth.
It’s difficult for me, as someone who has read hundreds if not
thousands of notes from those l whose loved ones have killed
themselves, or as someone who is surely aware of how we speak
of and venerate deceased artists and musicians and talk tall, “Oh,
if only they were still with us,” “I wish I could give them a hug,”
“It shouldn’t have ended this way for them.” And I internalized
all of these statements and I allowed them to motivate me to
continue living long past my breaking point, because it would
have taken so little—just a little ray of light, just a little smile, a
little kindness, just a little acknowledgment of my efforts at be-
ing a decent human, a courageous explorer, an artist at the van-
guard, an insightful individual, what have you; and it’s so hard
to imagine that people will only appreciate me when I’m gone,
if ever at all, and so I tried my damnedest to stick around and
put up a fight, but I only feel more invisible, more disregarded
and disliked with every effort, every act, every online bulletin
that garners not a single low-effort reaction after I have dedicated
hundreds of hours to careful, impassioned assembly. It’s so hard
to be aware of how these things work... and to know that it made
no difference, apart from making me feel foolish.
There was this guy in my youth group who was insistent that
the face of a demon appeared in his microwave one day, reached
out and grabbed him by his shirt collar in an attempt to ‘pull
him in’. He then went on about how his shirt was left with wrin-
654 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The first song ought to start the album off strong on a note that
should set the tone for the whole album. Is it weird, beautiful,
intense? The first song must embody that tone and do it well.
An album need not be a literal concept album in terms of a sto-
ryline for it to be arranged in a meaningful and semi-concep-
tual order. All of my stuff is sequenced in such an order that is
most conducive to a semi-conceptual narrative. The second song
is there to say “Here is some variety, just so you know that it ain’t
all gonna be like the first song.” The third song, in my experience,
often follows the first in terms of tone. Of course this doesn’t
apply when the first track is an intro, in which case everything
THE DISSOLVING PATH 659
It’s not about talent. Not even relatability. It’s all fashion. That’s
all it is. Every entitled twat that can point a camera wants a piece
of the pie. Talent used to feel like currency; like precious jewels.
662 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Now I know it means nothing in itself. The people only want you
if they can wear you, if they can share you.
that’s the thing about my music: they’re all incidents. This ain’t
songwriting. These are my attempts to convey what is taking
place and putting it into words and melodies and whatever other
communicable means. I would say that such talents relate to my
extrapolative ability, which is central to my lifestyle and mysti-
cism (as in the ability to form abstract connections between two
seemingly disparate systems and apply the principles from one
to another). The standard of the music industry is that songs
are written and rehearsed and performed to perfection. That was
never my practice. I would go into it without a melody or even an
idea and whatever came out was what came out. And it wouldn’t
take me more than a half hour at a time. Some may think that the
lack of time devoted to any individual piece speaks to a lack of
emotional investment or somehow cheapens the inherent mean-
ing, but that is a ridiculous conclusion. A child is conceived in
less time than that.
Sometimes when I speak in favor of improvisation I wonder
if it seems to degrade the intention and meaningfulness behind
the music, as many seem to equate meaning with tedious and
perfectionistic mapping and I don’t agree with that at all. I would
often set aside about thirty minutes to record a song, and in that
time I would pour out everything that I had into that perfor-
mance. Nothing half-assed about that. A very firework-like ap-
proach. Come at it at full intensity and then recognize that it is
done, complete in itself, a moment of emotion that has come and
gone and must now be sealed. If I keep opening it back up for
edits then it ceases to reflect a moment and becomes some talent
exhibition, rather than a diary, and that’s when it stops becoming
fun for me.
Then on that same album you have “A Toast” which I just
find to be absolutely chilling, especially in being placed toward
the end of Demon Daycare, since it acts as a prelude to the win-
664 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Oh, I used to love eating in the middle of the night. I would al-
ways eat cookies or snacks or whatever we had on hand and then
return to bed. Always gave me great dreams. I had a whole draw-
er under my old bed (in Londonberry) that was filled with oat-
meal cream pies and the like. Haven’t done that in many years
now, sadly, though it was once the standard. I don’t know why it
comes to mind. I miss it. And in New Jersey I would just go and
drink from the faucet in the bathroom and it tasted so good in
the middle of the night. I don’t like the Virginia tap water and
refuse to drink it, so I haven’t had tap water in a very long time.
It’s like no one has any interest in learning and growing on their
own time. After graduating they tend to shrink back into their
monotonous lives, feeling they’ve earned the right to discontin-
ue all meaningful development. When not working, there is no
drive or motivation to pick up a project. All they can do is take
a break. And then on the weekends all the muppets can be seen
outside mowing their lawns like it’s the only thing they know
how to do with themselves apart from watch television (unless
it’s Sunday, in which case they can all gather around like zombies
in their pews and praise a fictional character for its promise to
save them from their lives... oh the fucking horror that we are liv-
ing).
It is surreal to see society celebrating the kind and honest acts ex-
hibited by certain celebrities while demonizing or simply failing
to acknowledge the kindness of others. It is so odd and disori-
enting, if you take it at face value: if you trust that the masses are
actually celebrating the particular qualities of which they sing.
It is sadly the case that special circumstances or status are typ-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 669
willing to speak up and tell them that they called me over. This
was always happening. And it sort of scarred me to know that
people saw me in this way. When you’re so unsocialized you are
really forced to rely on the idea that your peers know better than
you when it comes to what is permissible and I think that it was
really easy to manipulate and abuse me in that way because I was
so trusting. Like, if they said that this is the way the world works,
I wouldn’t normally question that estimation. I could take that
information and I can decide that I agree with it or I oppose it,
but I didn’t have the means to really say if it was true, at its base.
And I wonder how this plays into my personal typological pro-
file.
from impulse in this case, and when you’re alone for most of your
life it is simply not a train of thought that you’re used to enter-
taining... even if you’re constantly deluding yourself (which is no
less common in aloneness, though it is still not a conscious af-
fair). There aren’t many reasons to concoct lies when I am on my
own. And what this has done is it has really removed ‘deception’
from my instincts altogether. While I love the thought of that, I
do also think that it has made me unreasonably gullible and will-
ing to believe that all others are fundamentally like myself, even
if I wouldn’t say that out loud or necessarily believe that ratio-
nally (I clearly don’t believe it). And then when I meet with oth-
ers, I experience this overwhelming disgust to find that they are
working off of this dishonest system to which they have adapted
in order to survive society. It is tragic. It is horrid.
There’s also the fact that the conformists of the current year re-
semble the individualists of yesteryear and that always throws me
off when determining relations. I am so clueless as to trends. I re-
member when I met my ex, and I just didn’t realize the degree to
which she was a product of her age. Colored hair was still semi-
unusual when I was young and you’d remember those who had
it. I had purple hair as a teenager. There was a girl in my town
who had blue hair. And if you went to a punk show you might
see something. But it was uncommon, and though that may have
something to say about my geographic region, it’s also quite ob-
vious that it has become more commonplace.
birthday hits and go out and live a normal life? There are conse-
quences to all acts. The entirety of my childhood hinged on the
belief that ‘the world is evil’, ‘the world is ending soon’ and ‘God
will take us’. It’s funny how something can seem so fucking nor-
mal to you if it’s what you were raised with, to the point where
even if you stopped believing as you did more than a decade ago,
it still doesn’t come naturally to really take a step back and re-
alize the abuse that you were put through. It makes me so up-
set. I wasn’t taught anything except to trust some fairytale. They
failed me. They failed me so miserably that I can hardly compre-
hend it. And each year, as I take another step back from it all,
I am able to take more and more of it in, seeing my upbringing
for what it was, and I am so dismayed I can hardly think to con-
vey it. My fate was entrusted to fools and fantasists who failed
to approach this life with the respect that it deserves, and by the
time I was able to see straight I had already destroyed my body.
And not necessarily just because I was stupid, but because when
everything is taken from you in life, and every part of yourself is
challenged and denied, there is nothing in the world that seems
more important than expressing that self in whatever the way it
is asking to be expressed. There were years of my life wherein self-
expression trumped even health in terms of importance. I would
have rather died than keep my mouth closed, and I really haven’t
moved far from that mindset, if any at all, although I’ve found
ways to go about it more sensibly and not see everything as black
and white, either/or.
I feel so much compassion for the children being reared un-
der such an abusive and heinous system. It has influenced the
manner in which I approach the topic of religion. I don’t wish to
ever be seen as some type of Marilyn Manson or Aleister Crow-
ley who appears to the masses like some antichristian symbol and
appeals only to those who are on one side of the line. My terri-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 673
tory is, itself, that line; that point of questioning; that point of
deconstructing; and those are the people to whom I cater with
my tone—the people who are lost and questioning. I just think
about my child self, and how I lived so long on that line... I am
positively antitheistic, although i see myself as more beholden to
the agnostic and “doubting” crowd. The ones who are unwilling
to treat belief or the lack thereof as a fashion accessory and re-
ally wish to analyze everything objectively and with sensitivity,
not closing themselves off, not giving way to sensationalistic at-
titudes. I guess I just hope that I can be seen as a friend to those
who are searching, and deconstructing, and questioning. I don’t
really care if they believe as I do. That is secondary to my wish-
ing that they can have a friend who doesn’t leave them feeling
judged and damned or pressured to follow the opinions of the
crowd. I only wish to make the alone feel less alone. I only wish
to make the lost feel less lost. I only wish for all to know that
there is no greater wisdom than in admitting you don’t know. So
many people seem to hate that uncertainty! And I can’t fathom
it, personally, because I am some freak who thrives in vulnerabili-
ty, nakedness and uncertainty, as it makes me feel truly alive, tru-
ly true. I just believe that we can’t really be anything apart from
vulnerable and uncertain, on an objective scale, and we spend
our whole lives in denial of our nature if to sate our immediate
need for security. I haven’t done anything unusual. I have simply
refused to hide from what I am, where hiding from ourselves has
become the standard in this society. And so it is not some weird
masochism that leads to these feelings of elation. This elation is
the result of facing my nature as a vulnerable and ignorant be-
ing and anything which tells me otherwise about myself hurts my
relationship with reality. Oh, I’m going off on a tangent! I also
have a growth mindset, so I’ve never been threatened by what I
lack, be it certainty or knowledge, because my response thereto is
674 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I can’t help but look at what I’ve become and wonder to myself:
if I was able to become all of this as someone with so much
against him, I wonder what I could have become if I was loved
by the people. Could I have risen even higher, or is that not how
it works?
I still recall many of the dreams that I had as a child. It’s amazing
that they’ve stayed with me so long when there are some days
where I can hardly recall the dream that just took place five min-
utes earlier.
In one dream I recall driving down the street next to my
house and getting into a car accident. Following the impact, I left
my body and floated slowly into the sky and the guy who crashed
into me stepped out of his car and looked up at me as I float-
ed away. I'll never forget how creepy it was as he turned his head
slowly, and he had the creepiest look in his eyes and his mouth
was ajar.
I was often jumping off of my backyard fort and flying. I
don’t really get flying dreams as an adult, but it seems to me that
I had a fair amount of them as a child.
I recall a woman stabbing me repeatedly in the back as I was
walking around in my yard at night time (en route to my cellar).
The night was so still, and she approached me in the dark, cry-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 675
ing. I tried to find her help, and then she began to stab, and she
kept crying while she did it, not saying anything. And I still re-
member the strange feeling of the knife as or stabbed me. It was
a unique sensation that has remained with me. It was cold, but
that was not the defining feature.
There was one dream that featured Patch, which refers to a
Speedy Gonzalez doll that I owned as a child. He was alive in my
dream, but he was dying, and I had to open him up and sacrifice
my childhood ‘blankey’ to save his life, which needed to be put
into a compartment within his back to keep him cold or some
such. It would recharge him. I don’t think that I was able to save
him. It was very sad at the time. I must have been five years old at
the time. All of this took place on my Pine Hill deck (within the
dream).
I always recall this one dream that depicted this amazing
world. I would liken it to a mall due to how it was set up, but it
wasn’t really a mall at all. It was so surreal. And I vividly recall be-
ing on the second level and stepping into this huge Frankenstein
mouth. And that image, that scene, has always remained with
me. There were weird tunnels to walk through... tubes... every-
thing was purple and green and dizzying.
I recall one dream in which I went down into the cellar of
my New Jersey home. There were often monsters and demons
throwing a party in the cellar. They let me into the party, and at
one point I remember going to a closet (which did not exist in
reality) and opening the door to find the closet packed full with
demons that were stacked one on top of the other and all wedged
in. The demons then simultaneously reached out their hands and
pulled me in, and it was unforgettably creepy. All of the afore-
mentioned dreams are from around the ages of five, six and sev-
en, from what I can recall.
676 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Oh, and let’s not forget the infamous ‘chugga chugga’ dream.
I once dreamt that I was standing within an oversized crib, which
was located in some verdant outdoors picnic-type area, although
the area was somewhat walled in. All was very still and quiet,
with no one else around. And I stood there in my crib awaiting...
awaiting something. Then I heard it faintly in the distance:
“Chugga chugga chugga chugga chugga...” It was not the sound
of a train, but actual words being uttered, chanted, in a most sin-
ister monotony by multiple individuals in unison. It continued,
growing louder and louder and faster and suddenly, as it peaked,
four or so figures, resembling the Banana Splits cast, turned the
corner, entering into my field of vision, and immediately fired
some type of weapon in my direction, causing me to wake up
then and there.
There was a brief period in my youth during which I had a
bunk bed. This was before I had my awesome loft bed built. I
would typically sleep on the top, and sometimes my father would
come in and sleep on the bottom and I would have all of these
dreams (and possibly even some hallucinations) about a black
gas seeping up from the bottom bunk and coming up through
the head of my bed. At the time I thought of it like Hexxus from
Ferngully. This must have happened more than once.
Vomit
Jump
Speak
Sing
Yell
Walk
Dance
Exercise
Use the computer
Create art
Play instruments
Play games
Go outside
Shower
Breathe freely
At this point I’m just happy that I can orgasm again. And as
long as I am still able to type out my thoughts, I am fine. The
ability to do so waxes and wanes on the daily and will be lost if I
should do anything stupid from the above list, but I have some-
times gone months at a time without compromising my ability
to write and that is wonderful. What sucks about all of this is
that I now get angry with myself if I slip up and do anything that
will upset my condition, like turning my head the wrong way
(which upsets my vertigo), or recently I had to turn a spigot in
my bedroom wall to cut off the water flow in the house and the
specific muscular movements required of this task left me unable
to write for most of the day, and it’s unfair to me that I get so
down on myself whenever I do these basic things like sniff too
hard or clear my throat. These feel like such huge fuck-ups on my
part due to how I’ve had to become extremely carefully and train
myself, and it’s a shame that I so often feel like a failure for not
678 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
being able to do things that most, if not all people, would be un-
able to do.
I think that the biggest reality check I’ve had in terms of the art
world, or just society in general, is that... well, it’s natural for a
THE DISSOLVING PATH 679
Ever since I was a child, I just loved the idea of store supplies.
Every holiday season, while compiling my infamously detailed
Christmas lists (which laid everything out on tables sectioned off
by price, type, location and priority and ultimately took the fun
out of the holidays for my parents) I would visit the websites of
THE DISSOLVING PATH 681
and opposition, there isn’t really part of me that can imagine that
changing. However, it progresses beyond bitterness after a while,
entering into the territory of disorientation and derealization. I
wouldn’t call myself bitter, but dizzy. Nothing makes sense. I’ve
resided here in Dizzyland for a long time, fighting the patterns
in place in order to deliver what I see as meaningful content to a
world that doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Maybe it’s a code
to crack. Or maybe I’m just plain wrong in my assessments. In
any case I shall press on and I shall do so until the curtains catch.
Oh, the walks that I used to take between 2004 and 2006! I’ve
spoken previously about how I used to go for midnight walks. At
the time I lived on Londonberry, which is in Forest, Virginia. It’s
a nice little neighborhood—probably outside of our price range
if not for the fact that we were renting our house from overseas
missionaries (which is also the reason why we moved out when
THE DISSOLVING PATH 685
this world in which it seems that the ignorant and the sociopath-
ic rule... therefore it isn’t something that you hear people talk-
ing up. But it is so, so necessary to experiencing a full and satis-
fying relationship with one’s existence. And don’t be a fool that
confuses emotionality for emotional intelligence and empathy.
I’ve already had enough negative comments to make about all
that. I don’t believe that anyone is naturally emotionally intelli-
gent or empathetic. This may be argued, but I don’t see why it
should be seen as any different from the accepted idea that no
one is inherently wise. The element of experience is indispensable
to such characteristics, and when I speak of experience I do not
speak of experience alone, as experience in itself achieves noth-
ing, being no more than an opportunity, and it is the actions that
we take in response to that experience that determine the out-
come. Wisdom and empathy are byproducts of experience, ap-
plication and intention, forming the applied versions of intelli-
gence and emotional intelligence respectively. To think that you
are naturally empathetic on the basis that you cry when others
cry is utterly naïve and speaks to nothing but a lack of self-oth-
ers distinction. What is the best way to develop emotional intel-
ligence? Man, that’s a difficult question to answer, even for me. It
is natural to think that suffering is a leading aid, but even I, my-
self, went for many years angry and bitter and intent on causing
harm and destruction. It was a slow growth rather than rapid...
happening over many years, and so I can’t even pinpoint when it
started or how. Through constant analysis of myself, and through
honesty and openness unto myself, I somehow found my way.
Though I wasn’t always as I am now. It took a lot of dedicated
effort and introspection. Even in my musical discography mu-
sic you can hear frequent overtones of “When I get out of this
cell I’m going to destroy the world for what it did to me,” so to
speak. It seems strange to even reflect back on that at this point,
690 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I’ve known many who express discontent with the way that so-
ciety works, are disappointed with their life and are flirting with
outre interests like the occult, yet grow uncomfortable when it
comes to making the necessary changes or stepping out of their
comfort zone. They’re the worst to me, although that may on-
ly be because they’re the ones who are most often attracted to
me, and I to them, and the result is nothing but frustrating, since
they would appear to have the answers, yet they lack the resolve
or the courage to actually follow through with what they know
692 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
to be true, and they spend their whole lives using their discon-
solation as a way to inflate their sense of superiority or pat their
complacent selves on the back. ‘Seeking’ isn’t seen as a real valid
solution to them but treated as another distraction with which
to fill their time and make themselves feel productive. Philoso-
phy then only ends up becoming an aesthetic for them; a means
of self-consolation. I dare say that this describes the majority of
those that you will find in occult and philosophical circles. They
speak the language, they read the books, yet there is no sense for
exploration. That’s because, at its base, their interest has less to
do with liberation than pacification. They’re timid things who
want to win the jackpot without being willing to put in their bets
and risk their chips and so their life becomes one big self-con-
solatory fantasy of power and they will do no more than parrot
the words of great men and revolutionaries before them. Go look
at any philosophy video on YouTube and I can almost guarantee
that an overwhelming majority of the comments will be made up
by people simply tossing out hardly-relevant quotes by history’s
thinkers, and I grimace to imagine that their minds are so thor-
oughly fooled at this point that they even experience a sense of
reward and chemical satisfaction when this quote garners posi-
tive approval, as if their mind now believes that this quote says
anything about them whatsoever, unconsciously taking credit for
the labors of others. To them I deliver a dull and cynical “Con-
gratulations,” or, in their language, “Squawk.”
animals, and then write out a list of our top fifty or so. I wonder
if this contributed at all to my interests and habits as an adult.
I love Countertorch and all, but seeing as it’s the only album with-
in my repertoire that has actually attracted any sort of atten-
tion in all the years I’ve been public (and by “attention” I don’t
mean anything more significant than receiving thirty listeners
over the usual zero), I have naturally grown somewhat frustrat-
ed. Notwithstanding my tendency to rank it so highly, hearing
someone else claim it to be their favorite just sounds like those
people who say their favorite Pokémon is Pikachu, and I’m over
here thinking “Okay, awesome. That’s a good one and all, but
have you actually listened to the other ones? Have you actual-
ly listened to more than eighteen tracks from my 2,500+ track
discography? Because while it may arguably be my most pol-
ished, it isn’t so utterly distinguished from the rest of my discog-
raphy to where I would expect an overwhelming majority vot-
ing for it. I hope not, anyway. I just think it would be cool to see
everyone having their own favorites and tastes all across the spec-
trum.
with a more common and established style I could have not only
made more music, but also gained more fame and... also not lost
my voice. It’s just not difficult to build upon already-established
style of music. I honestly don’t regret my path. It’s just interesting
to think about how I may have had a lot more to show for myself
if I hadn’t been so concerned with following my individual vi-
sion. I could have done anything and I chose the path that would
end up isolating and destroying me... and I did so not for any rea-
sons so masochistic, but because it liberated the silenced parts of
myself. Really, I couldn’t be happier with my output, and I think
my satisfaction with it has increased in time, especially after all of
the neuterocanonical and rejectamenta releases which really put
my body of work into perspective all the more. These types of
musings are simply inevitable in a case like mine, so please don’t
take all of the regretful comments for more than they are worth.
It doesn’t matter who you are or what you created: when you suf-
fer such a significant setback as I did with the loss of my voice
(and the subsequent failure on my part to achieve any recogni-
tion for what I had created) you can not possibly go without
imagining all of the alternative scenarios that might have been
possible.
Integrity, for me, isn’t just about being some unrealistic buffoon
and holding on to impracticable ideals or values. Integrity, as a
concept, has both a defensive and offensive element, as should
any stance. And ‘offense’ is not just about saying “Fuck you, I’m
right and you’re wrong.” It is also, or more so, about making sure
that you do absolutely everything that you can within your pow-
er to ensure the health of that which you value. For example, I
care deeply about my creations. Integrity, in my case, means that
I’m going to fight for their longevity over fighting for my own
THE DISSOLVING PATH 697
whims. It’s about finding the exact spot where you’ve done ab-
solutely all you can to ensure that something will work; and if
it doesn’t end up working, then it’s because it wasn’t meant to
go any further. People may very well end up looking at my story
and thinking “Well, he could have done more with himself,” but
I did as much as I could manage without parting with the indi-
vidual components that make my life worth living. Integrity also
refers to specific parts of the self: the parts that make you you.
The parts that make life worth living. It does not seem correct to
say “I won’t use red when I usually use green. I have integrity.” In-
tegrity is not, or shouldn’t, synonymous without basic stubborn-
ness and unwillingness to change or adapt. There’s nothing hon-
orable about that and let’s stop pretending otherwise. Integri-
ty relates to what is literally integral, as the name connotes. So
could I have made compromises that might have ensured that I
would have received more exposure and respect (and also poten-
tially lived a longer life)? I think so. It’s not like I exhausted all
known options. However, I did as much as I possibly could while
keeping alive the integral parts of myself that made this life so
worth living. And to have done any more in an effort to keep
myself alive... it wouldn’t have been worth it, as I would have
been out what so made it worthwhile. It’s a tricky thing to deter-
mine, because there are countless times in our lives where we sim-
ply don’t know what’s best for ourselves or otherwise misjudge
and grossly underestimate our ability to adapt and find new loves
and interests, so I’m not speaking of something so superficial. I
might attempt to relate it to the Volens, but that doesn’t make
it any easier to judge since there is still no objective, child-proof
method of differentiating Volens from learned behaviors.
698 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
It’s very difficult to look out and see so many people attempting
to popularize (and defensively so, I might add) the idea that it
is wrong or weak to be ‘nice’ and kind to others and that we
need to stifle our caring thoughts and behaviors. There are so
many wrong messages being put out, and it is doubly frustrat-
ing to me, not just because I believe in the importance of kind-
ness—though not to a degree that connotes fakeness or entails
‘silencing the self ’ in the process—but then you also have the
fact that it has never really netted me any positive results to have
lived in such a way, and so that causes all of this to sting even
more so. I don’t intend to change my ways in conforming to a
sick standard, however. I just want to know that there are more
people like myself who are committed to benevolent motivations
and behaviors and won’t give in to these defensive rationaliza-
tions of virtue and goodness when this is how we perpetuate
suffering and negativity in the world. We need to break the cy-
cle. We NEED to break the cycle. Defense rationalizations have
combined with the profit motive to create an outcome that is
truly apocalyptic in its implications and there must be those of
us who are willing to prioritize the stability of tomorrow over the
stopgaps of today.
when it’s the other way around and people contact me at a ‘bad
time’ and I’ll have to give a reason, then I don’t hear back despite
my attempt to be kind and let them know it’s not their fault be-
cause perhaps my struggle to type in my condition. And I’ll nev-
er know what they think... does my tendency to always provide
reasoning get filed under “excuses” by them and make it sound il-
legitimate even though I was only saying that to stave off any po-
tentiality that they would take it personally or speculate?
There is a large area at issue which goes up under the right side
of my rib cage and I’ve described it as a baseball in the area of my
floating ribs which distends with straining, coughing and gas. It
feels like an extra rib. Is it hard, soft, I can’t say, ‘cause I’ve nev-
er really just pushed or palpated it... not with the roughness that
a doctor might. It doesn’t feel like a bone, though it doesn’t feel
like what people imagine of a hernia either... it’s not like oh a lit-
tle gopher popped out of a hole now let’s push him back in, ha-
hahaha. It feels like a fucking elongate plate and acts more like a
swelling than a herniation, yet it spreads. I would have suspect-
ed liver enlargement or something of that nature if it weren’t for
a total absence of symptoms related to liver and kidney prob-
lems. Always wondered how Kratom could affect those organs,
but like I said, I don’t really have any symptoms of liver or kid-
ney failure, to my knowledge. Also, it’s not like this mass just ap-
peared gradually over time, being a pretty direct consequence of
my 2013 injury, which I’ve described as a rapid twisting of the
torso. What scares me mostly is its effect on my diaphragm and
surrounding organs.
702 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
There is an anguish that comes from such a state; to feel the suf-
fering of all Essence so strongly and to be in no position and with
no allowance to do anything about it. I could embrace them only
to be pushed away. I could weep for them only to be mocked. I
don’t imagine that my estimation of my own condition and sit-
uation will ever be accepted by society at large, or at least not
its more ‘rational’ factions, being that it builds upon a whole
host of decidedly metaphysical postulates and ideas. And I still
don’t know how to explain the actual dynamics of what is oc-
curring within myself except to point toward the fact that it ap-
pears to have arisen from my present paradigmatic configuration.
If what I am saying is true, then it seems to me like such a po-
sition should come with some inherent power, except one must
consider how little influence consciousness actually has within
the population, being that most consciousness is... well, ‘uncon-
scious’, and the majority of the thoughts within our minds are
being written off or entirely missed on a minutely basis. This out-
come has left me feeling not powerful, but intensely weak. It’s
difficult to say aloud, since I really want to talk it up and paint
it to be some classic victory in the way that people would un-
derstand; and it is a victory indeed, but I can’t imagine that the
world will readily grasp its many shades and nuances.
it would always get me giddy and feeling the need to tell some-
body.
truth and purity and concepts. This is surely not what I mean to
imply, although I don’t doubt that some might accuse me of this.
The thing that you must understand about all of these emotion-
ally-charged analyses is that they are fueled not by pomposity but
by a desperation to grasp the dynamics of my circumstances and
put my weeping heart at ease. So many of the conclusions that I
reach to in my desperation belong in the rubbish bin, and their
being written out in this diary does not change that fact. I just
want it all to make sense, and a lack of direct communication on
the part of those who have hurt me has left me grasping at any-
thing at all. In that regard, The Dissolving Path should not be
seen as an accurate representation of my sensible. That was nev-
er its purpose. Its purpose, rather, is to serve as an accurate rep-
resentation of my emotionality and the traumatized fixations by
which it has been so clearly influenced, for therein one glimpses
the unkillable colossus that is the Volens (and yes, I derive little
bits of pleasure from leaving inconspicuous references to my mu-
sic within my writings).
It’s been a very long time since I’ve told a lie. That’s cool and
all, though I was just pondering it, and I think what’s especially
cool is that I have no reason to at this point. After all, lying isn’t
some random occurrence which occurs in connection with any
old event or thing. Certain situations encourage dishonesty, and
I guess I don’t feel that there is anything going on around me
which should ever require me to lie. Others might argue that
point, especially when I am so vocal in my various struggles and
how they affect me, but I don’t think of it in that way. Maybe
that’s because I don’t believe that being dishonest would benefit
me in any way in getting myself out of these very particular sit-
706 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
That which we opt to regard as knowledge is, for the most part,
simply our accumulated understanding. Gnosis is knowledge on
the scale of the greater paradigm: it is the objective understand-
ing known to Existence itself. I do believe that my theories of
Gnosis and Agnosis are fully compatible with working scientific
hypotheses such as the Big Bang, cosmological inflation and sim-
ilar ideas in which the known universe expanded was said to
expand in an instant. I am neither for nor against the main-
stream scientific view of the origins of our universe, especially
since our science is contingent upon the lesser, dispositive para-
digms, which relate to the greater paradigms through the myr-
iachoron (which is to say that our reality should not be taken
literally but as an immanent analogue of a more objective reali-
ty); though while the understanding of modern science remains
incomplete, I see no existing contradictions among the available
information (or the available information whereof I am famil-
iar). I could also see the tie-ins between the likes of Agnosis and
Dark Matter: that which pervades our world but evades our sens-
es as it has yet to be acknowledged on a greater scale. It sounds
like such a sensational comparison, though I would urge you to
keep it in mind over time as we grow in our scientific under-
standing of these concepts.
ligence. I’m not talking a hippy dippy love fest, love your neigh-
bor... lick your leader. This conception of love is a poor surrogate
for what can be achieved with basic understanding and respect.
I cannot even imagine the sorts of relationships and systems that
would be possible in a world in which all individuals had a basic
degree of emotional intelligence.
I try to be supportive and kind but all I ever end up feeling is in-
trusive. Every interaction only feels like an intrusion on my part.
Every door that I open leaves me feeling like I am committing
a crime, entering into a place where I am not allowed. I tried so
hard to make a good impression and have a positive effect on
people, but it simply didn’t work out for me in this life.
There are just so many discussions I wish I could have with peo-
ple on the topic of the music and analyses that just won’t come
about since I’ve yet to meet anyone that really cares to hear what
I have to say on the matter—speaking of analyses of the individ-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 711
ual phases of my project and what defined them and made them
distinct in style and tone, or the way in which I evolved and how
it is evident in my music and what it says, or the strange way in
which the tone of the music went from neurological to cosmic
over the span of only a year or two. I feel like that is sort of how
my life and story on the whole will appear. It starts off and it ap-
pears like I’m some psychotic individual... yet at some point the
tone shifts and it becomes clear that I’m something altogether
distinct... though it may take a more trained eye and a commit-
ted listen to spot that I am a mystic, since most don’t differen-
tiate between strangeness and only divide the world by normal
and weird or comfortable and uncomfortable. Though because
of my lack of status it was seemingly inappropriate for me to dis-
cuss and share these things anywhere outside of my own private
journals, like one who opens up a street team or fan club while
having only dozens of followers: people would think it inappro-
priately egoistic, basing it not off of my actual content and mer-
it but my audience and reception. Altogether I just really want-
ed to analyze and discuss these things with others and I’m sad to
not be given that chance.
The powers that be may deny it, but where security and fear
constitute our highest, most visceral instinct and crisis, “God”
becomes the controller, and those who speak for God end up
speaking for us all. Is it any wonder, then, that religion has been
worn like a mask on the face of the power-hungry for so long.
I’ve been given very little insight into what the public is taking
away from my expositions and artistic works, and I am very dis-
heartened by the little that I have seen which is demonstrative
of a lack of attentiveness to my offering and the intention with
which it was created.
It’s like when you say your goodbyes and then stick around with-
out leaving, if even for a little while. They perceive you as a liar,
and I feel that shame every day of my life. It is unfair to me that
I should be made to feel that way. If it isn’t already difficult to
continue this fight against my deteriorating, dehumanizing con-
dition, I must constantly feel that by continuing to fight I am on-
ly damaging my credibility, my story, further, by not dying, hav-
ing declared my condition so openly and for so long.
I wish that I could go back in time and confront Patrick and cut
through all of the bullshit and say “Let’s just stop taking from
one another. Let’s stop all of the inconsideration and let’s use our
716 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
tality. I often say that I spend x amount of hours each day work-
ing, like fourteen or so hours, and I would say that I used to
spend twelve hours each day working on my music, though the
remainder of my day, so to speak, isn’t spent relaxing. It’s spent
showering, grabbing a quick bite of food, and usually switching
temporarily to another project that is slightly less demanding.
There are no parts of my day where I actually take a break. There
are parts when I slow down because my illness and fatigue is
overpowering me or I am struggling with discouraged, but 100%
of my waking hours are consumed by my projects and mystical
practice and this has been the case for nearly half my life at this
point. It took me until late in my life to realize how much energy
your body burns to actually cogitate and it hadn’t previously oc-
curred to me that this could be responsible, if partly so, for why
I am always so tired and was previously required to nap three
times each day just to stay afloat. Of course my illness has also
contributed it’s fair share to all this fatigue.
Patrick and I had this thing where he would say “Biggity Boggity
Boo?” And I would respond “Biggity Boggity Bohgitty Bagat-
ta!” It crops up within a couple songs of mine, so I thought that
I should make it clear what that is a reference to. We were doing
this all the time, particularly in 2007, filling in all silences with
biggities and boggities.
And I am far past the point of feeling that I’ve any room or al-
lowance to actually write to them and say “Is there a problem?”
Or ask to know what’s going on and what to expect, lest I suffer
the ire of the defensively inconsiderate. Because that’s the thing:
pointing out someone’s error, as I’ve learned, is far less likely to
garner an apology than an attack and a grudge from one who
feels the need to defend their inconsiderate actions and make
you out to feel stupid and small for expecting the most basic level
of courtesy from those in whom you have placed your trust and
faith.
I wish it wasn’t so. I wish that I was with the ability to look out
at them and say “Let them believe what they will, it ain’t hurting
anyone,” but that isn’t the case. Religion—distinct from spiritu-
ality—is not a victimless crime. Like the lies, delusions and ma-
nipulation which make it up, it disrupts the fabric of our world.
I wouldn’t say that we, as Essence, hold equal say over Existence
as Existence itself, but it cannot be forgotten that our relation-
ship is comparable to a mind and its thoughts... so this isn’t just
like parent and child where one is clearly subservient... this is a
mutualistic relationship in which we are affected by all that it is
and it is affected by all that we are.
724 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
And while you sit back and think up your arguments against
such a point, I suggest you first work to answer why you are so
bent on arguing this point in the first place.
As I have noted in the past, I am highly attuned to the work-
ings of the ego and the various means with which we seek to de-
fend our egos from harsh or unwanted realities. I have studied
and considered the concept, along with logical biases and fallac-
ies, so thoroughly in my years of deliberation while attempting
to break free from my suffering in the healthiest, most sustain-
able manner. It is so ingrained in me to watch out for biases and
defense mechanisms that I naturally approach all claims with a
particularly telling opening question: “And how does that bene-
fit the believer?” It is a very powerful question, casting an imme-
diate light onto the potential ways in which its presence in our
lives could hint at an underlying defense plot, so I ask this ques-
tion constantly, even as I write out my theories and theses—espe-
cially as I write out my theories and theses. This has even caused
me to take up a bias against that which benefits our ego. My first
question, when considering a conclusion, is how does it benefit
us as a species. It may not be a sound way of determining whether
something is inherently true or false, though it can often expose
our motivation right off the bat, offering significant hints into
the nature and quality of our position.
“How does the individual benefit from such a belief ?”
If the benefit unto the individual outweighs its function un-
to the whole then I begin to question the validity and nature
of the postulate. It’s why you see me getting sheepish or embar-
rassed from time to time when I express certain ideas, because I
am well aware of how they serve me.
726 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Even when one can accept that vile, manipulative individuals ex-
ist within our world, it is not so easily accepted that such indi-
viduals are praised, prioritized, and their existence is implicitly
encouraged by the dehumanizing ways of our society. I struggle
with it quite a lot, if you can’t tell by my writings. I struggle with
the idea that abusive behaviors are rewarded within our world
and that the people are with so little incentive, societally speak-
ing, to behave with loving kindness unto others.
Goodness and awareness are not viewed as ends in their own
right. A lot of this may come back down to our failure as a so-
ciety to really incentivize these acts, or to at least stop incen-
tivizing their opposites in greed, deception and ignorance. So
even when our parents and our teachers attempt to teach us right
from wrong, it is not for goodness in itself that we are taught
such things, but so that we can avoid harm, harming others and
fucking up our lives in such a way that fails to benefit the system.
Education concludes for the majority before we have reached
even a quarter of our full life cycle, and I keep hitting on this be-
cause it baffles me that our understanding of knowledge and ed-
ucation only reaches up to the heights established by our fucking
government institutions.
to work with. They were both pleasant, overall, and I enjoyed the
experience for what it was. It was with the funds from this job
that I bought my Alesis synthesizer.
Unfortunately we eventually came to a point where the job
required a lot of working in lifts... like high places... lifts that
would take you like thirty feet in the air and it would be just
this tiny platform and a crank. I was totally uncomfortable with
heights and I had to drop out and he continued without me for
a while. I searched for other jobs over the years. I submitted job
applications to all sorts of stupid places: Target, Olive Garden,
Red Lobster, The Dollar Theater, Michael’s, AC Moore. I never
got hired for anything. Slicked my hair back and put on a nice-
boy shirt for nothing. It’s so strange to think that I applied to
such places as a teenager. It makes me think about... what would
have happened if I got hired? Would I have become what I am
today? I wouldn’t have been able to isolate if I had a job at the
time. And something so simple could have meant that my life
would have turned out completely different. It’s strange to imag-
ine.
I actually got picked up by another paint contractor in late
2008. My old boss had recommended me, or so I believe. An-
other guy from church. We worked a couple jobs in late 2008, I
think it was. That’s weird. I don’t usually think of that as having
occurred in that period, but I wasn’t totally shut off from society
yet. That lasted for a month or so and somewhat sporadically un-
til my anxiety started to increase and I had to cancel on him.
Anxiety was new to me at that point and I so didn’t realize what
was coming my way. What had happened is that my level of an-
ticipation was so high, knowing that I was going to work in the
morning, that I couldn’t sleep and I stayed up all night sort of
on the fence and got super dizzy and had to cancel at the last
minute.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 729
mustn’t prevent you from reaching after the ends toward which
I am reaching. Therefore, see this as an inspiration for the types
of exercises and rituals that can be undertaken to help one into
the proper mindset. She spends much of the day in quiet medita-
tion while I am writing or resting. We interact with one other on
and off daily but sometimes days can pass without any real ‘qual-
ity time’.
Once again, I am trying to put myself into the mindset and para-
digm of one who may not hold the same understanding as I, and
I think back to a time when the likes of emotional intelligence
and the fate of humanity didn’t really mean a lot to me, and I try
to recall how I viewed them at the time. I’m sure they seemed
flat or at least too vague to really ignite my fire. And what was it
that really changed that? I often point back to the Ritual of Nul-
lity as being tied to a lot of my changes in awareness, but I don’t
believe that it was the case here, since my awakening to my pas-
sion for humanity and psychology and empathy and all of that
really blossomed gradually over time. I would say that it really
came to be between 2012-2014 when I was submersing myself
in more philosophical undertakings and writing my biography.
In that case, I have to imagine that the writing of my autobiogra-
phy was an important first step to take in really changing my way
of thinking about life and moving myself from the microcosm to
the macrocosmic, although it wasn’t the final step. Yet through
that process I really began to face down my problems and trau-
mas and grief. In the beginning that wasn’t even my intention,
going into it. As I’ve noted elsewhere, my abandoned biography
began as a letter of apology to Anita and the tone was justifica-
tory more than anything, as in I was attempting to justify and
exculpate my actions, my fate, and defensively so; but over time
THE DISSOLVING PATH 735
a shift took place, and I’m really trying to analyze all of that in
light of these things.
I can’t run your process for you. I can’t change your para-
digm. Though I do try to say whatever I can to help you along
and give you that initial boost by recounting my own personal
experiences with nothing being held back. And it’s not like I ever
really stopped growing in regards to these facets of my person-
ality. I continue analyzing my history as if expecting a particular
event or point where I just jumped off and my stats shot up, and
while there were definitely years that saw huge improvements,
it was more of a gradual growth coming with repeated commit-
ment to these ideals of health and truth and self-improvement.
My nearness to death also had a lot to do with the nature of my
approach, since I don’t see as much reason as the average, healthy
citizen to be a dishonest prick who takes his life for granted.
did work for him for nearly a decade of time, doing his church
website and the Creation website, which was my first paying job
in a sense (mostly recording, uploading and transcribing weekly
sermons). This man was outed several years ago as a child moles-
ter having carried out his acts over a decade or longer. It was all
over national news and whatnot since he had made a name for
himself in Christian circles because of his involvement with Cre-
ation Festival. In any case, I find it so difficult to imagine what
could have been going on in the head of someone like that... to
have done something so unspeakable and then to keep it total-
ly hidden and compartmentalized from the image you maintain
publicly, which is the damn antithesis of everything he was. I just
can’t imagine what that sort of mind would look like on the in-
side. This may be considered an extreme example, at least rela-
tively speaking, but I believe that most people live with some
sort of dissonance of this sort and it’s scarier to me than anything
imaginable.
ple and unprofound idea, and I’m sure it relates in some man-
ner to the modern reliance on review websites and why so many
opt to choose the same ten or twenty albums as their favorites,
so that you have everyone selecting from the same small pool
even though there are literally millions of albums in existence.
It ain’t necessarily because they’re the best albums/artists, and it
may not even be entirely accurate to chock their acclaim up to
peer pressure and hive-mindedness as much as it can be chocked
up to the fact that we, as a society, have shown ourselves more
willing to actually approach these albums or films with an open
mind, having come into the listening/viewing experience with
a preconceived desire to enjoy and understand what we were
about to hear/view. So that brings me to wonder: how can we
get more people to open themselves up to certain albums and ex-
periences? I mean, it’s kind of the nature of popularity itself and
I guess that’s what review sites have been doing all along. But it
just makes me wonder how people will be approaching my own
music. I wonder if the deeply intricate and personal backstory as-
sociated with my work will affect people’s willingness to appre-
ciate my music before going into it. Yea, I do think that back-
stories work much like reviews in that sense, because if people
can identify with you as a person then there is a desire in them:
a hope to find in you a friend or an idol. There is a hope that
your music will resonate with their lives, and they may be more
willing to force that fit if they really want to. If someone tells me
about some isolated weirdo whose life story resembles mine own,
I am going to become very excited and I’m going to hope that
his work resonates with my expectations and I will make a sort
of abstract place for those works in my mind, regardless of how
I ultimately end up feeling about said works. Oh, I’m just think-
ing out-loud here. I guess my conclusion is that by sharing our
backstories and making ourselves more personable and vulnera-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 743
tos I’ve seen. Sure, the right half of my abdomen is noticeably in-
flamed which makes my chest and belly crooked, at least from
my own perspective when looking down at my body from above,
but it’s nothing that would be considered crazy on a Google im-
age search, and I’m not even sure most people would notice if
they were to look at me. And it is an unfortunate fact that we, as
a physical species, make judgments based on the physical appear-
ance of a condition. Even I am not immune to making such judg-
ments, which has as much to do with expectations, so it would
be easy to conclude that those photos with monstrous deformi-
ties are worse than swelling from which I suffer... but it isn’t so
simple... and it’s not only been hard to get it through my own
head, to wrap my own head around the fact that I am suffering
so badly, so inhumanly, in ways that are not seen in the people
in my environment or even in the stories I’ve heard, but... good
luck having anyone else regard the exigency and severity of my
experience. Truly a strange experience in life... as bizarre as it was
miserable. It’s left me in this weird position where, while I don’t
doubt the degree of my suffering or the severity of my condition,
the lack of understanding regarding what is actually taking place
within my body has removed some of my... I don’t know how to
put it... almost as if it isn’t my right to be so bothered and off-
set by my condition. As if I am a fool to let it affect me so much
when I am clearly not bleeding from my orifices? If a doctor were
to come by and give his fat fucking stamp of cancerous approval
and tell me I had two months left to live then my world would
be a very different place, or I like to think so. The people in my
environment would interact with me differently (or not). And
while I don’t think that I would manage myself any differently, I
think that it would affect my perspective on some level, even if
that is in simply feeling myself that much more justified. And as
it stands, I don’t always feel justified. My emotions, my suffering,
THE DISSOLVING PATH 745
man can not live virtuously I had to embody virtue, proving that
it could be done. To prove to myself that everyone wasn’t a liar
who cheated and pissed themselves when no one was watching,
so to speak, I had to embody my ideals of what a good person
is and should be. I wouldn’t consider myself a perfect person
by any means, since estimations of quality generally entail more
than someone’s intention, and certain elements like my trauma,
anxiety and other inabilities are pretty front and center when it
comes to any assessment of my lifetime, although if we are mea-
suring goodness by the likes of purity of intention, as well as in-
tegrity, or the consistency with which one sides with what they
know to be right rather than making concessions for the likes of
pleasure or popularity or sheer laziness, I would say that I have
a hard time imagining any way in which I can improve, though
I don’t imagine that the semantics of what I’m arguing for won’t
be... well, argued, especially by those who look at my messy ex-
terior/circumstances and forthrightness and have been so condi-
tioned by society as to what is good and virtuous that they just
have no capacity to see the virtue in any individual that does not
resemble suppressed, stilted and saintly choirboy.
don’t be all pessimistic and fatalistic about how it’s too large for
you. Approach it with the mindset that it’s necessary, and not
just under the pretense of becoming stronger, which only paints
these matters up as some arduous trial, but in knowing that this
shall connect you to your Volens or disposition. This should im-
prove the tone of these conversations, as it becomes about under-
standing and acceptance, rather than battling.
Oh, I spent years of my youth looking at trippy pictures and
trying to convince myself of my own mental capacity before ac-
tually experiencing significant shifts in consciousness which were
completely unrelated to all of the standard things we assume
about this... it ain’t meditation and marijuana that really bring
this revitalizing effect to your psyche. When you integrate your
‘negative’ or ‘darker’ constituents you see the world differently
and yourself differently. That doesn’t mean to embrace your ani-
mal, but to tame your animal, so to speak.
When some negative event occurs, do not base your emo-
tional reaction thereto on the supposed commonality or accept-
ability of such events: Some people can look at the death and
suffering which transpires all around us and ‘reason’ with them-
selves by repeating that “Oh, tis a part of life. People die every
day.” I mean, that’s not a lie, but at the same time, it would not be
reasonable to stifle our emotions in such a way and I discourage
this approach with all that I am, believing that you must totally
experience your reaction in full and work through those feelings.
Face down the uncomfortable truths. Let me tell you, they
don’t remain a cause of discomfort indefinitely. Hell, even the
more generic concepts of confrontation and failure do not retain
their aura of formidability indefinitely. For someone like me...
I’ve been at this so long, exploring my heart and mind without
regard for what society says is correct, without regard for what
is comfortable (or rather placing my comfort secondary to that
THE DISSOLVING PATH 755
As you may have noticed, a lot of what has been released under
my name was never meant to be released to the public in the
first place and comprises demos and clips of my setting up and
preparing for projects that never came to fruition (regularly ow-
ing to physical illness). As sad as I am to have never gotten the
chance to really tap into my full ability and resources, I do feel
like I leave behind a body of work which achieves precisely all
that I l set out to achieve as an artist and creature, for my goal was
never to impress anyone or to achieve fame for myself. Rather, I
wanted to see the extent to which I could vulnerate myself in life,
knowing vulnerability as a prerequisite of intimacy. And in the
end I could say that I knew intimacy with life itself.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 759
Sometimes, when speaking with old friends after, say, 2014, there
was this sense that I was boring or unrelatable to them due to
the fact that my interests excluded so much of what is considered
standard and acceptable as hobbies, e.g., video games, movies,
food and alcohol. Whenever my friends came over for a visit or
a sleepover, they would always be wanting to play video games
and I would be trying to get them to record videos and songs
with me. Sure, I often gave in to their wishes as I didn’t have too
much of a reason not to at that point, as in I lacked the firmness
of philosophy that I have today and the refusal to squander away
my time (although I can agree that a lot of things that would
waste my time as an individual can be seen as a worthwhile way
to spend time when among a group within a social setting, like a
movie, so I’m not quite as hard on it in that case, although I’m
still proposing that there are so, so many more valuable ways of
spending our time, both individually and collectively). But I still
always tried to get a creative project out of every friend and vis-
it and whatnot, and it’s funny to look back and realize that that
hasn’t really changed.
I don’t feel like it’s necessary to double down on the material sci-
ence when Atheism is already doing that and it’s... it’s got its lim-
its in terms of who it will reach. It’s like to say that I am not the
type of vegan that throws paint on your fur coat but the type
who would take you to a fashion show or clothing outlet and let
you see your options and that they don’t all involve or necessitate
cruelty. Options alone would loosen the grip of religious dog-
ma on this sphere, I’m convinced, and it’s why the ignoblest of
theocrats are often so antagonistic toward public education (and
knowledge in general).
**I get so angry when I think back to all the times when I was
told that I had behavioral problems and grew up thinking some-
thing was wrong with me, when so many of my social problems
and educational problems encountered in my youth had more to
say of my parents failure to teach me than they had to do with
my actual nature. Of course I’m going to be running around act-
ing like a doofus and being immature for my age when you com-
pletely fucking fail to teach me anything about physical reality.
Of course I’m going to spend the first twenty years of my life as
an immature and undeveloped individual playing catch-up and
thinking he is defective simply because certain building blocks
weren’t put in place. And thanks to all of the shit-eating godshills
that made me feel like the failure was mine. And then you’ve got
my sister who didn’t step inside a school until she was like fifteen
and at that point she apparently lacks all ability to differentiate
between reality and the Disney channel and completely demol-
ishes her life right out of the gate because she cares more about
checking off her “As seen on TV High School Drama checklist”
than actually getting good grades and finding good friends and
people who genuinely have her best interest, becoming some dra-
ma-seeking missile lacking all self-restraint and direction. Two
weeks into high school and she’s bringing around these fatherless
juggalos who can’t go five seconds without karate chopping the
air.
They conflate the extent of their strength and skill with the size
of their safety net while defining themselves by their spouses,
children and careers, though what is that truly saying? And from
where did they get the gavel?
THE DISSOLVING PATH 765
It strike me that the most ‘likable’ people are standardly the most
simplistic and undiscerning—subtle and amorphous and smil-
ing like dogs (although let it be noted that I speak not of celebri-
ty icons, in whom we typically desire audacity, but the sorts of in-
dividuals that are found among locality, in schools and the like).
And we praise them as if they have achieved something. While
this saddens me for all of the people who put in effort, it also
forces me to give up on that idea of being beloved by the people.
The people want pets. The people want a flat, empty surface on
which they can eat their dinner.
What I’ve noticed over time is that people simply do not care
to take in the context of one another. Most aren’t interested in
where you come from—physically, spiritually, emotionally. And
it seems so strange to me that something as necessary to un-
derstanding as context could be entirely discounted from inter-
actions, relationships, but I think it really highlights the fact
that, in most cases, the context of a given individual is also the
context of their society, for which reason this dimension may
simply seem irrelevant to most individuals. Yea, they may have
their own experiences in life, but all is like water—an amorphous
and plentiful thing, being forced into these trays in our freezer.
Their context has been rewritten, contained and frozen by their
circumstances and environment, where I work in the opposite
manner, with my context determining the weight of my circum-
stances and environment.
tion within my life. And I just don’t see this same level of attach-
ment when looking out into society, in which the masses speak
loosely of ‘moving on with their lives’ as if that is any reason to
empty the soul of its bonds and histories. I am glad I didn’t know
more people in life if the consequence of that is devaluing those
who came before.
The great thing about the voice recorder is that it’s not some
tacky device like a camera which must necessarily force everyone
into this self-conscious and facetious mode of behavior and
awareness. I would tuck the recorder into my upper pocket and
regularly forget about it, so it never became a part of the scene
or dictated the flow of events and interactions, and I loved that
about it. The interactions captured via my voice recorder and re-
leased to the public are as natural as any interactions taking place
in the absence of recording. Unfortunately, because it was kept
within my pocket on most occasions, you will frequently hear
the rustling of fabric (or a muffling of sound) when it runs up
against my shirt or pants. Yet at the same time, that forms an el-
ement to which I am highly partial: the walking, the coughing,
the rustling, the stretches of silence to remind you that this is re-
al, and that I am a person who lived a life beyond my creative
works, washing my hands in the bathroom sink and asking for
THE DISSOLVING PATH 771
extra condiments like anyone else. I’ve posted clips which range
from the boring to the comical to the semi-profound: dinners
at the local diner; clothes shopping; long, late-night car rides. I
never intended to release these clips to the public and it was on-
ly in my final months that I even opted to go back and listen to
them for the very first time since recording, which I avoided for
many years due to the stressful circumstances surrounding these
recordings and the period from which they come. After so much
time spent feeling upset over the notion that I hadn’t been prop-
erly represented to the public due to a dearth of videos and au-
dio recordings depicting me in my natural habitat, carrying out
natural interactions, I can be satisfied with the audio acquired via
these means, feeling as if they show my humanness well enough,
along with all of the things I normally struggle to get across in
my writing, such as my humor, my agreeableness and general
lack of aggression (despite holding firmly to my beliefs). I am
proud of the fact that I still come across as relatable despite not
consuming much media or regular human activities, as well as
the fact that you don’t hear me judging others for things that I
wouldn’t do myself (you can hear me having conversations about
sex and non-vegetarian foods in which there is no hint that these
are things which I’m not into). I don’t know... that’s just always
been important to me, and I feel like I’ve achieved some solace
in releasing these clips.
As I’ve said time and time again, nearly all of the work that I have
released to the public in the past several years, with the exception
of certain texts, was created at earlier points in my life and I never
had any intention of releasing it to the public. This gives it a cer-
tain mystique, I think, in that it is not something that was disin-
genuously manufactured to sit on the internet and gather up the
772 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
tegrate another aspect. For example, once I know that I’ve re-
vealed to the world a video or sample of who I am as an adult,
currently, in which I am speaking with poise and maturity, I be-
come less hesitant to show off the slurry, immature individual
that I was ten or twenty years ago since I know that my ‘better
self ’ is properly represented. After feeling I have shown off my
rational capabilities and intelligence I am no longer so hesitant
to show off my more “out there” magical nonsense or even my
drunken stupor. Then, with each aspect that I accept as being a
part of my whole, it opens up the door to accepting more. If I
can share art that I drew as a child then why not share x and y
unfinished sketches? Why does it have to be polished or even
completed for it to count as real... for it to count as good... be-
cause, as I see it, whether it was good or bad, completed or in-
complete, it represents how I spent my time, and within a life in
which all are given limited time, that is a pretty big deal to me,
and I say that not egoistically, but in the fullness of my apprecia-
tion. Individuals everywhere are willing to immortalize their tro-
phies, holding them high upon the wall, while all the memories
of trial, error and endless practice slip into the cracks with all of
the failed manuscripts as meaningless means to an end; and for
me, the process is just as much, or more, of a trophy. As I’ve said
before, if one so wishes to create a legacy vault of their own—as
in an attempt to organize and catalog their life—it is not neces-
sary to exhibit it to the public as I have; but since, for me, it is
less about art than it is about integrating all parts into the whole,
and because this involves overcoming shame, indifference and/
or simply the feeling that something I’ve created is not worthy
of representing me, it makes a huge difference in my case to be
showing it off to the world, because putting it out in public view
is a huge step toward accepting and integrating those aspects into
myself in the absence of shame. For me, the publication of my
774 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
vaults has been integral to my process for those reasons and relat-
ed reasons (although I don’t feel I am explaining myself properly
in this case, so I must hope that you can see what I am getting
it). Then again, I am in a very rare position where I am able to do
all this with relatively little blowback, given that I am so unfet-
tered, as well as lying on the doorstep of death (which definite-
ly gave me that much-needed push and resolve), and I wouldn’t
fault anyone for refusing to go this route themselves. We live in
a very cruel and manipulative world and one must strongly con-
sider what they are after before taking such a step, and if the po-
tential benefits outweigh the potential malefits in their mind.
so like to share with others this world between the walls, aban-
doned by confidence and diffidence alike. There is only love... a
love for what I am doing, and a love for what I want from it all.
I won’t act like I am immune to a tumescent ego, though it has
certainly become less in time, as I am, by now, so familiar with
how the waves ebb and flow, and wherever there is pride and sat-
isfaction, the reminder of mine own folly isn’t so far off.
All in all, when I think about it, I wonder to what extent
this has shaped and colored my experience of speaking, of think-
ing—all of which fills me with unspeakable pleasure. It is not like
some lotto machine tumbling about with the same prerecorded
answers, feeling more like an oracular event. And I notice that
others do not reap such joy from speaking and thinking. It isn’t
an adventure for them. Yet for me it is ever like one of those old
chocolate Wonderballs from the 90’s... and I’m just eating the
chocolate of language and then wee-wah-woo it’s Pocahontas!
sistently so. The lowest of the equation typically comes out first.
Power, as a concept, came about through Weakness. Gnosis and
Knowledge came about through Agnosis. Oh this seems too dif-
ficult to convey, even for me. I’m so tired. What does it matter?
I’ve got all the lights of Heaven zooming through my braincase
and yet I can hardly lift a finger.
would not be right to act like it is all perceptual, when that trau-
ma first came about via the conditionality of this unconscionable
sphere. I don’t believe that this view of things has ever actually af-
fected my actions in the sense that I have not been known to pull
away out of fear, always wishing that this will be the time that the
pattern is broken, but it repeats again and again and it seems that
nothing I do can change that.
It’s just sad to me, because I was dealt a crappy hand from the
very outset, and while that is not at all uncommon, nor is it suf-
ficient as an excuse to lead a lazy or ignoble life, very few will re-
cover from such conditions and go on to live a life of fulfillment.
Then the illness added on top of that made it so much more dif-
ficult for me to really come up for air, but by some sheer force I
managed it, and I really seemed to be on the road to recovery and
fully believe that I could have reclaimed my life and led a com-
fortable existence were it not for stupid things like the health-
care industry in the USA being a complete fucking joke and my
inability to form relationships. It is truly a shame. I could have
been one of the ones that got out. I had all the means, I had the
will, the dedication, and I certainly put in the effort, but one can
only do so much on their own strength, and by the time that I
reached the surface I was promptly swatted back down by those
who thought me an animal; an alien belonging to the depths.
Having had even a single, emotionally-mature individual in my
life would have changed my world. Sadly, they are not as com-
mon as one may think, and those who we regularly opt to regard
as grounded are simply those who are adept at avoiding every lit-
tle thing that causes them discomfort, as opposed to being those
who are actually capable of withstanding the discomfort. What
bothers me mostly is that I am left feeling as though I failed, and
786 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Some will opt to say of my life that it was own fault that I suf-
fered as I did, opening myself up to so much vility, since I know-
ingly vulnerated myself to the world. But to me that’s like saying
that one is at fault who is honest when it is more convenient to
lie. I may not have understood the stakes coming into it, but I
understand them now, and let it be said that I have never once
been tempted by the idea of going back on what I know to be
this wholliness.
I don’t feel like people can really dissever the cause and effect and
their reasons. It’s like “I punish him because he’s screaming/fight-
ing,” Yet, in reality, I am only screaming because I am locked in
a torture contraption. Yet the torturers and even some onlookers
788 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
basis—not the main music video, but the TopPop version that
you will find on some video streaming services—and we would
just laugh hysterically while mocking the performers and how
‘the only normal one was the guitarist’ since the lead singer is ro-
mancing himself bizarrely for the entirety of the song while all
of the other guys just have these zombified, dead-eyed expres-
sions as if they’re all caught in their own little k-holes. That was
our style of humor. It doesn’t sound all that sophisticated, and it
wasn’t, but it was funny for us. And we would just sit there and
laugh. My sister and father didn’t have that same sense of humor.
They were never as connected to their emotions and they weren’t
as willing to poke fun at their environment.
*In my final years around these parts I’ve definitely taken a hard
turn toward antitheism and I would align myself with atheistic
beliefs despite finding agnostics to be a more tolerable crowd
overall. It may seem a bit strange, especially due to the elaborate
spiritual philosophies I’ve put forward, but I don’t see that there
is any contradiction in what I am saying, since Aseitism is totally
nontheistic (as in having nothing to say of a deity or deities and
being more or less compatible with individuals all over the spec-
trum). I aim to behave with respect toward all individuals re-
gardless of their beliefs, though I’ve certainly ceased viewing re-
ligion as a victimless crime; and while the psychomythologian
in me still holds to the position that religion has the potential to
bring with it certain positive effects upon the minds of men, I
strongly feel that when all is taken into account, the cons vastly
outweigh the pros, and that human society would be in a far
healthier place were it to move on from ideas regarding deities
like as a child moves on from training wheels, prepared to accept
that there is no evidence of a god or gods within our reality.
790 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
not far beyond it). It has changed our way of thinking, from sim-
ple things such as the ease with which salvation and forgiveness
can be achieved, to what such concepts actually mean, to distort-
ing not only what we think we want but what we think we de-
serve.
*Distorting and outright curtailing our estimations of our
own potentiality. Distorting our views on the worth of this
world, this species, this existence. Perpetuating harmful gender
roles which have kept females subjugated far longer than we can
justify with our modern knowledge. Religion has been politics
all along; a harmful concatenation of control achieved through
fear. But unlike politics which occurs consciously, religion differs
by being equally, if not more so powered by the unconscious
processes of mankind and therefore we can blame something else
for the words that spew from our mouth, like drunkards who
shit where they please and then blame it all on their drink.
We’ve been working with atheism and agnosticism for a
while at this point, both of which effectively argue the inaccu-
racies and fallacies of theism from a logical point of view. Still,
theistic religions have withstood all such attacks, not because the
arguments are not logically sound, but because they do not fill
the hole left by religion and therefore do not appear like a valid
alternative to the people of society who seek security above all
else. Aseitism, however, differs, being that it is capable of satisfy-
ing that void left by religion, therefore beating theism at its own
game by presenting an alternative which contains nearly all of
the same pros while lacking many of the cons (although I hesi-
tate to frame it in such terms, since my purpose for sharing all of
this is not in an effort ‘to beat theism at its own game’ and assert
my view as superior, but an honest search undertaken over the
course of my life to uncover the facts of our reality, and I don’t
think it is presumptuous to be excited about what this could
796 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
mean for the species if we were to hold firm and develop upon
these principles. The people may argue that there are no claims
to Existence loving us, while there are claims that God loves us...
but do I really need to shine a light on “God’s love”?
I think that the lack of sympathy and support that I was shown
by my parents and others when in distress resulted in the various
802 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
One of the things that put me off from society, or from the spe-
cific individuals with whom I interacted during my lifetime, is
that it never felt like anything stuck, or accumulated. I am heavi-
ly into storylines and narratives, as should be readily evident, and
this applies to my daily life. As so, I expect today’s deeds to stack
and combine with tomorrow’s deeds to create a structure that
will support all the days that follow. Yet with every social interac-
tion it’s like I am being asked “...and who are you, again?” or hear-
ing them say “I don’t care if we’ve been friends and you’ve been
a good, honest guy for four years. I’m just going to snap or aban-
don you as soon as you slip up or say a single thing that I don’t
like.” It’s like society has amnesia and I am unable to build up my
worth and reputation in their eyes. The masses will just as easily
betray me after a decade as they will after a day. It’s like the film
Groundhog Day, and nothing that I do is actually building rela-
tionships or kingdoms or whatever. It’s maddening, and I can on-
ly take so much of it before my integrity and idealism just puts in
the padlock and I stop my attempts to interact. It pulls me out of
my train of thought. See, in my world—my cramped little under-
ground rat kingdom—actions stack, and all has a continuation,
and yesterday’s questions leads me on to today’s answers, and that
which is nurtured and maintained is healthy and secure and can
be relied upon to not give out at the slightest fucking brush of a
butt hair.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 803
and influences. But it’s about satisfying the needs of the day. So
many of these things which we are dealing with in our species,
such as religion and power, have evolved out of Existence’s in-
ability to grasp or satisfy its own need, or at least its state of need-
iness. It’s not the simplest of concepts to describe, unfortunately.
in my texts, what with the way that gnosis and agnosis are pre-
sented in a way that is simultaneously complex and oversimpli-
fied. We [Essence] can not ‘possess’ Gnosis or Agnosis much as
we cannot possess Existence or anything else existing on the ob-
jective, greater paradigms, although we can partake therein.
**My opinion of religion has oscillated over the years. I have ex-
pressed my disapproval of certain religions and their customs, or
their follower base, although I have also taken the stance that re-
ligion provides a necessary stimulus unto the human mind and
its functioning, even if the specifics are what I would consider
lies and foolishness. Even as late as 2018 I had a very ‘chaote’ ap-
proach to it all, thinking that ‘as long as it nets positive results for
the individual and doesn’t harm anyone then how can it be a bad
thing’. However, since my trial and my integrating a greater para-
digm, I can no longer hold such a neutral, inoffensive stance. I do
not wish to make of myself some aggressive, ‘Bible-bashing’ war-
lord, but the ickiness that I feel when I hear worship music and
similar nowadays is off the charts. It seems like the most uncon-
scionable thing to me. When stepping outside of its commonali-
ty... stepping outside of the principles and all of the common ar-
guments... I am looking at it less from the angle of the rightness
or wrongness of its practices, and more at how it developed and
how something so destructive has managed to sustain itself. It is
a testament to the sheer horrid potential of the human species,
and it should horrify us to behold. The mere idea that some peo-
ple got together and elected some man, some myth, to save us,
THE DISSOLVING PATH 807
and that it would last for millennia and billions and billions and
billions of people would give up their lives and their need for evi-
dence to this arts and crafts project—the only good of which has
been to confuse people on the nature of morality and to placate
people in their lives with some false understanding my of death.
These are human lives that lived and died in vain, and if that is
not tragic then nothing is. There lies more tragedy in a Christian
hymn than in all three-thousand songs of my public discography.
And these fables have a hook in us, in that they contain bare-
ly enough reality for us to consider the whole lot worthy. It is a
nightmare, absolutely, and I am horrified to see it through these
eyes, although I don’t know what to say or if I should really be
saying anything. After all, I don’t really expect to sway anyone, so
I’m just anticipating making myself a target and that sure as hell
ain’t fun.
the lesser programs which are not only a lot more convenient to
use but more universal due to their lack of requirements.
**I worry that people can readily grasp, let alone appreciate, the
difficulty of really sitting down and attempting to translate in-
sights of such metaphysical breadth and magnitude. It’s not as if
I have had all the secrets of the universe handed over to me on a
charcuterie board. I’m having to sit here endlessly dissecting and
siphoning and transliterating these things into something that
can potentially be understood. But then the public will be mer-
ciless and unforgiving when it comes to how they take to these
insights... and any imperfection in my delivery will reflect poor-
ly upon what I have been shown. But it’s a sort of map is not
the territory thing, only it can be better said in this case as “The
book is not the revelation.” Indeed, my words are representations
of something that is not composed of words. As much as I am
in awe of my position and what I have witnessed in so short a
time, the pressure does get to me (and it certainly ain’t mixing
well with my illness).
isn’t to say that we haven’t any real means to steer the course of
our thoughts, but it requires great and consistent efforts to do so
and ultimately it may be assumed that we will spend the majority
of our lives merely beholding some play as it unfolds in response
to the little cues and actions carried out by ourselves and those
around us. That’s all that I have to say on the matter. I don’t be-
lieve in any sort of deliberate, intentful interference on the part
of Existence, although our being is ultimately still moving along
on a sort of existential track.
There may come those who look to me, hearing my claims and
my spiritual spiels, and then ask “How can he be heeded when
he cannot even spare himself ? Why should he be heeded if he
can not achieve x?” First of all, if we are to overlook the ideas
of Volens, as well as the fact that trauma represents a fissure be-
tween Expectation and Reality, and that I must necessarily con-
tinue to hype up the potential in my endeavors—inflating my
expectations—if simply to be able to push past the depression
and futility that I feel, thus making it so that the cycle will never
end...
I don’t think people will realize that for several years, and
misguidedly so, my goal was not even to be healthy, but to be
sick, more or less. I didn’t fail due to a lack of power. I failed
due to having power before I lacked the wisdom and maturity
to know how to use it. Eighteen-year-old Tendon didn’t want to
be some empathetic humanitarian. He wanted to be a maniac set
apart from the others in whatever ways he could manage. You
can understand why I don’t iterate it overmuch. It is upsetting.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 813
**As I’ve said in times before: the vast majority of individuals are
working with faulty estimations of their own strength and abil-
ity, which they conflate with their social and familial networks
of support. Someone such as I never had anyone there to tell
me “Don’t worry about this, I’ll protect you,” or “Don’t listen
to them, they’re wrong.” As so, so I didn’t have any artificial di-
minishment of my worries in life, nor an artificial inflation of my
perceived security and strength. So whereas some may peruse my
writings, thinking me obsessive or strange to be fixating on cer-
tain ideas to the point of illness, I see this as a very natural mode
of cogitation which is not interrupted and assuaged by extrinsic
hopes and promises of protection. My thoughts and estimations
are reflections of my actual abilities in the absence of any external
support and security. And does that make it a valuable insight?
I think so. I think I represent something more natural and hon-
est, even if I am not representative of what is common upon this
earth. I also don’t think that the propensity for misestimation in-
herent in such a position really undermines that worth, especial-
ly when one should consider the nature of synaphation as com-
pared to basic logic.
I think that irony, or irony to the extent that we are seeing with
modern online culture, extends beyond fad and preference, be-
ing a pathological manifestation akin to dissociation: a defense
mechanism; a means to protect oneself and evade harm done to
the psyche. It is a means to interact with life while keeping the
dimensions of meaning and relevance at bay. By allowing noth-
ing to mean anything to us, we can’t really get hurt. It’s a simpli-
fication of a complicated and oft-unconscious process, no doubt,
but I believe that it is a defense mechanism beginning with mod-
ern social systems which really strip us of our defenses and our
814 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
ability while everyone else bends and contorts the truth to their
whim and figures they are in the right to show off and conceal
as they wish, saying “Everyone does it!” and “Masks are necessi-
tated by society; by life!” Yet my attraction to this concept is not
diminished by the pain that it brings, and instead of seeing my-
self as being ruined and my privileges removed, *I prefer to see it
as reality exposing itself to me, and I am able to have an honest
look at my real possessions, my real friends, my real abilities, be-
cause if they can not withstand exposure to the truth of my per-
son, whatever that should entail, then they were never mine at all
except under false pretenses and ignorant reception. People may
assume from my social situation that I’ve done something wrong
along the way. “Perhaps it is in my attitude.” Or I’ll be thought
of as sad and maladaptive for my inability to find a family and
friendships when that was clearly something that I desired from
this life; but the truth is more philosophical, and let that not im-
ply that I am over here causing my own problems. What differ-
entiates me from the majority is simply that I refused to accept
something that wasn’t deemed real, or true, for the sake of my
own security and pacification. It is so dangerous to accept such
things, but it is the standard, and once people make concessions
and accept a lesser truth, they see their definitions being altered,
inch by inch, until nothing remains of verity in their lives (or the
desire for it). It is in this way that the Volens is lost utterly to de-
sensitizing practices.
I sometimes think about the picture of Judas Iscariot run-
ning through a field and simply being eviscerated... imploding...
exploding... I love that image. And it sounds like such a strange
and disturbed fantasy to entertain, but when I get to talking
about truth and passion like so, I feel that evisceration... that im-
age... and it feels to me like a positive thing... to just burst. To
me it seems romantic. I don’t expect that what I am saying will
820 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I think that the fact that I was able to make something of my re-
ligious upbringing spares me of a lot of the negative feelings that
might have built up otherwise. My lifestyle didn’t really change
after leaving the church—in the sense that my pursuits retained
their spiritual and moralistic nature all the same—so there never
existed this incredible conflict between ‘the old me’ and ‘the new
me’ and the associated goals apart from the whole theistic matter
which was quite difficult to ditch, but I’ve faced so many chal-
lenges in my life that I don’t really bat an eye at such as this.
I think negatively of the church and the faith in which I was
raised, but I can’t say that it was a waste, as it really gave me the
platform on which to establish my search for the truth, and I
therefore consider it indispensable to what I would become, and
by considering it necessary I can’t quite consider it a regret (al-
though I wouldn’t want my words to be taken out of context
and used to uplift the heinousness of the church in which I was
THE DISSOLVING PATH 823
toms of fever, vertigo and low oxygen which have plagued the
writing process, but I am so cut off from the feedback of soci-
ety and forced to rely on my partner who, if I’m being honest,
doesn’t even seem all that enthusiastic about my attempts to en-
capsulate my spiritual understanding and bring them before the
masses (although, if I’m being transparent, that seems to be less
about what I am attempting and more to do with her worry-
ing over my health and the degree to which I am frustrating my-
self ). The agony is simply too much to bear, and I am not always
willing or able to admit that, since the fact is that my entire life
has been inundated by feelings of desperation and overwhelm,
and so, while that isn’t to say that it doesn’t affect me, it is, in
many ways, all that I know, and I have to think that I have adapt-
ed in some way, like an extremophile, to this psychological ter-
rain that would cause a ninety-ninth percentile of persons to slit
their wrists after a mere ten seconds spent in the presence of this
horrible, heinous admixture of death and heartache and abuse
and choking and fever and isolation and every other knife in the
drawer. Of all my achievements in life, there may be no greater
marvel than the fact that I have remained so sensible through it
all, although I’m sure that that, too, will be taken away from me
as with all other credits. And not due to some misstep acted out
in absent-mindedness, but because of my humanity which has
been put on display, and with that evidence of my humanity will
they beat my blue corpse.
that park again. I was probably around the age of seven or there-
abouts.
In any case, I still find myself getting upset at how poorly of
a job my parent’s did when it came to instructing and preparing
me. As I once put it, they spent so much time teaching me about
Hell that they had no time to teach me about Earth. I think that
so many of the foibles that I made early on—foibles that would
cost me my ability to lead a healthy, functional life—could have
been easily averted had I been educated properly. I wasn’t really a
rebellious or troubled kid, after all, despite how the evangelicals
from my youth may try to paint me. I think so many of my errors
simply come back to a basic ignorance. Therefore it wasn’t like
I knew that what I was doing was wrong but opted to go for it
anyway ‘because I just couldn’t help myself ’. No. That wasn’t it,
and I dare say that life doesn’t fucking work that way, despite
ample and consolatory protests from parents everywhere. It was
usually just that I lacked a proper sense of my options and the
consequences. There were things like how I left the church to
explore spirituality by my own terms, but even that I wouldn’t
term to be an act of rebellion, and I do not take kindly to all
the religious folk who are so quick to label one who questions
as some sort of wicked individual. I had questions about the na-
ture of God and the universe that couldn’t be answered by cages
and cages of parrots and parakeets all chirping out what they had
overheard. Terms like ‘occult’ may be thrown around an awful
lot in retrospect to describe the practice in which I got caught
up as an adolescent, but do not give in to the sensationalism and
think that that means something more complicated than it does.
I wasn’t some vile individual burning bibles and worshiping Sa-
tan. I was, in reality, naught more than an inquisitive boy ly-
ing in bed while exploring his inner landscapes and curiosities.
Even then, it was only because my parents were always locking
828 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
the window above me, giving rise to what I called ‘the damp feel-
ing’ (drawing from the dew of early morning and the dim light-
ing which so characterizes the gloaming), which I have often re-
ferred to as my favorite part of the day, or even my life on the
whole. And above that vent where I laid there was a baseboard
whereon I had written all the names of the girls that I had crush-
es on, half of whom were cartoons.
My best friend back around the ages of 14-15 was a kid named
Alex. He and I would go on long walks around Forest and
Lynchburg. Once we picked up a large cake from Kroger, which
I believe was pink and strawberry flavor, and we ate it while we
walked along the roadside. After eating about half of it, Alex
spiked the cake, hitting it from below, and it soared through the
air. That was just a fun and memorable experience, simple as it
was, since it was the time period in which little things like being
able to eat candy and drink soda without my parents permission
was becoming a thing, so the idea of two kids just walking into
a store and buying a cake with their own money and then eating
it as they walked along the highway was just so much fun. We
would also take off our shirts as we walked around in the sum-
mer, and while that doesn’t sound like a big deal, it sure seemed
like a huge deal for us, as we never did it anywhere else (I was
notoriously weird when it came to removing my shirt in public
and even in private, leading to all of those infamous stories about
how I attended pool parties with a large wrench and would sit by
the side of the pool claiming I couldn’t get in because I was a ro-
832 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
bot and would rust). And when he got a car? Oh man, that was
a game changer. I was with Alex and his family when they picked
it out. Looking back, it makes me uncomfortable to think of the
volume at which he was willing to play music while driving, ha-
ha, but at the time it was wonderful. The two of us also got our
ears pierced together in the mall, hahaha. I wonder about him
from time to time. My dreams still feature him somewhat regu-
larly, although I haven’t seen him since 2008 (like with most peo-
ple I once knew). We had a ton of fun together in those years, but
as I started growing into more of a mystical headcase he became
increasingly judgmental and we grew apart as a result. In addi-
tion to feeling myself judged for my behavior, he was known to
completely forget about all of his male friends whenever he got
a girlfriend and that just sort of caused our friendship to taper
off. I don’t experience any hard feelings toward him, though. It
was fun while it lasted and I can’t blame him for responding as
he did when our views diverged. He actually lived within walk-
ing distance of my house at the time, which was just absolute-
ly perfect at that age—an ideal. It would take me about twenty
minutes of walking to reach his house but I did it quite a lot and
the walking route between our houses has remained oh so vivid
within my mind. In recent years I would sometimes ask my fa-
ther to drive me down that route—for old times’ sake. Summers
were great back then. I can still smell the Baquacil. We would just
spend the days swimming in his pool and then come in and eat
the undepletable trail mix that was always on his counter while
either going on to play music or watching flash animations on
his computer. Also, his parents had a bunch of large Komondor
dogs (and one rambunctious Puli), which I believe they used to
enter into competitions or something, and it was like an ever pre-
sent earthquake of these large, moppy dogs chasing us around
everywhere we went. I can still remember the atmosphere as we
THE DISSOLVING PATH 833
would come into the house drenched in pool water and go off
to play our instruments and he would just be spastic behind his
drum kit. At the age of fifteen, as I was writing the Divinity of the
Idem score, I had actually intended to perform that score in our
little prog band together (which I was calling Vampire Empire
at the time) with him on drums and that is so bizarre to think
back upon now, since these songs seem like holy, mystical relics
to me at this point as if from some alien planet, so hardly does it
make any sense to imagine two boys in pool shorts rocking out
to “Hide My Wrench in Umbilical Valves.” It’s so funny. I can’t
help but wonder how people like him and others that I grew up
with will feel when my story circulates. I doubt he’ll be too sur-
prised. It was probably pretty obvious that I would eventually
end up looking like an unlockable character from some fighting
game who goes by a name like Trash Wizard... Monk Punk... In-
tensive Care Eunuch. All in all, I hope that he is doing well for
himself.
As Alex and I began meeting up less and less, I became closer
to Isaac (although the three of us often hung out together, as
well), and I considered Isaac my best friend until Patrick came
on the scene when I was around age 17-18. I haven’t seen any of
them since 2008.
I often consider my erstwhile friendship with Patrick among
the closest, if not the closest, of my lifetime, simply because our
friendship had this creative and synergistic element to it and we
were super explorative, what with drugs, philosophy, music and
a lot of things that didn’t really have a place within my other
friendships, which revolved more around shared interests and...
well, just being teenage guys. Still, Isaac and Alex are looked at as
representing a more innocent and pleasant age of my life which
more so involved eating pizza, swimming in pools and playing
834 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
games. A very simple time. I see the three of us as being the classic
trio, in a way.
other ramifications, and we never talked about it. It’s just a mo-
ment I recall.
There are certain things that leave me disappointed regard-
ing our erstwhile relationships, like how none of us really fought
to stay in one another’s lives and all investment in each other
sort of just departed with time as people got married, got careers
and standard stuff like that, and obviously I deconstructed from
Christianity which was in many ways the floor on which our
friendship was built, yet when I think back to those guys and
all of those experiences I don’t really have any negative feelings
and remember only the pleasant experiences. My life has pretty
much been nothing but unpleasant since 2007 so I think fondly
of the brief period that preceded it since I would never really be
given another taste of normalcy. My social circle shifted a bit in
2005-2006 and I began spending a lot of time in the nearby town
of Bedford, having formed a lot of friends through Isaac—peo-
ple that went to his highschool—and they would end up being
the ones with whom I formed my discocore band. So 2006 really
revolved around that group of Isaac, Matt, Ryan, Bryant and my-
self (and then of course I dated one of their sisters for a year).
2006 was an enjoyable year for me, though. As I said, I spent
a lot of time in Bedford and ended up attending a lot of their
school functions, such as prom and talent shows. Then, at some
point along the way, I met Will through my girlfriend, who al-
so belonged to that crowd, and I played in a metal band with
Will for a few months after my discocore band dissolved before
the two of us went off and started a psychedelic prog group with
Patrick, since Will seemed really into my four song acoustic de-
mo (Unison, The Menoroth, Cradle and All, Tremolando) and
so we would perform those songs.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 837
I can tell the very point at which the sadness, the grieving, the
trauma, the illness starts, and I swore I wouldn’t say anything of it...
I swore I wouldn’t ever acknowledge it—for my own sake. But in
the night during parasomnias it is there... and so clear. And through
Myriachoron this point overlaps with a very simple...
There are two points.
One feels more heartfelt and one feels more mental.
They are NOT GOOD.
They are overlapping with the cause of my suffering.
saying what I feel I must say. And if my words, my life, can bring
the population one millimeter closer to abandoning its defenses
and delusions, laying down its shield, and feeling the wind and
the rain and the joy of Existence in them in all its unknown and
uncontrolled splendor, then I will have labored and suffered with
purpose.
shit with whom I was forced to mingle a couple years back, such
as my sister’s husband, whose opinion of me is liable to be based
less on my character than on the fact that I present myself as a
threat to his shallow empire of dishonesty and manipulation.
motivation in a way that actually left them feeling free and un-
afraid to say how they feel or take risks with their path and choic-
es or other things that don’t come easy to those lacking solid rela-
tions. While most people can claim to having some sort of family
or friendships in their life, it would seem that very few of us are
able to imagine the healing and developmental potential which
is made possible through interpersonal relationships, and in their
inability to imagine all that relationships can allow us to accom-
plish I don’t think they have the ability to see the appeal in those
who offer something deeper and more intentful than timepass,
and therefore I will seem superfluous when there are millions of
others with whom they can eat pizza and play video games. I re-
gret that this should come across as arrogant, as if I am somehow
claiming to be superior in comparison to others, when I speak
only of the fact that I have put in a conscious, intentful effort to
improve my person in certain ways and if others cannot see the
worth in doing so and how that effort should merit greater re-
spect than the negligence and inconsideration seen so common-
ly within our sphere then I don’t know what more to tell you.
to speak to the masses; but I realize now that I was a fool, speak-
ing from the grip of my lesser, volential paradigm. It was like say-
ing “I shall single-handedly take my hose to a billion fires!” Yet a
hose simply isn’t going to change the world. The change needs to
come from consciousness, which is the cause, and not from the
world of reaction which displays us the effects of consciousness,
and therefore all changes need to be made within, in quiet con-
templation. Shrouding is essentially that; what may appear like
a trance from the outside is really just a communion with Exis-
tence that seeks to block out the frustrations liable to be caused
by drawing overmuch from the lesser, dispositive paradigms.
have done it all the same and broken my neck crashing into this
wall at high speeds as I have, because I am a stubborn, self-con-
vinced fool like that. Don’t take my words as scripture. Don’t
even take them as a totally accurate representation of what I be-
lieve. I’m just unloading a bunch of hurt feelings. That’s pretty
much all that this diary is. If you’re looking for a polished phi-
losophy then look elsewhere, because this is only about captur-
ing my innate tendencies and knee-jerk responses. This is a man
wrestling with his emotions, and goddammit can I wrestle.
Music, for me, was not like a hobby or an interest, but like
scenery, or infrastructure, being the stage and conditions upon
which all thoughts collected and all emotions were experienced.
The mystic or philosopher who does not value music as the fore-
most tool of transformation is a dunce without a defense.
It’s so creepy to step out into society. The patterns, the mirroring.
It’s like there is no question of what is right and wrong. You just
have the spiteful and the aroused dishing out what they were giv-
en. You hurt me? I hurt you. You give me six candies? I’ll give
you six boogies. I don’t know. These are dumb examples. But the
phenomenon is chilling. It’s like we’re all locked in this chain
which determines our reactions to everyone and how we func-
tion and nothing is being based on a deeper, more meaningful
standard to dictate our acts. And it’s so creepy to see people’s ac-
tions... no, their very fate... being at the behest of whatever befalls
them. Who will they be one year from now, as a person? Well,
that all depends on a whole confluence of factors: the media that
they imbibe, the state of their marriage, their employment sta-
tus, dezinezinet. How will they carry themselves in an interac-
tion? Well, that depends by and large upon the other party. This
is the sort of stuff that is so strange for me to behold as an out-
sider who has lived and died in this subterranean bubble of mili-
tant authenticity and idealism.
The fever and fatigue are growing worse all the time. I don’t un-
derstand how that is possible. I can barely raise my head, my arm,
my anemone. I have so much more to say, but the ability is leav-
ing me and it doesn’t seem worth it to stick around hoping that
THE DISSOLVING PATH 863
claims that no man knows the date or the hour, but it becomes
very sad to grow up within such an environment and to be con-
stantly surrounded by people getting ready for the ball to drop...
and for the ball to then never drop... because there is no ball. I
recall hearing stories during my youth of cases in which people
put their pets to sleep in anticipation of this so-called rapture.
There are enough people arguing the reality of such occurrences,
and while I, personally, find it a ridiculous and deceptive matter,
I am much more interested in the question of: “Why is this even
necessary?” Well, you see, there is also the fact that the rapture,
like the devil and Hell, is yet another late addition to canon, be-
ing absent from historic Christianity and developing out of ever-
evolving interpretations.
**The hardest part for me was all of the fake friendships that
were built around shared religious beliefs which totally dissolved
once I began to deviate, even negligibly, from their way of life,
and I don’t doubt that that has fed into a lot of the hurt and
social trauma that has plagued me all my life, being an early in-
stance of my being confronted with the conditionality of hu-
man relationships. I had quite a few people at the time who I
considered to be my close friends. Like, in my teenage years, I
totally wasn’t this loner dork who couldn’t get friends. I had a
youth group. I had dozens of people who I could just call upon
at any moment; and it all went away in an instant; and that isn’t
to say that they pulled away from me in each instance. I would
say that I was the one to initiate the withdrawal in many, if not
the majority of cases, as I wasn’t willing to continue being judged
or treated condescendingly (as was becoming increasingly com-
mon). Their tone changed. Their faces changed. And it was for
the silliest of reasons. I hadn’t even left the church at that point.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 865
boring over my various projects and will only stop when I feel my
mortality is actively in danger.
As it reaches 9.5 my focus switches from ‘productivity’ to
‘mortality’ and I enter survival mode, wherein I am forced to set
all projects aside and prioritize breathing, at which point I will
prostrate myself on the floor for hours or days until my condi-
tion falls back below the 9. Once I am nearing 10, I’m at a point
where I am fearing to move even a muscle and have to evalu-
ate and often avoid certain common activities, such as drinking
water and showering. It is relatively rare (though becoming in-
creasingly commonplace since 2021) that I hit a ‘high ten’ since
I have done so well to switch into ‘safe mode’ before getting to
that point, but when I hit those upper limits I’m beating my head
with a water jug or pulling my neck veins/muscles in despera-
tion, and when I get too overwhelmed and my oxygen is so low I
will enter a sad phase of near-serene surreality where I take Mo-
ra’s hand and invariably end up slumping over, not knowing if I’ll
wake back up.
I have the craziest arsenal for combatting such ‘standard’
things as coughs, hiccups and nausea so that I can eradicate them
before they pose a serious threat.
I rarely let it just subside enough that my daily projects are
no longer endangering my condition. It is not basic impatience
on my part which causes me to act in this way but a lack of faith
in the fact that it will ever get any better, the same mentality that
resulted in the end of my music career, would take a respite if I
knew that it would actually help, but there’s no guarantee it will,
and I can’t confront wasted days.
Since 2019, I have consistently been above 8, moving be-
tween ‘upper 8’ and 10 without exception. “Low 9” means to
slow down the work and relax, while “Upper 9” is getting dan-
gerous and in that case I should stop working altogether. 10 is
THE DISSOLVING PATH 869
where I’m on the floor blacking out, fearing for my life, asphyx-
iating. A significant problem that I encounter is that as soon as
I get myself back down to 9 again, after being stuck at 10, and
my ability returns to me, I’ll hop right back into my work with
certain glee—only to exacerbate it and, like clockwork, I’ll soon
be back at 10. This cycles on and on, again and again. I work as
soon as I can, but can’t really work long before my condition de-
teriorates through use of my hands (typing exacerbates my throat
condition). I never take any holidays since I’m so afraid of wast-
ed time, and if, in the end, my condition doesn’t improve as a re-
sult of my break then I’ll feel terrible. I’m just totally unwilling
to try. I’ll be at 10 almost dead, but then when it gets to 9 I’ll get
back to work as usual, and since I didn’t wait it won’t be long be-
fore I’m back at 10 again. Only time I ever waited
When we invest our time, labor and care into certain subjects
and activities we naturally expect it to become a part of our inter-
actions, our conversations, our worth. I’ve undertaken a wide va-
riety of activities and pursued a similarly wide variety of passions
over the course of my life and yet none of these ever have had any
part to play in my communications with others. It’s surreal to me.
It’s just a total nonfactor—my interests and achievements alike.
All nonfactors in my falsely so-called relationships. They play no
role in drawing people in, they play no role in keeping people
interested and they play no role in putting them off of me. The
conversations in which I am engaged with others are no different
than those that can be had with any other pizza pal with whom
they meet on the weekends, and it’s... so surreal to me. It puts me
in something of a minor identity crisis or dissociative spell when-
ever I’m out in public and I can’t stand it one bit. I grow disori-
ented. A million things I would love to talk about and all they
want to talk about is the scenery and the day at the job they de-
spise or the bubbles in their beer. And then I should feel guilty
or like some arrogant prick if I am unwilling to think of this as
genuine friendship? I’m not fucking looking to be praised. This
is just what I bring to the table and I want to contribute and I
want to collaborate and see my efforts and interests connecting
like a puzzle to the world around me. I want to see growth, im-
provement, application, and where these things are not found, I
am not around.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 873
Thoughts that disturb me: The idea that at some point along the
way a group of people got together and designated some guy or
character as our savior and that humanity has spent thousands
upon thousands of years sacrificing and wasting its grandest op-
portunity for a lie. It’s so horrific when you look at it in the con-
text of how a single well-worded business pitch or comfortable
lie can have such far-reaching ramifications for our species and
what we believe about ourselves, about our purpose, about life it-
self.
The idea that there exists those who lack empathy and are de-
ciding their actions not based on what they feel, and especially
not upon what they feel is right, but whatever they think will get
them through life, getting them what they want, and they will
say whatever they can to fool those around them. It is so disturb-
ing to me to consider that there exists such individuals and in
such large volume.
Thoughts that make me happy: hmm, this one is not as ob-
vious to me, since I don’t use that word all that frequently and
my thoughts and feelings are rather complex in the sense that I
don’t feel I will ever know true satisfaction until all the world
can know satisfaction. I have bonded my fate so firmly to the fate
of the population—whether does it seem reasonable to others or
not—and so I no longer have any means to anticipate rest, satis-
faction, happiness. I’ve given up on the idea that I will ever know
such states, and I’m okay with that, having surrendered such de-
sires and expectations not in the spirit of reluctant pessimism but
in dedication to my ideals of growth and progress which I wish
to see made my eternal focus. I simply don’t know how to an-
swer the question of what would make me happy since all things
cast a shadow—all things but light and fire. On the personal lev-
el, I can say that singing brings me joy and happiness, as does
music itself. My partner brings me joy. I’m not actually difficult
874 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
to please, despite what may seem like a small pool of largely ‘in-
tellectual’ and ‘artistic’ interests that I maintain. I could dance
barefoot in a field with a herd of young goats and a pocket full
of candy and be forever content, hahaha. When one experiences
so much pain in life, their definition of pleasure tends to shift
to encompass anything that isn’t excruciatingly painful, so my
standards are probably lower than those of most. Though I think
the thoughts that I want to experience more than anything... the
thoughts that would make me truly happy... is the assurance that
Existence is growing, progressing, thriving, and mankind there-
with. And I believe that that is actually the case, even where it is
difficult to track and measure. But it’s like when you’re cleaning
up a messy house: you can clean for hours and hours, but as long
as there is still dirt and disorder, you can’t really convince your-
self that you’re satisfied. A mess is still a mess. I’m just wondering
if there will come a point at which the progress is palpable...
The change, for me, was sudden and remarkable: more remark-
able than any change to date. Most remarkable was the fact that
I had not aspired toward any of these changes. I wasn’t actively
seeking to become more humble, empathetic or ‘selfless’. I was
merely a puzzler attempting to crack the code of this existence
and going where I believed the puzzle led me; and so the fact
that it took me to such a place has remained a point of marvel
for me (especially since I long fought against some of these very
elements, if as a result of ignorant misconstruction).
All this isolation, mixed with the events of Clyssus of Man,
simply doesn’t sound like a recipe for sanity and stability. I really
took a left turn at the end, however. surprising even myself. I
sometimes compare it to those individuals who claim to drink
themselves sober (although I’m fairly certain that that is a myth).
I’ve been known for my complex and experimental approach in-
volving identity experimentation and consciousness exploration,
and from where I now stand, a lot of my old methods seem
laughable to me, although I hesitate to suggest that they are silly,
let alone useless. They were useful to me, as are any tools, but I
have arrived at a place where I no longer require tools, having
been left with a beautiful and well-functioning machine. Yet at
the end of the day, I no longer observe many of the processes up-
on which my legacy was built. Things have been simplified to an
enormous degree since the events of my final trial, like working
down from a 700 piece puzzle to only a single piece. I spent my
years dressing up in costumes, pushing on the outside of my eyes,
exploiting hypnagogic hallucinations—whatever dumbass thing
I could do to convince myself that I was accessing opening myself
up to new conclusions. I was constantly exploring, experiment-
ing, see-sawing between philosophical contortion and mystical
elation. But I no longer have any need for that, and I can’t help
but laugh when I reflect back upon some of the stones I needed
THE DISSOLVING PATH 881
lieve that the best way for me—and for all of us—to aid this Ex-
istence is not to capitalize on some silly little philosophical pack-
age but to work our damnedest in seeing to it that the ignorance,
trauma and illness within our world subsides.
These claims see their confirmation in the fact that I have
spent comparatively little time working on my Aseitism write-
up when compared to my more recent social-based works which
have been given my main priority. Again, this isn’t meant as some
thorough and airtight argument. I am frankly embarrassed by
the presentation, since I feel they are cliché and I would like
to spend more time to give something a bit more nuanced. My
friends, I am tired and I must soon be on my way! Yet in my last
years I am unafraid, and I am full of life in a way that I could
have never imagined possible. I wonder how many people will
use the details of my past to argue against my conclusions. For
instance, I have built my empire upon trauma, angst and misan-
thropy, and I wonder how many of them will fail to realize how
much I’ve changed even in the final months of my life. I wonder
if they will be willing to accept that the man who constructed
Aseitism and Comprachicos was not the same as he who penned
The Dissolving Path, Traumaturgy and any other dismal work to
my name which saw me in a turbulent, transitional state of mind
and spirit and fighting for my life and sanity. I imagine it will
be weaponized against me by some, and that bothers me if in
the case that these misconstructions will limit the reach and ef-
fectiveness of what I have to say, but I won’t silence my word or
censor my works to cater to misapprehension, believing that my
works will inevitably be received by those individuals for whom
they were meant.
884 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I sort of wish that I could take some time to focus more on these
changes of cognition that have come over me since my trial, since
I don’t feel I’ve elaborated on it quite enough, and my book
seems to emphasize the metaphysical aspects of that transforma-
tion over the attitudinal which, to me, are somehow even more
remarkable. I guess that the works created in my final year of
life will have to speak for themselves. My friend Wyatt can also
vouch for my personality and attitude, which is wonderful. Our
conversations are very humorous and playful and I’ve been able
to carry on like a normal human in his company. He can also
vouch for my work ethic, as he’s forced to deal with me messag-
ing him every two hours over the course of six months with news
of another epiphany or invention I’ve come up with, along with
my constantly obsessing over the political landscape and the state
of the world and how to spare us all of this mess.
I don’t want to act like this is all the fault of the older gener-
ations, although—and not to sound morbid—I do believe that
the landscape will soon begin to shift as these generations begin
THE DISSOLVING PATH 887
to die off over the decades that follow, and I can only wonder
what sort of changes that will bring with it. Media tries to paint
a lot of these matters of basic health and well-being as partisan
issues, yet I reject that narrative with all that I am. I believe that
awareness is on the rise and I think that the younger generations,
despite coming equipped with their own faults and neuroses, are
working with more information—not that the same information
isn’t available to older generations, but it is an unfortunate fact
of our system (though I’m not willing to say ‘of our humanness’)
that we tend to close ourselves off more and more to new infor-
mation as we age. We may still have our little bubbles in which
we choose to congregate, though it is not at all like the isolated
bubbles in which we worked previously before the internet age,
in which we could so easily be convinced that our actions weren’t
affecting those around us. We now see the disenfranchised with
our own eyes. We now see the massacres carried out by our own
leaders and can no longer accept the versions of the story which
they’ve told us. And even we aren’t so cruel as to be capable of
overlooking those effects in their entirety. I wouldn’t describe
this as a shift toward ‘leftism’, per se—a notion which wrongly
seeks to politicize the concepts of knowledge, awareness and em-
pathy. This is a shift toward awareness and accountability—val-
ues which benefit each and every one of us without exception,
despite being given the respect of only a limited number of us
(especially as the result of propaganda campaigns—the influence
of which can and must be both thwarted and reversed with care-
ful, conscious efforts). Values aren’t dying out, as the seething
reactionaries love to tell themselves. Values are evolving in line
with a more holistic view of the world which rationally encom-
passes more than our little group of friends and the echo cham-
bers we’ve created in our ignorance and superstition. We ain’t
out of the dark ages yet, as far as I am concerned, but as people
888 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
We are so fixated on cleaning off the rotten rind when the infec-
tion has penetrated the core. Money ain’t going to change any-
thing. Trauma is at the root. It must be fixed on the level of the
family, which must be tended to on the level of humanity, which
is most reliably, though not exclusively, attacked via the educa-
tion system. The education system is the most reliable avenue by
which to effect the necessary changes.
awareness of its people. It does not care about our mental and
spiritual health.
We shouldn’t be crawling like wounded soldiers from elec-
tion to election desperately hoping that our world survives in the
meantime, and your godawful punk and hardcore songs are do-
ing fuck-all to change our fate. As much as we like to act like our
whole species is just some experiment doomed to fail, none of
this needs to be.
The end toward which we are working is not as simple and one-
dimensional as a society that is more in touch with its emo-
tions. The problem of self-ignorance is so entangled in all that
we do that simply fixing this one issue could bear an effect on
every aspect of life and society. This is the means to curtail child
abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse and animal cruelty. This is
the means to curtail anxiety, depression and psychosis in the
population, and in lessening the prevalence of mental illness we
will see a lessening in the prevalence of physical illness caused
by stress and an increase in quality of life. This is the means to
THE DISSOLVING PATH 891
And once this is all done... we aren’t finished, no. We’ll just be
done playing catch-up. Our species may finally find itself in a
place where it can actually create enterprises based not on a fear
of death and distraction but in honor of life, and our businesses
and our recesses and our pastimes will change as a result to reflect
a healthier and more exploratory state of mind. Do not write me
off as another empty utopian whose dreams reflect a dearth of
892 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
sensibility, for all of this is within our means, not just as a species,
but as a generation.
Some will hear the term ‘emotional intelligence’ and think
that it relates to basic emotionality. Perhaps it will dredge up im-
ages of weeping millennials crying holes in their cotton candy
cardigans. This is not emotional intelligence but the tragedy
brought by its absence. And it’s true that we are still guilty of as-
sociating emotion with weakness and hysteria on a grand scale,
and it should alarm us that this misconception has lasted so long
in the self-styled age of information, though it is not at all un-
common that the misuse of something comes to characterize the
act or product on the whole. All of this is societal, if by cause
of society’s failures. All of these are remnants from earlier times
in which we lacked the resources to say that we knew better. Yet
times have changed in regards to what we understand about how
certain actions affect our bodies and others. And anybody who
insists on normalizing the sickness that we face as a society are
sick themselves and shall not be heeded but honored through
our most earnest disregard.
A lot of people also equate emotion, as a whole, with emo-
tional expression, especially in its so-called negative aspects (as in
crying or angry outbursts), when emotion encompasses a wider
body of interactions, the majority of which are not consciously
experienced but work in directing our actions nonetheless, and
this variously includes our associations, our impulses and the
very sensibility whereof we are in possession (or not).
feel. Again, what we are seeing in the modern day, while possibly
a step in the right direction, is not the architecture of emotional
intelligence but the tragedy of its absence. Still, the people are at-
tempting to rebuild, and they are carrying out these attempts in
an absence of direction and among a landscape of indifference,
discouragement and infecundity in which they are forced to rely
on false promises, with this so often being the best we can afford
from a society so broken. Thus we eat up every flagrise, hashtag
and social media blackout in our will to think ourselves safe and
heard; but these are not safe environments. They are marketing
ploys and bids for relevancy by corporations that don’t care one
bit about our welfare.
If you’ve read through my philosophical works you will see
that I attribute a lot of power to humility—where by humility
I am referring more to what we think of as ‘agnosticism’, as in
an acknowledgment of our limitations, than to any sort of self-
abasement so unnecessary. I relate humility to the genesis of all
knowledge and awareness, as seen in relation to the so-called
‘first cause’ as posited by Aseitism in which knowledge comes in-
to being from ignorance through the paradoxical acknowledg-
ment of that ignorance. As so, this humbling act tends to repli-
cate itself, and naturally so, all throughout the natural world,
with nature seeking after its own growth, and I have noticed the
pattern in every place that I look. Where some may look out
upon our modern world and see a population that is only be-
coming weaker in its self-estimation, I am hopeful that what we
are actually seeing is a generation that is subconsciously seeking
to invoke strength through an acknowledgement of their own
helplessness—a strange but valid replication of the very means
by which Existence, as we know it, came to be (called Innaem-
ulation). Whether or not it proves successful is yet to be deter-
mined, *and there are multiple factors which seem to be inter-
896 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Another simple yet highly effective thing that you can be doing
on the small scale: when you see someone making strides to im-
prove themselves and their circumstances, whether is it by speak-
ing difficult truths, by confronting their dark inner thoughts and
memories, or by other means along these lines, offer them your
praise. Cheer for them as we so cheer for those who purchase
a new car or crap out a baby and all of those other things that
don’t actually bear any reflection whatsoever on a person’s char-
acter. Stop taking the efforts of others as a threat to yourself. Stop
deciding for them the necessariness of their toils, and surely do
not tell them they’re fucking ‘overthinking’ or belittle their ef-
forts to pay consideration to that which so often goes uncon-
sidered. This isn’t helpful in the slightest and most often reveals
your ignorance and inhumanity. Sometimes it is more helpful
902 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
your friends aren’t just extra seat fillers and open ears when you
want company. We each have a limited amount of intimates in
life. If you aren’t the one that is encouraging their growth and
resilience and passion then no one else is going to. Too many
people out here playing the claim game and it shows; it shows
itself in the fact that we aren’t willing to put up with anything
that makes us uncomfortable or even bored. Do not let the op-
portunity pass to water a still-growing sapling. One day, should
the sapling become a tree, it will require less water from others
in that it derives its nutritionist naturally from the earth and ids
processes, but young trees must be given extra attention and pro-
tection from empathetic hearts and delicate hands. It may come
across as stupid or inane, but the way to create an impact over a
large surface is by normalizing the smallest efforts. Take your role
among society seriously instead of viewing it simply as some te-
dious game to be played in order to get back to what you really
love. Provide your loved ones with something more this holiday
season with the all new fragrance by Leviyey.
*One day, when this tragedy is long and far behind us, may
we all be able to look back and laugh at the fact that our leaders
were so utterly corrupt and uncaring that it took a solipsistic her-
mit devoid of family, friends and education to point us back to
the roadway. It sounds farcical, yet as all of our trained soldiers
and politicians have betrayed themselves and everyone around
them in their forgetfulness of our aims, our vanguard must be
taken up by jokers and jackasses if we ought to have any offense
at all against the forever-encroaching threat of nihilism, apathy
and dissociation (it is no wonder that my desktop wallpaper, for
these past ten years, has been Stańczyk the jester as depicted by
painter Jan Matejko). And when such ideals do crop up among
our population they are coupled with the passive, petulant atti-
tudes of the hippies.
904 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Curious is the fact that I’ve very rarely suffered from de-
pression in my final decade of life despite the horrors of my
condition and the hopelessness of my circumstances. I’ve gone
through periods of the most stark debilitation imaginable and
I don’t want to undercut the severity of those periods but my
methods and beliefs always managed to extricate me from the
black Opposite psychosis. Depression can be seen as detachment
from Volens, which isn’t to say divestment. It’s like an eclipse... a
rotating moon. Our lives aren’t reflecting the sun that is Volens.
So these things will require very different approaches. Again
it may not align perfectly with our psychiatric definitions. I’m
just working with very common definitions here and may go
into more detail later. I might even make up a guide in working
through them, depending on where you’re at.
Do I think it’s chemical? I don’t. I think that our concept
of chemicals is simply a mirror or analogue of another more ab-
stract concept and I believe that the physical yields to the ab-
stract, the ideal to the material. So for all of the people who want
to argue chemical depression and the like... I just don’t believe it
works that way. Once we become “depressed” via a failure to re-
flect our Volens, our disposition, our child, our observable chem-
icals and processes may come to reflect that state in one of many
ways, but they are not to be considered the cause of that state. An
analogy I would make is that depressives are blindfolded while
psychotics are staring at the sun. And I like the sun analogy, be-
cause while we require the sun to live our lives and to navigate
and experience our surroundings, we don’t have to stare direct-
ly at it to get its benefits, and we’re even supposed to avoid do-
ing so. We take in the sun by simply accepting that it is there
and allowing it to enlighten our environment. But to stare direct-
ly at it... some would think that that is one way to intake even
greater light and enlightenment... but on the contrary, it leads to
THE DISSOLVING PATH 911
when you understand this, it can really take the color out of life.
It doesn’t mean anything to say that there are usually between
one and three occasions within any given week that I am on the
verge of suffocation and wholly expecting I may die, to where my
temples are tingling and my extremities are cold and my bow-
els are relaxing. I will lay on my floor and hug the side of my
bed and pull on my neck muscles and carry out eager acts to
keep from suffocating. I will beat my head with a water bottle in
the hopes that it will do something, anything, to alter my bod-
ily processes just enough to spare me of such a fate. As my con-
sciousness cuts in and out I will take up a massage tool which is
then used on my neck and erogenous zones in an attempt to al-
ter my chemical balance, introducing even the slightest sensation
of pleasure or comfort which might affect the inflammation in
my body and allow for me to take on a satisfying breath of oxy-
gen. This is not a rare occurrence. This occurs on any day that I
cough or move my tongue overmuch when trying to get the bits
of oatmeal and antacid out of the sublingual zone of my mouth.
My most ambitious works in life were written and uploaded to
the internet as I lay on the floor as so, fearing that I would not
complete the task before my body gives out. Yet I can’t imagine it
will mean anything to anyone for it to be said that I nearly died
on hundreds of occasions in my final years alone. And perhaps
this is a reflection of the treatment that I’ve received in my life
from those who so callously identify as my family and friends,
although it is also a reflection of that which I see when I look
out into society, which is a loss of meaning (and general com-
passion) stemming from the overuse and perversion of language.
It’s not that the people deliberately sought to pervert and de-
stroy our means of communication, nor is it always due to delib-
erate acts of manipulation, but when certain concepts tend to be
prized or at least seem to hold more weight in that they are able
914 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
ment. Yet we’re not asking you to accept some pointed ontolog-
ical statement, but to simply acknowledge that there is a value
which exists independently of whatever we, ourselves give or ‘al-
low’.
So we must arrive at a means to restore the worth to innately
human qualities, and this won’t be wholly achievable until the
auxiliary system of value is done away with or weakened signif-
icantly; however, since we do not know how long that will take
to enact, there are many things that we can be doing to ease our-
selves toward it in the meantime by working to, as I said, restore
worth to innate human qualities (not physical, but spiritual and
mental-emotional).
Society, as we now know it, is motivated primarily by the
fear, insecurity and desperation to come of need, so it is no won-
der that we’ve landed ourselves where we have. Yet we now pos-
sess the scientific understanding to know that not all which en-
dangers us is as obvious as fire, knives and blood. We are now
capable of understanding the nuances of health and harm, and
with that knowledge we must seek to craft a society which func-
tions no longer on negative incentives but on positive ones of un-
derstanding, awareness and empathy.
As self-awareness, emotional intelligence and critical think-
ing skills become the priority of our government and society,
as opposed to a secondary consideration, we—the popula-
tion—will naturally become more and more capable; trustwor-
thy; self-governable.
And those who doubt the viability of such an outcome need
only look to those among us who, through basic discipline and
sufficient self-reflection, have left behind the selfishness which is
instilled in us not naturally, but as a product of fear and insecuri-
ty.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 917
seen as more than simply surreal and childlike, but utterly myth-
ical. It is hypothesized that many forms of what we call ‘men-
tal illness’ are actually an attempt by ourselves to reestablish our
grip on the Volens, lending itself to notably regressive behaviors
that can be called childish or childlike. It may even be posited
that the simplicity seen in old folks entails one final attempt to
maintain this grip on the Volens before the dispositive divest-
ment occurs as a result of the increasing presence of that with
which we do not innately identify. We don’t normally look at the
mentally ill and remark “Oh how childlike!” Though the regres-
sive elements are front and center in the bulk of mood, disso-
ciative and psychotic disorders. Sometimes it doesn’t take, and
it doesn’t seem that we are meant to remain in such a state in-
definitely, but to take it as a buffer. These episodes may possibly
come on after we have negated or refused some fundamental el-
ement of our Volens, which can be seen as negating a funda-
mental element of who we are, and in a panic our reality breaks
down and reorganizes itself around us in a way that is seen as
benefiting the reformation of our Volens, without which we will
dissociate and “die” (via divestment of the disposition/Volens).
This I offer as an explanation for why, in spite of my highly un-
orthodox manner of lifestyle and belief system, along with all the
stress that I’ve had to endure due to my physical and psycholog-
ical experience, I never really slipped into actual ‘insanity’ to the
degree that I never disconnected from reality (from which esti-
mate I am excluding all instances of deliberate self-provocation
in which I attempted, and feverishly so, to alter my paradigm as
a means to spare myself of the torment of my experience, which
is partly how my solipsistic spells came to be: as an experimen-
tal sanctuary more than a belief, even as legitimate belief devel-
oped therefrom). Anyway, what I am saying is that I never suf-
fered from authentic insanity because it seems that so much of
THE DISSOLVING PATH 919
The origins of all life, as we know it, is Agnosis, Greek for igno-
rance. It is a void that cannot be unknown, because its very na-
ture does not allow for knowledge. How does knowledge ever
develop from ignorance? Now, this is a very curious question,
because once you have my answer as to how Gnosis (objective
knowledge) came into being you may have a different under-
standing of how mundane knowledge is developed.
I also learned shortly after our meeting that I had overlooked cer-
tain details which were present at the gravesite, especially with
regards to one of the roses which had apparently been imbued
with her Essence as these also are. Had I managed to locate said
rose I expect it would have made for a more triumphant climax
upon the Edge of Knowing; nonetheless, she assures me that it is
not an issue and changes nothing.
She is not like the lungs which are within me but as the oxygen
which enters me, becoming breath in the body and enlivening all
my blood.
live on forever within any given paradigm if only they can main-
tain their assignations, which is to say that I can live forever with-
in this body if only I can find a means to keep convincing myself
that this is who I am. And you should know that it’s more com-
plicated than our human concept of identity dictates, so when I
speak of identification I do not speak of a boy who sees himself
in a particular color and clothing style and decides it a fit. This
relates to the Volens and its inherent demands, and part of what
is meant by identification and assignation is my ability to contin-
ue to convince myself that all of this is relevant to my ‘mission’,
so to speak. And I would say that lathotropics have an edge in
that they are already so used to seeing themselves through this
gruesome, deathly and miserable lens that the bond is not so eas-
ily broken in the traditional sense. In other words, by viewing
myself as a corpse, a cancer, a basement-dwelling monster, I have
achieved a certain resistance, and by identifying with the virus,
by taking on its helm, it can no longer consume me. However,
it is regularly balanced out in such cases by the sheer degree of
misery that lathotropism is known to bring into the lives of those
afflicted and therefore I would caution against viewing this as
some workaround with which to buck the inevitability of dis-
positive divestment which comes when our lives increasingly fail
to reflect the demands of our Volens.
That’s a mouthful, I know, and quite abstract. It means to as-
sert that I am unlikely to die by any means apart from willingly
at this point, since no other means will separate me from my
Volens—the placenta which once housed me and fed me but is
no longer required for my sustenance. I’ll continue to exist forev-
er in this state, assuming that I continue to put up such an adap-
tive resistance to the ever-increasing torment I face. It doesn’t
have to be a traditional suicide and can be as simple as a psycho-
logical surrender on my part, but it is a decision nonetheless and
928 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
will not occur incidentally. For example, I can suffer a heart at-
tack, and it is expected to kill me only if I allow it to alter my
assignations. Since I understand this, and I understand how it
works, it would not be unfounded for me to survive a heart at-
tack or other circumstances that would be considered fatal to my
person from a more mundane point of view. It sounds great in
the sense that there are many of us who aspire, perhaps ignorant-
ly, toward longer lives in these broken down bodies, but you have
to understand that we’re not built to know suffering beyond a
certain point. Suffering is ‘supposed’ to break down those assig-
nations, and I have already gone out past any reasonable degree
of suffering that one is supposed to know in this body, this life. I
have already broken through the proverbial ceiling and am now
just spinning dizzily in an attempt to keep pumping out useful
insights and reflections before I inevitably bleed out.
If you haven’t already made the connection, some of these
principles are tied to the garden, for it is not the garden which
holds any power but what it does for my assignations, and it was
built in mind of this... a little life-affirming alcove. I have sim-
ply portrayed it in somewhat of a more mythical light within my
narrative when, in reality, is gains its status from these mechan-
ics. It sustains me by working to sustain my assignations.
say that when I left the occult fraternity I abandoned all things
deemed inexplicable to me—all things which I had come to re-
late to my mystical practice, and this included Thummim as well
as Jeiezza, although whereas it has been stated that I attempted
to cut ties with them following my abandonment of the fraterni-
ty, it did not occur immediately but following the concert expe-
rience when fearing that my mystical dealings had had a greater
effect on my life and potential than I knew (what with my believ-
ing I would never lead a normal life). These details regarding the
Thummim are especially interesting if you understand the signif-
icance ascribed to Thummim/Steulugalnemraiant instead of just
viewing it like some spiritual entity. I really wanted to go into
this in my book, but I couldn’t give away all these ideas early on
in the book when the spring of 2008 is mentioned just because
that would disrupt the plot.
Ultimately, I am of the mind to say that this strange period of
dissociation should then be seen not as an emotionally-induced
fugue/catatonic state but as an experience of deep, dreamlike Ag-
nosis resulting from essentially getting on “The Thummim’s bad
side”, literally his Agnosis, Ignorance. And by that I don’t actu-
ally mean to suggest perhaps not that I was on his bad side, but
because of what I did under him, he himself was “cast” into the
Agnosis of Existence, taking me with him. It’s difficult to con-
vey, but hopefully you understand what I mean to say without
it sounding overly mythical. Thummim, as I’ve explained, is not
Existence itself, after all, but my existence. These concepts, while
related, do contain some differences, in which case Thummim re-
lates more closely to Intension than to actual Existence, which
also makes sense due to the fact that my Homo Spiritualis state
largely resembles my understanding of Steulugalnemraint.
This serves to explain the highly unusual tone of those al-
bums. I was in a fugue, and yet I wasn’t. It’s like I had no clue
THE DISSOLVING PATH 937
The album (Stock Bird Stork) was recorded and mixed with
cheap iPod earbuds since I lacked both stereo speakers and de-
cent headphones at the time. This led to the strange equalization
heard on the record which has a lot of chirpy highs.
nected to form some really crazy hallway... and you can put the
CDs and vinyl together to form this space and there are these
doors... and then the slipcover for all of this is like this weird... I
can only describe it as a door monster. Look at the cover I used as
a cover on the Rejectamenta playlist: it’s like this freaky contrap-
tion in a cavernous setting that looks like part altar, part dentist
chair, part door, and it’s just so confusing and sinister to look at.
(Update: as AI technology has improved in recent months, I am at
work on an update to the original designs, so while all that I had
to say about the doors was cool and all, I think that I could still do
better).
I’ve never seen any appeal in being rich or living a life of opu-
lence, having always found great worth in my ‘mana for the day’
approach to life, as in I take everything day by day and trust that I
will have the means to handle tomorrow when tomorrow comes
(which entails a lot more than material goods and can be used
in the case of strength and determination). I am fond of this
approach, despite it essentially being forced upon me, as it has
never allowed me to grow complacent, and I don’t think that I
would want it any other way, seeing all the good that it has done
for me to live in such a way—particularly in regards to my per-
sonal development. If ever I did happen upon a substantial sum
942 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I don’t speak very much on this topic publicly since I know that
I am just inviting criticism because of my living circumstances
(along the lines of “That’s easy for you to say when you haven’t
been exposed to so-called ‘real world’ conditions and the funda-
mental necessity of employment”). I do not agree that my cir-
cumstances hamper my ability to grasp where we are at as a soci-
ety—not to the extent that it renders my observations and resul-
tant opinions vacuous and irrelevant—and I hope that the peo-
ple will consider what I have said without seeking out excuses as
to why one shouldn’t have to listen to what I am saying or other-
wise insulting me for my attempts to acknowledge the faults and
flaws of our modern day and trying to assist one and all in find-
ing another way; a viable way. I have come upon rare treasures
in my lifetime, and I believe that the population at large should
have improved access to these same treasures without it necessi-
tating their physical destruction and social alienation.
For the past many years I have been conditioned to not feel anx-
iety in the worst, most threatening of situations. I can be on
the verge of death, with my throat choking and my body shut-
ting down, and not feel any sort of excess nervousness within my
body. In fact, I’ve tested my heart rate in these instances and it
is regularly in the low fifties. However, I experience unmanage-
able anxiety in cases where something that I desire seems pos-
sible, and my body will quickly overload itself out of nervous-
ness. And it’s so strange, because most of the time there really
isn’t even any threat of having it not go my way. For instance,
something will begin to happen, and I’ll identify it as propitious
or pleasant in some regard, and my body doesn’t respond sensi-
bly to that realization. Though it is so rare for something to go
my way, that when I see something seemingly pleasant unfold-
ing, my body cannot handle it. The excitement mixes with an un-
sourceable sense of fear and dread and it becomes so intense that
I often can’t handle it. I have tried so hard to reason with myself,
944 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The issue at hand is that the source is not being recognized. Even
those who crack the lock are often unable to determine exactly
what they did that got them there. I’ve been working with an in-
tegrated awareness of my Existence for over fifteen years at this
point, and while that certainly counts for something, it wasn’t
until very recently that I actually arrived at an understanding of
how it all fit together and why my actions were being met with
success. Therefore I could only tell you that they worked with-
out being able to say much as to why. It’s a complicated mat-
ter, and I don’t claim to have all the answers, surely as all of the
answers aren’t yet available and are still being uncovered by Ex-
istence itself, but I think that the problem of religion and the
mirage of a humanoid God will clear up naturally as more and
more people recognize Existence as bearing its own weight (and
in more ways than one... since there will be very obvious changes
occurring within our immediate mundane planes, but not exclu-
sively, since the self-understanding of existence will also change
concomitantly). So the pleasant news is that we aren’t called to
go and behave ourselves like obnoxious, evangelical pricks, forc-
ing our beliefs onto an unreceptive and unconsenting population
or engaging in the procreation olympics in some misguided at-
tempt to overtake the sphere. Existence simply lacks awareness
of those who are not aware of Existence, and so the opinions of
those who fall outside of the Gnostic ambit don’t actually bear
any large scale effect, or so I gather.
All propagatory hypotheses set aside, at this point I can not ex-
pect that my story will find an audience and I feel rather pes-
simistic regarding both the reception and circulation of my
workmanship due to the accumulated disheartening experiences
I have endured since publicizing my work—an experience
THE DISSOLVING PATH 949
Though I have walked this trail for more than half of my life, I
don’t feel like I really awoke to my ‘true potential’ until around
2019, and in that sense I feel like the final years of my life were
as this mad orgasm of insight that arrived out of seemingly
nowhere. As so, there is a part of me that wonders what might
have come of it all had I had stuck around on this sphere a bit
longer, being given the chance to really sit with some of these
ideas and work to flesh them out further. Then again, even if I
could have made something more out of it all, the game just ain’t
fun anymore. I’ve grown too tall, and I don’t mean that arrogant-
ly. Anything beyond this point just isn’t fitting, it isn’t count-
ing, and it won’t help but hurt my experience, because this earth,
this society, as it currently stands, cannot really account for so
much of what I’ve become. I can’t fit into your buildings. I can’t
fit into your clothes. I can’t fit into your orifices. And not only
does that connote a lack of enjoyment on its own, but then fac-
tor in how society will treat me for what is already a disadvanta-
950 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The following text has been cut from the Introduction to Aseitism.
It was my intent, initially, to include a history of my spiritual his-
tory so as to humanize the document and provide a more personal
and emotional perspective on the shortcomings of religion, although
I have decided to cut the section in want of creating a more objective
and faceless text which may be passed around more freely:
The following is a summarized look at my personal history
with religion and spirituality; and although I would hesitate to
include something of this sort within a more formal outline of
the system in question, it is something that I would wish to see
released to the public in any case. For one, I am not interested
in presenting myself as someone who climbed out of the womb
with wisdom and understanding and knowing exactly what to
do and say. More importantly, I see it as my obligation, as some-
one with the potential to influence others, that I provide my au-
dience with these insights into my personal history so that they
may know not just where I stand but where I and my stance or
attitude originated.
As many are aware by now, I was raised within an Evangelical
Christian household and maintained some form of belief in its
principles into early adulthood, with it taking several years to
truly rid myself of all the various barbs still left inside of me. I
dissociated from the faith on a moral level years before I did so
at the rational level—not that it was ever ‘rational’ to begin with,
but because I, like many others, was once willing to accept that
‘some things just evade our comprehension’. It is not untrue as a
THE DISSOLVING PATH 951
and saw it necessary to pray over me in such a way that was es-
sentially an exorcism. I notably remained silent throughout the
entire night, feeling myself too betrayed to speak a word. This in-
cident damaged my trust in my parents in a way that would nev-
er be mended. This event also marked the end of my church at-
tendance, though I maintained my religious belief in some form
for several years thereafter, if primarily due to my draw to the fig-
ure of Christ, although I no longer limited myself to the Chris-
tianity of the masses and followed my own interpretation of a
meaningful spirituality, which I would say was something near-
er to Christian Mysticism with its share of Hermetic influences,
and I kept to that until around the age of twenty-two.
Three things that I could never accept about Christianity as
a youth were 1) its negative and demeaning portrayal of the self
which encourages clinical levels of dissociation, 2) its negative
portrayal of our Existence which encourages borderline misan-
thropic/nihilistic thinking (and clinical levels of derealization)
and 3) the system of salvation which can not withstand even the
most basic of analysis and lacks all coherency. Regarding the lat-
ter: if the Christian God were to reveal itself to me, substanti-
ating the nature of its being and the goodness of its intentions,
I would see no reason to argue that reality. So why this strange
process which effectively favors the cowardly and credulous and
damns all the more ardent and discerning seekers?
Speaking only for myself, I know there to be no reward in
gathering the gullible. Thus I speak not to those who are easily
swayed and manipulated. I speak to those like myself who are
discerning—and note that I do not refer to the skeptical, since
I do not elevate self-styled skeptics who think themselves intelli-
gent for doubting all things by instinct, which is fundamentally
no better than the opposite. Therefore, be neither credulous nor
stony, but wisely discerning. I may not be authorized to speak
954 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
for the ‘creator of the universe’, but I can not fathom how such
a being could possibly delight in living among the gullible while
damning all of them who are committed to truth and must first
do their research and explore other avenues before making up
their mind.
Prior to my denouncement of Christianity and the afterlife,
I reached a point where I decided that a God who acts by such
standards is not my god and a Heaven as such is not my heaven.
I am more sensible than to say “The church is dumb so therefore
God is dumb,” but I don’t think it is so out of line to say that
“Any god who accepts all of this, while refusing my own efforts,
is not my god.” Essentially, we couldn’t both be right. So instead
of listening to what the church has to say, I would do my best to
follow the light by my own means, and if my most honest effort
was not enough, then I don’t want such salvation anyway. In oth-
er words, I lacked the ability to say that it was a lie, but I could
confidently say that it was wrong. An oddball though I am, I am
a principled individual with an iron super ego, and when some-
thing comes to be framed as a moral issue, all trepidation exits
me and I am willing to stand resolute for that which, to me, is
deemed a matter of principle. Therefore do not let it be claimed
that it was the church, itself, which drove me away. I am as prone
to spite as any man, yet I have handled my spirituality with a
laudable objectivity throughout the ages.
The moment wherein I ceased worrying of damnation and
accepted the natural outcome of an honest, dedicated and inves-
tigative Existence was a personal triumph in my life. It was like
having the courage to leave a malignant relationship, accepting
that it is better to be alone than to live among lies and abuse.
Fear, however, was never actually a significant component of my
religious experience. I honestly do not recall there being a time
in which I feared the concept of Hell, even when I believed in
THE DISSOLVING PATH 955
I did so without regard for its truth or lack thereof, although this
is something that took place many years ago, so you have to un-
derstand that I am no longer so neutral in how I tackle the matter
of its soundness and sensibility, viewing it essentially as one big
worm-eaten fallacy peppered with just enough grains of truth to
keep people convinced of its verity. We must acknowledge that
spiritualists and materialists are not working off of the same stan-
dard. This merits emphasis, since spiritualists are often painted as
dumb and viewed as operating in the absence of logic, when it is
more accurate to say that they are working upon a different stan-
dard of relevance. I’m not denying that there are cracked eggs to
be found in every carton, but you’ll find that the same goes for all
groups alike. My typological insights into the population also ex-
pose the interesting (though not shocking) fact that the majority
of so-called religists within our midst are materialists in denial of
their faithless nature, being drawn to religion foremostly for rea-
sons relating to tradition and a will to fit in with their neighbor
or otherwise keep the peace. I count my own parents among said
population who masquerade as spiritualists while disrespecting
the abstract in absolutely every way possible.
I think of myself an intelligent individual, yet at the end of
the day, the importance that I place upon the abstract and sym-
bolic spheres of being puts me at odds with worldly logic. As was
previously stated, I do not disagree with science and am pret-
ty willing to accept that they [‘the scientists’] know what they’re
talking about when it comes to understanding the inherent ma-
terial composition of things, although I am less apt to agree
with their take on the context and contextual application with-
in which they believe all to be working. A metaphysical ideal-
ist who cannot be sure that the world even existed before yester-
day afternoon is simply not going to look at the rings of a tree
and take it as any more than the rings of a tree. Like I said, it re-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 961
own desires at this point, and such is the very nature of indoctri-
nation, which plays out like a spiritual sociopathy that seeks to
break all of our personal reference points to the ends of creating a
population of mindless underlings; but it’s still a more direct av-
enue to their hearts and therefore the likeliest means to empower
them to break out of their bondage.
Whether you opt to regard me as an occultist, a mystic, a
psychologist or an expired fruit cup, I seek only to know the
truth of my existence, and all such titles merely describe the
means by which one is willing to go about that search. Lest the
ignorant define how we view these terms, I will share with you
how I perceive and distinguish one title from the other:
An occultist is one who is willing to look beyond what is
known, beyond what is evident, for answers, and it naturally de-
rives its negative reputation from the fact that this often requires
us to wander through the dark—not dark as in evil, but dark as in
the unknown, and the masses are naturally afraid of such things,
and justifiably so. For me, the occult and darkness did not refer
to demons and devilry but to the darkness of the psyche, wherein
lives trauma, tragedy and madness. My interpretation of an oc-
cultist is thus as a psychospiritual explorer, daring to go into the
mapless realms in the hopes of uncovering new land, new com-
modities and new information, as it were.
A magickian is one who refuses to play a passive role in the
unfolding of their life and seeks to develop a handle on other-
wise natural processes. In my case this referred primarily to sleep,
the development of ego-identity and trauma.
A mystic is one who accepts no intermediaries and seeks to
experience the fullness of the divine for themselves, not allow-
ing churches or councils or whoever to dictate the means and
the conditions by which they are to reach God, or the source, or
what have you. Not content to pray, nor to read, nor to wait, nor
964 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Society selects its heroes and its villains based on a set of factors
which often have very little to do with the feats or intent of the
individual.
For me there was never any satisfaction in being right. The only
victory, in the case of arguments and quarrels, is mutual under-
standing, and I’ve rarely achieved as much. I do not suffer from
regret, believing that I have remained authentic to myself and up-
right in all circumstances within the bounds of my ability, but
it doesn’t shield me from grief. I do not feel like a victor. I feel
alone.
reer choices and that’s pretty much the only sort of gradation
they consider essential to life...
We often acknowledge the distinction between a fixed mind-
set and a growth mindset, and I myself have been one to perpetu-
ate this dichotomy, having some rather blanket remarks to make
in regards to the worth of the latter, although I wonder if it is un-
fair of us to view this as a fixed aspect of our person. Rather, what
if all individuals begin in a state which can be classified as fixed
mindset, resistant to change and bound to viewing all things as
a threat to their wellbeing. What if this is a rind that must be
peeled away if one so wishes to transcend themselves, as it were.
I do struggle to think that anyone with a fixed mindset can grow
to the necessary degree of awareness, and therefore I have to be-
lieve that one is not doomed to remain in this state of mind,
since it wouldn’t make sense for there to exist so many individ-
uals who simply have no proper means to grow. Maybe what we
regard as a growth mindset is merely a natural step on the lad-
der unto a greater spiritual awareness and prosperity, and this di-
chotomy is no dichotomy after all, but a veritable climb.
I just think it is so foolish of us to believe that we truly un-
derstand the stages of growth taken up by the individual, and
therefore it is ludicrous to say we understand how to catalyze/
educate. It is my hope that we will learn much about the actual
growth process in decades to come, seeing it represented in a
more objective and digestible manner.
As with any of my works, I do not consider Clyssus of Man to
be complete. As a project it was based on approximation: that is,
approximating an experience so surreal and magnitudinous that
I would be foolish to ever expect satisfaction with my portray-
al. Ultimately, it sets out to accomplish that which is most nec-
essary: to inform the world of where I came from and where I
went.
972 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Those who we allow into our lives naturally become a part of our
myth. So you must guard the gates of your myth with all of your-
self, for if enough contaminants are allowed inside you will lose
interest in your own story and it will seem as a torment rather
than as a sanctuary, a paradise, an existence.
At this point I’ve pretty much accepted that people will classify
my music as they will, though I still take issue with modern
popular genre classification. For instance, the majority of music
THE DISSOLVING PATH 975
The artwork used for the Tendon Levey project was, like the mu-
sic, the unplotted, unintellectualized result of a moment in time.
It wasn’t about showing off my abilities but about accessing the
realm of instinct, which I thought to be a truer realm than that
which is typically featured on display. As for the art, it was al-
so just me figuring out the medium, as I had never painted prior
to creating these works. My first painting adorns the cover of my
first album, my second painting adorns the cover of my second
album, dezinezinet. I can appreciate what I accomplished in that
realm, especially when seeing it all together, as it forms a vibrant
and idiosyncratic picture which displays the colors of my heart
over the browns and grays of my environment; but if given a rere-
lease, or if given time to plan things out, I would surely give my
albums a total makeover.
In addition to the sort of ‘monk punk’ basement aesthetic
I’ve codified in recent years while establishing my online pres-
ence and identity, I tend to draw a significant amount of inspira-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 981
Here is the thing: you’re not going to find these sorts of successes
and theorization outside of the realm of acute personal trauma.
Some may wish to take that as a symptom, meaning it is some-
how ‘wrong’, but to me it is the same as saying that for a fish to
be found inland something must be wrong with the water. Some-
thing significant is required to extract us from our place of com-
fort, just like one does not typically opt to work a job unless they
are in need. One must be sufficiently disturbed to delight in the
unknown.
Oh, I could have been a mystery to captivate the cretins! But in-
stead I became a semi-gloss brochure.
This matter may be one of the greatest when crossing the para-
digm: nothing can be accomplished without intent. For me this
is not so strange, as I infused all mine actions with great in-
tent, seeing no actions in life as insignificant. Yet it’s not like this
is actually a new development. It has always been this way. It
seems like we’re ambling purposefully from place to place here
on earth, able to get by without proper focus, but we’re not ac-
tually moving, and that is why. It is not our feet which carry us
through a space that doesn’t exist, and into a future which does
not exist, but our intent which carries us along, and without in-
tent, without a guiding question, there is no destination; there is
no answer.
The hour in which I finally leave this earth will be the hour that
I come alive and I welcome it as nothing else, embracing it with
all the warmth that remains in me, but at least I can finally find
some value in the fact that I did not die sooner.
what I have to say can see that I possess a very rare, healthy, com-
mitted ‘bond’ with my selfness. Though what I see when I look
around in society, with all of this mass-marketed ‘self-love’ stuff...
it is such an unnatural way of going about it. It’s so roundabout.
I see people staring at an unformed lump of clay and crying that
it’s perfect as it is. And it’s not, it’s absolutely not—but with suf-
ficient work it could be! All but another instance wherein weak-
ness shall deprive them of something authentic. But it’s okay! It’s
okay to be ‘immature’ and ‘incomplete’ insofar as we are with the
percipience to recognize that improvement is possible; it is okay
as long as we are with the courage and tenacity to strive after that
completion.
There exists a vein or some such between my right arm and clav-
icle that will become prominent from time to time, with there
being a palpable lump that rises to the surface. This seems to me
as the most overtly visible manifestation of my TOS or whatev-
er it is that is causing the issues to occur between my throat-neck
and hand-arm. I try to massage it, but the efficacy of that action
is questionable.
I can guarantee that, at some point while reading this text, you
will come upon the words that will never leave you; and I can not
decide which words those will be, but I can put my all into mak-
ing sure that no word is out of place or lacks the intent of a lover.
It is difficult for me, since I want to see him come around. I want
him to recognize his fault so that I can release him, or his simu-
lacrum, from my self. I want to share with him this world that I
have built from a starting point of nothing; though I must not
become so eager to share the treasures within my vault that I ex-
pose those treasures to those of ill intent and irresponsible acts.
It makes me very sad to say this, yet it feels like innocence and
sincerity are most often but a fashion choice within our society;
like an affectation or a manipulative ploy (or even a character
flaw). I don’t imagine that others understood the reality of my
sincerity, my guilelessness, and it was made more difficult for
them to understand upon seeing how I was capable of such cun-
ning strategies and creative fictions. Yet my capabilities and my
will were not always in alignment, and this great potential for de-
struction that exists within me is not reflected in the hope of my
heart. It’s no wonder everyone is suspicious and dismissive when
all of our precious humanity is used as a device in the achieve-
ment of certain ends; a passcode used to unlock a door in an end-
less hallway.
The kindness, the excitement, the sorrow, the disappoint-
ment—it seems to me that it is all being abused... mocked, as
these things appear so hollow in how they are presented by our
THE DISSOLVING PATH 993
Perhaps, more than any other individual in history, I was not sell-
ing a painting or a song or a book, but a life. This always made it
difficult for me to attract people via standard avenues and show-
cases, since no one could tell what I was peddling. It was all pho-
tographs of my living conditions. I’m not ‘selling’ you a product
but a process; not a polished endpoint, but a progression occur-
ring over thirty, or rather, fifteen years, from a boy with a dream
to a forever-bleeding stream.
How strange it is. I clear my throat and tightness goes away, but
the choking becomes an issue. Then I touch the nerve which
runs alongside my ear and the choking is exchanged for an ex-
cruciating burning pain. All the trade-offs and counterbalancing
that takes place within my physical condition is truly a mystery,
but without having been able to identify and exploit such a sys-
tem I doubt that I would have survived so long.
I don’t feel that there is anyone who ever (or would ever) go out
of their way for me. Actually, I can think of one or two people
from my past who went to great lengths to accommodate me,
though I haven’t seen them in over ten years. Now, it’s not that
I’ve gone about testing people and seeking others to take up my
load, as I deeply dislike inconveniencing people. And then there
is the fact that I really, really don’t want to be known for that.
But to a certain extent I am missing something crucial in that.
I just don’t know what it’s like. In my life, there is no resilience
1000 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
When finally she is done, she sinks into my body and stares up
at me, saying nothing. Her eyes reveal the philosopher’s key and
I realize my infancy before awesome eternity—an eternity in
which to explore and know the potentiality of my grandest lov-
ing heart.
That’s the thing about pain and suffering: it is, in most circum-
stances, a happening with which we do not identify, allowing it
to destroy the bond that we have with our bodies due to a lack of
identification.
I have spoken out on the similarities between the mind and Ex-
istence, as I have compared Essence to Thought, with the goal
of Existence being when all thoughts are reflective of an under-
standing. This may seem more abstract than can be worked to-
ward, but in my final year of life I arrived at a place where every
1008 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
thought was in order. That isn’t to say that there was no darkness
to my experience, but even the so-called darkness was in its right-
ful place. I wish I could convey the beauty of my position. To
see everything become relevant; to see everything fall into align-
ment.
Since the start of the year I have been dealing with a new sort
of throat trouble. There are multiple issues I experience in that
area. I am used to my throat and neck becoming very tight when
I use my hands in certain ways and overwork myself, which can
happen in a minute’s time over very basic things like turning a
spigot or using a pencil to write my name or quickly attempting
to touch up some image on Photoshop. The problems experi-
enced in this case are usually more of a tightness in the neck
rather than an internal choking, feeling like hands around my
neck, although as of recently that sensation somehow changed
to a different variant which entails pressure being put on my gag-
ging area, and it feels more like a horrible choking, and it’s like
a finger on my ‘Gagger’ and I have to stop moving for hours or
days and lay low so as to avoid worsening it as I will vomit and
choke. I believe that this became an issue due to a recent, albeit
minor sprain of my hand/thumb. It doesn’t seem like it should
be such a significant issue, but hand sprains and chest/sternal
sprains have been known to have a notable effect on the tight-
ness and behaviors of my neck and throat (my sternal muscles
have been known to rip periodically since late 2019 due to my
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1011
In this life there are countless persons causing their own prob-
lems, as there are countless persons fascinated by a trendy, fash-
ionable depiction of darkness. I do not refer to such individuals
in this case, surely as disposition relates neither to one’s interests
nor to basal immaturity. It is something far more complex and
any attempts to track it among this sphere would result in failure.
It is for that reason that I do not provide further descriptions of
the lathotropic individual, willing that it should not feed into a
stereotype.
okay to work your way up. Even I moved gradually, like an inch-
worm, over many years. Take inspiration from my vault, but do
not feel pressured to work at a certain pace and toward a pre-
set objective. I didn’t start off by showing the world my dopey
sleeptalking clips. No. First I had to know that I had shown the
world a more accurate representation of my speech, my presence,
and before that I had to show the world an idealized representa-
tion. And the interesting takeaway from that is that it may also
start off relatively inauthentic, yet as we become intent on shar-
ing more and more of ourselves, something occurs, and the pic-
ture becomes more and more balanced and the ideal melds into
the whole, and we will not accept anything less than a complete
picture to represent ourselves. I can at least say that this is how it
happened for me.
I often used to claim that the men from the fraternity had
‘tapped my phone line’, leading to the cancellation of my phone
service, but that wasn’t what actually took place, being a bit of
a dramatization. My family simply wasn’t comfortable with the
fact that strange guys were calling and leaving ‘cryptic’ messages
over and over, or having our number to begin with. You have
to remember that this is in a time before it was customary for
everyone to have their own cell phone (I didn’t have my own cell
phone until 2014).
Oh but how can I speak of the beyond when I have yet to pass!
Am I then no different than countless religions speaking with au-
thority on the landscapes of the afterlife? My brother, my sister,
I am already there. Have you learned nothing from my infinite
spitting?
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1017
1018 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Honestly, I think that most of this could be tackled with the in-
creased prioritization of emotional intelligence within the edu-
cation system and society withal, with all its forms of media. I
feel so strongly about this.
but the greater tragedy occurs when two people from abusive up-
bringings come together.
discovery, but we are left with the hope that we ourselves can at-
tain that knowledge through committed efforts (as opposed to
how it is within many religions in which we are merely told it is
beyond our knowability and relegating that knowledge to some
higher power). This ain’t some boring job where you’re sneaking
off to the toilet stall with your iPod every thirty minutes while
waiting for the next phase. If you truly understand what is being
posited by this philosophy, adherence hereto will keep you ac-
tive, humble and soft as down, and that’s just not something to
which the mainstream religions in our midst can claim—most of
which exist primarily to do away with the insecurity caused by
that ignorance and vulnerability.
much like those who wish to view this all as the outpourings of
a madman will surely find a way to see each word as an expres-
sion of madness. It has dissolved all remaining hope in me. It is
a wonder that I am still writing at all when I have no means to
expect anything positive from the outcome. It is so strange to
pour my soul into this work and yet to know that there will still
be those who find a flaw in it simply because that’s what their
mind needs to see. I think about it a lot within the context of
my own sister. I do not believe that her discernment is fully in-
tact—not to the degree of the average individual. This is what
happens when you’re in a relationship with a sociopathic narcis-
sist (and of course a life of substance abuse is a huge factor in
her case as well). I believe that he will forever steer and control
her reception of me, as he has been doing since he first stepped
into the picture, and that is truly heartbreaking, because I never
did give her any reason to doubt me or to turn against me. I only
have to wonder what she will see when reading my words, my bi-
ography, my ecstasies and my sorrows, and I honestly don’t like
it, knowing the cynical and disconnected wavelength on which
those two operate. It is so sad to me I cannot bear it. I sort of
just sit here typing away in a determined fog, shutting down my
mind while I amplify my heart.
I will not attempt to answer every question, yet I will leave you
with the means to answer every question.
suffusing, I was very bothered at first by this idea. I’m not say-
ing don’t put your all into what you do, because if you don’t cre-
ate something great and meaningful it won’t be acknowledged
by Existence anyway. Yet always exalt authenticity over novel-
ty—or else you’ll be disappointed to see how it all comes togeth-
er. This would have pissed a younger Tendon off to no end, I
imagine, but at this point I’m just... goddamn, I’m just tired. As
some know, I’ve been at work on this book on and off for about a
year, and even in that time I’ve come back to it and it seems that
changes have been made without my involvement. This is not ab-
normal. It happens to us all. But our active paradigm will often
prevent us from acknowledging it when it occurs. This is actually
what finally convinced me to just call it a day and put the book
down. I wouldn’t say there was no point to doing what I was do-
ing, but damn if it didn’t sometimes feel that way. The changes
aren’t stupid and superficial, mostly having to do with changing
definitions on the existential scale. So don’t misunderstand what
I’m saying: it’s not like a pink pony is suddenly going to enter
my story out of nowhere, but definitions do change. Moreover,
it is the interactions between two or more definitions which ul-
timately end up changing.
Like millions across the globe, the way that he spends his
evenings is dictated by whatever is trending on his preferred
streaming service. Most of the time he can’t even seem to recall
the title of what he is watching. My mother was no different.
think they will recognize how all of the many issues from which
I’ve suffered over the years are, for the most part, still with me,
and occurring simultaneously and at all times, and that I must
pay for every action with my fate, with my sanity. Every step,
every swallow, every bite, every breath, every clap of the hands: it
all comes with an immediate cost, dire and discouraging.
I don’t think that my audience will readily realize that I can bare-
ly type out a few sentences without feeling that I am suffocating,
and requiring to spend hours recuperating before I can return to
jot down yet another paragraph. And that when I say I cannot
use my hands I do not imply something so basic and ordinary
as pain as being the underlying cause, but the tightening of mus-
cles around my neck which trigger a laryngeal malfunction com-
parable to a severe and debilitating asthma attack. Now, I do go
in and out of spells where my abilities will see a small improve-
ment and this typically depends on multiple factors. If my throat
is hoarse or I have coughed or cleared my throat too much then
I could lose my ability to type for months. Extreme anxiety and
tension in my body lasting more than a couple days in succes-
sion can also lead to said fate, as it famously did in 2018 (twice).
Muscular pulls in my chest and hand could easily throw off my
system. Once I pulled a muscle in my thumb while carrying two
water jugs simultaneously down my staircase and my throat was
tight for months as a result and I was required to await the heal-
ing of my thumb sprain to continue with my work. The same oc-
curred when I injured a muscle in the sternal region back in Oc-
tober 2019 while reaching up to stick glow-in-the-dark star de-
cals upon my ceiling surface. This injury resulted in nearly five
months of being unable to write and infamously lasted through
the bulk of my third astragon.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1039
hours, and this love I know for every one of you who loves this
species and this Existence and all the potential before us.
selves that we are less than we are and that we are content with
that.
I’m not going to tell you to screw what other people think and
to do what you want, because the world doesn’t work that way,
but I’m also not going to tell you to sell your soul by devoting
your precious time, energy and heart to that which does not up-
lift you.
Our focus is holistic and geared toward crafting new struc-
tures, values and paradigms. I may be better known as an avant-
garde artist, a mystical ontologist, but my domain is in the cre-
ation of values, templates, paradigms and in organizing and con-
cretizing the abstract realm so that it may be better observed and
handled by a materialistic people.
Consider it in the terms of a struggling addict. One who
wishes to heal must see to the following steps: they must cease
the offending behaviors from the inside. They must rid them-
selves of the catalytic elements on the outside which foster such
behaviors. They must place themselves in an environment con-
ducive to healing and finally establish new values, new routines,
new paradigms.
My falls, my flails and my nervous cries are not like the fits
of spoiled children or the neurotic malfunctions of repressed
adults, but like components of the myth and stanzas of the po-
em. Give up the mind unto Existence and even its feeblest hor-
rors shall become as garnets in the great crown that we wear.
Every outpouring, every teardrop, every kiss is device. This you
must understand about my traumatized exposition. This you
must recognize about the story that I share with you. My faults
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1043
We are not here to tell the people who to be or how to live their
lives. We only wish to see that all are given access to the proper
information and the proper aid and to see that knowledge and
awareness are being properly circulated, along with being proper-
ly represented, among the sphere, which includes seeing to it that
the media and the state are not working against us by romanticiz-
ing unhealthy behaviors and purposefully keeping us dependent
upon them so as to serve their greed.
You can argue that point all you want—arguing for and against
its validity, its doability and its semantics or what have you—yet
I wonder: what would be your actual motive for doing so? What
sickness requires one to look upon the problems facing our
world and decide to see all potential remedies as mere options
or fanciful ideas rather than as dire needs? When given a cancer
diagnosis you do not sit around bemoaning the time and effort
required by potential solutions. Perhaps there is part of you that
wishes to, though if you impart any value on your life at all and
those who care about you, you suck in your spit and do whatever
the hell offers hope of a healthy recovery. Why, then, is it not in
our nature to react to a cancer of the mind and spirit as we do to
a cancer of the body?
And once more I will state: we must not say of our struggle that
it is a struggle inherent to humanity or existence, for this state-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1045
I really don’t have any secrets left at this point and I haven’t main-
tained anything of that sort in a long time. If I have not shared
something in my writs by now, it can simply be chocked up to a
matter of time and priority and I can guarantee that there is no
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1047
These were not the actions of some sad head-case who lost touch
with reality. This is a self-enfeebled demoniac doing all he can to
convert the anger, the wrath and the pride into something more
easily manageable before it takes over his philosophies and turns
him into a monster. That ‘something’ was found in identity, in
art.
In the fall of 2019, shortly before ‘setting off ’ on my third and fi-
nal astragon, I appropriated and modified the alchemical symbol
of Essence for my personal use, adding a few embellishments and
other stylistic changes so as to make it more appropriate (and
unique) to my purpose. This was back when my theories were
still comparatively young and the vision was unclear, although I
find the symbol most appropriate to encapsulating the nonthe-
istic philosophy that has since taken form: Aseitism. (Note that
the symbol has since been replaced by a more unique and fitting
symbol, which depicts a stylized brain and key).
I’ve been dealing with a bit of frustration since the trial and the
Aseitism philosophy has really taken over my focus. I end up feel-
ing like I need to reign in my style, my identity, so as to not seem
overtly ‘ill’ or ‘perverse’ or ‘crazy’. And that is a crying shame. I
created these interesting videos that are short and obviously car-
ry a dark and unsettling tone as that’s just how I choose to ex-
press myself, but then I hate to think I’ll have people analyzing
and pointing it out after I’m gone and citing it as a reason to
think less of my work. I don’t know. It’s frustrating. I don’t like
catering to the perceptions of the ignorant and lazy, but at the
same time we need to be careful that we are not bringing dis-
grace to what we believe in and stand for, and it becomes an irk-
1052 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
tual feelings, and I believe that our feelings, which often tie into
our Volentia (rather than being but some incidental or maladap-
tive display tied to an event rather than existing inherently with-
in us), are of unrivaled importance to our process of developing
into so-called spiritual beings, aware and attuned to the winds of
life. My advice to you, instead of seeking to silence your hurt or
move beyond it, is to repurpose your hurt, allowing it to moti-
vate you or to guide you to a deeper understanding of yourself
and others, but without ever allowing it to steer you off of your
path. I’m not saying that it will be easy, and I am not saying that
the tears will suddenly dry up, but I can say that it is overall a
more honest and effective approach on the holistic level, since
so much of what we manage to ‘get over’ is only doing damage
beneath the surface. To use a silly example: there are known ob-
jects which we are advised not to flush down the toilet, being
that they are likely to clog the plumbing or lead to other envi-
ronmental damage down the line. If your only goal is to get it all
out of your sight in the quickest way possible then sure, let the
pipes carry your condoms and cotton balls away, but when those
pipes end up clogged and it becomes a huge ordeal involving oth-
ers and professionals must be brought in it will no longer seem as
the easy way after all.
The rituals described within my book are not described with to-
tal accuracy, especially where it concerns any spoken statements.
The events at issue were notably abstract and to represent them
at all I was required to take some license, and so I chose to de-
1060 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
To some extent, I feel that I knew the people better than they
knew themselves. And it’s sure a difficult statement to make
without the appearance of arrogance. Yet it’s not about intel-
lect—not purely. It’s about being able to trace all actions back
to the root cause, and I have considered this one of my greatest
skills throughout much of my life. It’s very, very easy for me to
analyze the chain of events (which isn’t to say I haven’t had some
very notorious blind spots, especially when it relates to the physi-
cal world... since my specialty is more to do with emotion and in-
tention) but when you see it, you see something horrid, for most
are acting on fear and pain and other decidedly animalistic ten-
dencies. For me it was my burden: a reason to hate; a reason to
love.
The sort of ‘salvation’ whereof I speak within this book exists in-
dependently of mysticism, religion and modern concepts of en-
lightenment and may be reliably attained through these obser-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1061
We readily accept that some are more physically fit, and better
at tennis or soccer or running than others, but we don’t look
with the same eye toward the abstract. Fundamentally, we recog-
nize that some people are better lovers, or overall more honest,
more sincere, but because the criteria is absent and because it is
so difficult to measure the abstract by our available means, we all
just tend to come up with our own ideas and systems, with these
methods often being little more than some self-serving jumble
of anecdotes, and people just disregard the objectivity of such
things altogether, but there is an objective reality to it all even
if we as a species are incapable of (observing and acknowledg-
ing it at this point (if not merely unwilling). And because of this
it seems so arrogant and silly when one should assert their own
skill and superiority in this way. And let this not seem like some
sulk on my part. The reason that this bothers me is not due to
a lack of acknowledgment which I have received (although that
does frustrate!). One of the worst parts about it is that there is
not only an absence of incentive but a massive disincentive in
place to develop these things for which there exists no viable
measurement. I feel immature to be voicing this, but it has long
troubled me to my core and for so long (and on a daily basis).
Visible, tangible reality is such a small aspect of reality as a whole
1064 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
There are different ways of going about it, and I do not feel
equipped to say one way or another what is right and what is
wrong when it comes to the practice. One manner in which I
approached governailia early on was in thinking of it as a sort
of sensitizing process, as in the antithesis of desensitization: a
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1069
restoration of the senses which have been lost to time. I will just
take my emotions to the table and I will allow myself to put
down all the armor that I wear throughout the day and really
consider everything within the holistic context of Existence. We
see and experience so many a troubling display in our days and
many of us must push it out of focus if we wish to continue
to operate, and some of us tend to hide from the context more
than others. So it is very difficult for me to describe my process
in a way that sounds like anything more substantial than some
emotional and cathartic upheaval which combines Intension/
Acknowledgment. I could just sit on the floor sobbing for hours
about the abuse suffered by children and animals, and I just let
myself really take it all in within the context of all life and poten-
tiality undoing all of the normalization, undoing all of the jus-
tifications that have forced us into seeing these as things to be
accepted or as tragedies beyond our individual control. I take in
the state of things, and I just weep bitterly, though not purpose-
lessly, since poignancy, like any suffering, cannot exist in the ab-
sence of an offset. There must be a dichotomy. That which we re-
gard as suffering is, in some sense, the coming together of knowl-
edge and ignorance, and the interaction arising from the two.
This understanding comes with a lot of practical uses in psychol-
ogy.
songs and how you loved them without regard for what others
thought of them. Grasp on to these individual elements, mem-
ories, and know that most, if not all, of those feelings and asso-
ciations are inherent and bonded to our disposition, thus creat-
ing for a specific reaction in us. When that reaction grows weak-
er over time, it is because the two sides are no longer touching,
so to speak. New associations and experiences have robbed from
us, undoing our innate associations which we now tend to asso-
ciate with a point in our lives that we can never get back, but that
which we knew in our youth remains always in us, and if we can
only systematically re-sensitize ourselves to all of these things, all
will fall into place, or so I am convinced. We must get ourselves
back into that headspace, undoing the associations that have de-
veloped over our lifetimes and taking our initial imprints as signs
of our truer feelings and associations.
I wouldn’t say that this is standard governailia, although in
my case it always been a potent means of getting myself into the
mindset. Governailia is about communicating our impressions
of Existence unto Existence, as silly as that sounds, and in order
to do so we must be sensitive to the world around us, and if we
are to achieve that then we must first be sensitive to the world
within us. Yet view it not like some prayerful communication,
when it is not about reaching outside of yourself. Life is steered
by the thoughts of the individual, and by reflecting Existence
back at itself. All of this still sounds very abstract, though hope-
fully you take something valuable out of it. For me it is always
an extremely emotional act so I do it sparingly. Fathom Omen
Om developed around this practice, as I was struggling to get
started and so I would write out these long lists of things that I
wished to ponder and confront during governailia, and as I got
more and more into the practice I began writing amid the med-
itations rather than prior, which is why it bears such a sharp yet
1072 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
start all over if we don’t do so from the start. It just means that
the operations won’t end until Acknowledgment transpires.
Again, I imagine that most persons who hear the word ‘trauma’
and witness its effects are wont to relate it to the emotions, but
it is the ability of trauma to rewrite your definitions, associations
and expectations which make it what it is. There is no pill or po-
tion that could set the semantics back into alignment. Whether
one chooses to undertake professional therapy (mehh) or more
personal forms of therapy such as meditation, journaling and fo-
cused introspection (yayy), it will always require a direct con-
frontation.
1074 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
I doubt that the public will readily grasp the effort that has gone
into this. A single paragraph can contain as much or more strat-
egy than a damn chess game. And that isn’t meant to implicate
anything sinister, as I am not concealing any sinister intent, nor
am I concealing anything at all. I have been very upfront about
what are my aims. Though I also leave it more to hope and try to
use everything from my tone to my diction to my approach so as
to have the likeliest chance of communicating the ultra specific
set of points that I am needing to make.
Most simply write what they wish to say, though I am over
here having to account for so many variable factors and make ad-
justments accordingly. I would compare it to the firing of a pro-
jectile: it is not enough to aim and shoot, for you must accurately
account for wind force, light, terrain and other conditions which
could affect its trajectory. I treat my writing like so. So even in
terms of my manner of speaking, I sacrifice the respectability of a
formal philosophical dissertation simply because if I fail to speak
my common thoughts then I cannot reach the ‘common folks’, as
it were, which informs my format and approach, which are ad-
mittedly not the best that I can do but probably most that I can
do before I cross a fence beyond which I lose a lot of readers due
to inability to follow.
I wish that I could spend some time and break my methods
down for everyone, if only because I think others would be im-
pressed and... well, I would like for people to be impressed by
what I do and how I work, hahaha. And there is a lot more
method to what I do than the spit-slinging ecstasy that comes
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1075
across (although I ain’t saying that that spit ain’t also authentic...
it certainly is). I am the type who will even slip in spelling mis-
takes and Freudian slip-type incidentals with intent, usually as a
means to aid in the speculation and suspicion of my readers. And
again, usually when people speak of this kind of stuff it is ignoble
in nature, so I don’t want my readers to get the wrong idea. You
can see from my history of texts that I am quite obsessed with
whether I am being understood or misunderstood, and that’s all
that it comes down to: using my knowledge of psychology and
sociology to further limit that likelihood of my words being mis-
construed. And sometimes, when it involves limuviation, it can
get so difficult. It’s like ‘x is the correct answer, but I anticipate
that the subject is going to be a recalcitrant bitch about it, so I
have to say y just to get them to actually choose x,’ hahah.
My attempt to write out my philosophy was a miserable ex-
perience overall, as I really had to strain my system through a
colander, and what comes out doesn’t always resemble what I
see in my head. Then it ends up anchored to a lot of New Age-
sounding buzzwords that are even likely to mislead the skim-
mers; but it’s not for no reason, and it ain’t an accident, because
in the end I believe that my exposition comes together in such
a way that makes it far more likely that others will grasp what I
mean to say since I actually took the time to put it in their lan-
guage, even if that language is broken, rather than just shooting
these incomprehensible bullets at them that sound really great
and profound, but they can’t really be applied or anchored to
known information. They can only be worn like arrogant badges
by those wanting to feel cool or erudite... and I don’t want that...
I don’t want to create a new generation of hipsters and hobnob-
bers. I don’t want to create new mysteries for a world so lost. I
want to give substance, answers. I want to give them something
that they can use without any prior knowledge—“just add deter-
1076 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
registering, as I simply don’t see this in that way, and I’m fine
with that and I don’t want to do anything to change that. It’s like
how when you are staying at a luxury hotel you do not experience
the urge to decorate and personalize. It’s because you understand
that you are not the owner of this location and can not treat it
like your private little bedroom, and therefore the urge to do so
never arrives. In that sense, I view Aseitism not like a personal
project or belonging, but like a luxury from which I am benefit-
ing.
In a sense, I have sacrificed the appearance of profundity for
relatability. I’m having to speak in terms that the people will
readily understand, and the problem with this is that if you aren’t
really paying attention to what is being said and only basing your
understanding of my message off of choice words then what I am
saying may not appear so remarkable to you. Therefore you must
look closer to the order and at the relationships between ideas.
This is tough for me since I would normally sacrifice relatabil-
ity to create something memorable, but I have done the oppo-
site in this case, choosing to anchor new concepts to known con-
cepts, and it slightly upsets me because I feel like I am wasting
my understanding on something which could be spoken by any-
one. Our natural understanding is very shallow in that two sys-
tems can use the same set of terms and that instantly makes them
out to be the same or a similar system in our mind. I don’t ex-
pect anyone to grasp the sheer intricacy seen in philosophy of
Aseitism, which, despite anchoring its superfice to known con-
cepts, has a very peculiar configuration and order that makes all
the difference in the world.
They’re like dogs, in that they devour your belongings, they piss
on the carpet and they bite your fingers but then can’t under-
stand it when you’re mad at them. They cannot understand their
punishment: they have no context in which to understand the
negative things that happen to them as ramifications for their
actions. So are the bitey puppies of the lesser paradigms. I was
raised by such and I’ve grown among the sort.
In every instance that I thought I had been given all the pieces
of the puzzle and was working with a completed picture of my
reality, I would then receive new information that left me feeling
as if entire passages of my history had been rewritten, and the
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1081
For most, survival trumps all else. When one cannot be honest,
they will simply resort to a life of dishonesty. It’s difficult to say
how and why I differ so greatly from the standard in this re-
gard—which is not to insinuate that I am any less prone to error.
However, when I cannot be honest, I will opt to abandon what-
ever life I’ve created for myself in defense of my honesty. Sincer-
ity of expression and openness is of the highest order and must
be given our priority. And I have lived forever in the space be-
tween nothing and nowhere, surely as there exists no communi-
ty for one who exalts legacy at the expense of longevity: an in-
finitesimal blister wherein I could say and do and ideate whatev-
er seemed to me as the most authentic expression of my being.
I tried my damnedest to broaden my ambit, not willing to settle
for solitude, though I never managed to find the people and the
places that nourish the soul. This may cause me to appear unrea-
sonable or unpredictable, if not noncommittal, yet I am nothing
1084 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
“Herein lies the crooked form of two in one, where rats play their
satire. I stopped the wheel with a single determined finger, and my
soul slipped from the sill of eternity into the surreality of knowledge
I had faced. A ghost became the suffix of my being. And my eternal
judgment, while not in my favor, is well-earned. This is the palm
which holds the soul of the world. Theirs is the incest of untimely in-
vestments. Theirs is lost to the winding wheel.”
This devil, as it were, was none other than the haunter of the ag-
nostic void; physician of illegible script.
bled, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t have been fixed with
some hugs and stitches. Perhaps it a means of keeping everyone
out of my hair as I explored my authenticity. Perhaps it was a
means to ward off all consequences for my actions; a means to
ward off all responsibility. Yet my body wasn’t fooled. It should
not go unacknowledged that I spent the years of Tendon Lev-
ey fearful of Thummim. It is creepy to think of that time. I see
a boy who, for some reason, desperately needed to view him-
self as evil. [...] a now infamous diary kept throughout the Ten-
don years (called “Eigengrau” and subtitled “When I go insane...”
or “My Leverage Against God” in which I mused over what I
would do if my dreams proved impossible, I went insane and
the disgust within my heart trumped all moral judgment. It be-
came a genuine outlet, and like so it came to take on somewhat
of a disturbing shape, descending into lists of eBay sellers and
neighbors and those who wronged me. It wasn’t anything that
would shock anyone who knows my backstory, being but a book
made by a boy experimenting with ways of dealing with his anger
and anguish, but I won’t deny that it became very uncomfortable
to look at... the amount of lists without context depicting the
depth of my fixation and inability to move past my hurt. Consid-
ered the darkest of my works to date, perhaps even more so than
the deleted Algorismus, it was a book covered in gray snakeskin.
Ironically, it is perhaps this effort which woke me up to the fact
that this is not who I am, having found it increasingly difficult
to identify with these words which I wanted to think of as being
my deepest, darkest desires.
would not have considered sticking it out so long were that not
so.
I would have given up on this book much sooner, doing the bare
minimum, if not for the fact that this effort will represent her as
well as I, and I want the world to see her as I do.
For many years I pacified my despair with the belief that one day,
all those who wronged me would realize their error and repent in
sorrow. It may be when I die, but they would realize—I thought.
Such notions as these are all that some of us have in the way of
consolation. Though I no longer know such consolation in life,
for I know that we aren’t required to realize their fault, and most
will not. It is easier to drink oneself into a lethean stupor than
to face down the destruction we have caused. It is easier to create
false portrayals of a person and to slander them maliciously so
as to justify one’s behavior towards them than to confront one’s
faults and wrongdoings, and I expect just that from the heartless
bastards who drew my blood, or those who took themselves to
be my family and friends. It takes a courageous heart to bear the
weight of remorse when it is easier to make it the fault of our vic-
tims. I know no one so courageous.
Though the most surreal aspect of our bond stems not from who
and what she is, but from being with someone who is stable, ma-
ture and deeply empathetic in a way that expresses understand-
ing as opposed to masked neuroticism (what normally passes as
“empathy” in the modern, diluted day). It is truly beautiful to be-
hold. She contains her share of ‘problems’ as anyone, but these
problems do not control her perceptions or her actions, and it’s
as bizarre as it is beautiful. It is like a fire which burns fiercely
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1109
The age is changing, one into the next, and the increase in
knowledge necessitates a new approach. The grip of ancient re-
ligion is lessening, cynicism is beating out curiosity as the dom-
inant attitude, surely as we’ve yet to fully eliminate the cancer
that is false meaningfulness within our lives, and we require a
new myth which forms not in accordance with that which enter-
tains and pacifies, but with the intricacies of our reality, our sci-
ence, our health, our needs and all that we wish to become. Yea,
myth fails when it makes us complacent, being it required to pro-
pel us forwardly toward the sum of our needs which is where we
must go, one and all. The Comprachicos will be the mythologers
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1111
who step up to this task, and the sensible mythologer shall usurp
the philosopher, the clergy and the government body as our
most capable leaders, not to create vivid tales that keep us docile
and amused, but to convey the abstract body of needs, threats
and potential of our kind in a way which is experienced as real,
urgent and actionable by a materialistic people.
Art, for me, is about silencing the ego and getting as close to the
natural, as close to the actual, as can be achieved—closer than
even our daily interactions allow. It is a purposeful stripping away
of all the varied layers which make up our social defense. Oth-
ers may listen to my clips of sleep talking and interactions and
say it’s not art, but I’m as proud of them as I am of my paintings
and music. Sounds funny to say, doesn’t it. But it’s true. And I
think they really become art in the moment that I decide to share
them. Not simply because I decided it so, but because something
transpired in that moment... something to do with my ego and
vulnerability and integration and self concept.
I never quite agreed with the idea that art was synonymous
with expression... not so simply... because so much of our expres-
sion is tainted by desire and misconstruction and ego delusions
and means to an end. Art is whatever can get us to the most
natural and ‘uncontrived’ state possible, as well as the product
of that endeavor. This differs from many definitions but it does
overlap curiously since nothing helps us strip back those layers
and give ourselves over to nature like a good song and dance.
Living in this bubble where I get to continue with the belief that
people are precious, even if I dislike them so. Most love and ro-
mance that I see is simply people repeating what they see on the
television—acts and statements which worked for someone else.
It’s all but a pretty script, and therefore it should come as no
surprise when their actions fail to match their words. It has me
thinking of all those laboratory tests where you get the animal to
push the button to get their treat. The little beaver bastard hasn’t
the ability to analyze the meaning of the button or the mecha-
nisms behind it. All that it knows is its learned associations, and
so it pushes the button when hungry simply because it associ-
ates that button with food. It’s not intelligence. It’s not love. It’s
learned associations. You see the same in the human population.
People don a guitar and write a song and they’re looked up to as
some genius, but they’re just pushing a button to get their food
because they saw others before them succeed similarly. Every brat
that learns to speak ends up saying “I love you,” but again, it’s
naught but a button. For the most part, what separates our soci-
ety from said laboratory animals is negligible at best; yet you can
count on us to really emphasize whatever distinction we can find
so as to keep from acknowledging that our whole lives are just
pushing the button for food, for sex, for entertainment and for a
false, momentary fulfillment.
At the end of the day it is not the people I am fighting, but the
forces that possess them: ancient atavisms.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1113
you could ever want to know about the life that I have led. How-
ever, if you are approaching the matter with the wish to see your
hurt assuaged then it will only distress and disturb you further. So
you must approach these realizations in want of understanding and
nothing less. Until your desire for understanding eclipses your desire
for comfort and security, my words will seem unapproachably cruel;
threatening.
I haven’t bothered to leave Asia with any sort of message. There
hardly seems any incentive to do so when any word out of my mouth
is bound to be filtered through her husband who decides her percep-
tion in accordance with his own security (or lack thereof ). Besides,
I’ve not had an actual, heartfelt interaction with her in a third of
my life at this point.
For the first time in thirty-five years you are an independent
man in the sense of lacking all dependants. Be liberated by the re-
alization, while refusing to see this event as a justification for any
of the harmful, self-destructive and numbing acts in which you may
be tempted to indulge. It is never too late to awaken to the splendors
of this existence which awaits your passion, your participation, in
every moment that you sit in wait of a tomorrow that owes us noth-
ing.
what was said on disposition, I believe that the things which (in-
nately) excite us, disturb us, dezinezinet are not but arbitrary ge-
netic or environmental matters but profound ‘clues’, as it were, or
remnants, from which we were ‘created’. If Essence stems from a
thought, or the analogue thereof, and reflects the needs of Exis-
tence on the whole, our innately held preferences are thought to
relate, by and large, to the needs form which we arose. Our pas-
sions, as well as our disdains, and other matters of instinct, must
be closely examined and not written off or demonized. You can
see, in my own life, that those things which I disdained so long
are, in the end, considered the target objectives toward which
I was launched—those things I was asked to eliminate with my
time and attention, so to speak. My recommendation is not to be
so quick to demonize or silence that which disturbs you in life.
By all means, we must learn to tame our responses so as to not al-
low our ‘demons’ to overpower us, so I am not recommending to
become some neurotic asshole who neglects to control his anger
and frustration, but these ‘demons’, ultimately, are not to be si-
lenced, but heard, if you wish to understand your grand battle
which is fought on a grand scale. If you look to the things that
bother and disturb me most... therein will be plainly discovered
the things that have been affected in the wake of my rise unto the
higher paradigms, and when asking “Where can my influence
be felt in the fabric of Existence?” It is not decided by my will.
It’s not like suddenly everyone sings like a damn goat and eats
their oats with ketchup... although I’ve gotta say I’m totally con-
fused after being away for a couple years and then I look out into
society and everyone is talking about social isolation and wear-
ing masks and listening to disco and calling each other ‘goats’
as a complement, hahaha...not that this has anything to do with
propagation... just coincidental strangeness that is simultaneous-
ly hilarious and annoying to me. Anyway, actual existential prop-
1118 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
The Law of Orsa can be seen as analogous to the idea of ‘ask and
you shall receive’, and ‘seek and you shall find.’ Spend less time
seeking after answers than is spent shaping and refining the ques-
tion, the quest, the wish. They must be as specific as we can man-
age. Curiosity and desire are not merely motivators which may
propel us forward toward the goals that we keep. These things
are themselves seeds which will sprout into that which we are
after. There is no distinction between beginning and end, ques-
tion and answer, operation and outcome. All these things I call
by one word: orsa. That is how Existence experiences all so-called
progress and evolution in the absence of time and chronology:
through will and relevancy. Ōrsa is Latin for ‘beginnings’, or also
‘undertaking’, and is simply the word that I have opted to use as a
catch-all for deeds undertaken with will and desire, and it there-
fore encompasses all points of the process, including both con-
ception and resolution, which are statedly indistinct within the
context of Aseitism.
I find it so odd that, although I’ve given my all and suffered with-
out end to achieve my aim, I look now upon my victory and I
am shocked by how something so great could come so cheaply.
My words will be taken in by the eyes of strangers, yet I just don’t
imagine that anyone will really understand what I am describ-
ing—this outcome that I have landed for myself after years of in-
tensive psychomystical operations. I don’t think that the mind
can even fathom it unless in the case that it has met with the ex-
perience itself (as is essentially the case across the board when it
comes to understanding, I suppose).
There is great dissonance to come from my spiritual victory.
The satisfaction is weighed down by sorrow, and I become angry
at times, unable to understand why I am so alone in my striving
and in my successes. Why does the world not stand beside me
here upon this peak? I was an immature child, dumb and uned-
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1121
ucated and... I don’t understand it. I feel myself like some cripple
at the Olympic finish line. I want to be happy, and oh how I want
to celebrate, but I am too damn confused by it all. Clearly I’ve
gone and offered much thought and speculation as to the process
which would answer all these questions, but it doesn’t change my
feelings, nor does it prevent me from wondering ‘what excuse do
you have?’ at the sight of others who have resigned themselves in
the search for something true.
I never called out for anyone to save me. I only asked them to not
set me back further. Even then, in an absence of interference or
opposition, I think I could have survived to see midlife, but the
people just couldn’t turn down the opportunity to gawk at the
wreckage.
1124 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Sadly, this is not unique to me. Within the modern world, the
victim is often tasked to prove that they did not deserve the evil
that was done to them. It’s a tragedy, but tragedy shall prevail as
long as discrepancy does.
tant distinction. It was never the case where I just wanted friends
and was lonely, and those who think that of me are sorely mis-
taken. If I was merely seeking a pizza party I could have had one
going every night of the week. It’s like the idea that that which
truly exists cannot be destroyed or desecrated. We do not mourn
those false relationships and hollow joys that fall away from us,
except for the realization that we had not actually been in pos-
session of something true.
**It’s not like one day I just decided to be open and immediately
bared all. There was a lot more nuance to the process of opening
up and allowing myself to become so vulnerable. Every year I am
more open than the last. Things which seemed irrelevant then
now seem relevant. Publicizing one file allows me to publicize
something else, creating a sensible gradation. It continues to fall,
like dominoes, until all shame is eventually gone, and until the
whole self has been rendered necessary—every second, every un-
dertaking. It’s so indescribably beautiful and complex. So don’t
despair if you can’t find the nerve to do it all in one lunge.
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1131
build upon what I have created, and may this same humility en-
dure forevermore in association with Aseitism and the Existence
it so venerates: an Existence reliant upon us all.
A day of calamity and, at the same time, a day of grace and bless-
ing. This day, after so many centuries, after so many eons, will be
the day of my reckoning.
I dance and I whirl these days, and I shall soon part to meet, once
more, my “Death.”
1136 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
Hahahaha.
I’ve noticed that the manner in which one treats a pet tends to be
a good predictor of parenting style. I’ll never become a parent in
my own right, but in terms of how I interact with my dog, I am
the one who takes him (our current Maltese) out in the daytime
to play with him; the ‘fun uncle’ type. I am the one to whom
he brings his toys most eagerly. I’m not around constantly, but
whenever I am in his presence I’m always showering him with at-
tention, so he knows that I’ll be willing to play or take him out or
whatever else. My main style of interaction is playfully confusing
him... making him think I’m an alien, or an idiot, or that I have
a horn for a voice since he can’t see the horn behind my back, or
hiding behind walls and leaping out at him. I fake sneeze when
he fake sneezes since I heard that that shows them I’m having
fun too. Basically an extended peekaboo mindfuck all the time;
a lot of goofy gestures; only moving towards him when he’s not
looking; charging at him; not sure what kind of an effect that be-
havior would have on an actual child though, and I might have
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1139
the time to instruct it, all would be well and he would be enjoy-
ing not only a greater freedom but less punishment. If that ain’t
a look into his parenting style then I don’t know what is.
My mother was the worst, always using the dog as a mouth-
piece through which to express and satisfy her own unmet needs.
She would overfeed our dogs until they threw up. She was over-
protective and wouldn’t let them out of her sight, and she would
try to speak for the dogs in ways that didn’t make any sense in re-
ality, while using the dogs’ supposed needs as a means to justify
her own wrongdoings. Prior to her death, most of us didn’t even
get to spend time with this dog as it was always kept under her
computer desk where she sat... by her feet.
My sister abandoned her own dog as soon as something came
up, leaving it in our care. She had a dog for years and they had
all sorts of fun and adventures together and then one day she just
completely neglected it while at college and when her apartment
wouldn’t allow dogs it was just like she forgot all about it, no care
or attachment whatsoever, as if they never had a bond to begin
with.
My maternal grandparents infamously screw up all of their
dogs, coddling them overmuch to where they turn into these
mega-neurotic prissy divas that have to have everything exact
and hate everyone and simply can’t function around other dogs.
They shake and they growl and not much else. It’s always been
somewhat of a joke to us since we don’t understand how they
keep pumping out these obnoxious and anxious pampered
princesses but goddamn if that ain’t saying something. All of
these seem spot-on accurate to me.
effort as I have put into maintaining my spirit all along the way,
notwithstanding all the challenges I have faced, I worry that the
accumulated trauma and betrayal has caused me to become more
hesitant in my speech, and this has incidentally robbed from my
once-quick wit.
In many ways, the abstract has always been more real to me than
the physical, making it fairly easy to follow along with extreme
moralistic and idealistic stances, a la asceticism.
It’s all just barely worth it—barely—by the merest sliver; but that
is the nature of the process, and so is it my nature.
I only wish that I had more time to sit with these ideas. Every-
thing has come to me in this blizzard of insight and it has not
settled down since the conclusion of my operation. It is not that
I am overwhelmed. On the contrary, it brings me great joy and
excitement; yet I feel like I am not being given the chance to in-
cubate a more profound take on it all. [Aseitism]
THE DISSOLVING PATH 1147
Do not write others into your story who will not write you into
theirs. Sentimental ties are established via the perceived relevan-
cy of a person, place or thing within our lives. Those who deem
us to be highly relevant to their person will be most apt to nur-
ture the bond and to uplift us, as well as least likely to betray and
destroy us. More than that, they are most likely to be willing to
work on a relationship when issues arise. All occurs on a spec-
trum, and there are always exceptions, so don’t take it so literally
that you fail to exercise your discernment, but I find that it works
as a general rule (especially as a means to reveal to you all of the
false or worthless relations in life).
I have been wanting to make an update for quite some time, since
there have been some notable developments which are not re-
flected in the narrative of Clyssus of Man. While the the existing
narrative is not false in its portrayal of events, it fails to account
for my experience after the year 2020. The deviation occurs as
I was preparing to wrap things up and divest from my Volens,
which I had initially planned on carrying out following the com-
pletion of the abovementioned book. My experience of “existen-
tial propagation” left me somewhat rattled and also incentivized
me to improve my contribution before leaving. This led to some
notable conflicts as I attempted to adjust my paradigmatic bal-
ance in a way that might allow me to achieve a sort of mixed
state: a return to my old way of life while keeping my new under-
standing—a very strange request in consideration of the fact that
all returns to understanding. To these ends I employed a tech-
nique utilized during lucid dreams which I have often used to
stabilize my dream after becoming overly aware of my physical
body and nearly waking up. I only wished to do this long enough
to tidy up my legacy and leave it to the people, although my part-
ner was not in favor of this (though it has since been learned that
she misunderstood what I was trying to accomplish) and this saw
her bring in a third individual, who was mentioned briefly to-
ward the end of Clyssus of Man. The two of us had met previ-
ously and in the manner that was recounted within the book, al-
though at that point he seemed closed off to working with me in
this state. Also, it was the book which I was handed in that en-
counter which actually introduced me to the idea of existential
propagation, although Clyssus of Man attributes this revelation
to my partner instead.
In the wake of my ‘meltdown’ he was essentially called in to
oversee the situation, which my partner felt had exceeded her
abilities, as she is about as agreeable as I am and isn’t comfort-
1154 CHOIR KORNELI LEVIYEY
friendship and for what it has done for my aching heart. Though
after all of the time and attention that I’ve given to documenting
the negative relations of my life it feels a sin to be saying so little
of these experiences which have come along to subvert the nega-
tivity that I have known. I suppose that I see my personal myth as
having concluded with my operation and so I have really neglect-
ed to account for all that has occurred since—a surreal interstice,
though my most productive period overall. If it is already too late
to undo the bodily effects of three decades of alienation and sal-
vage my living experience then I will ask for my audience to di-
rect all care and compassion that they might have otherwise giv-
en to me on to Wyatt, willing that he should have a more satisfy-
ing and uplifting experience than I ever did.
sphere is worth it, given the high stakes against which I am per-
petually grappling.
Have your symbols, and know them well, but let nothing be
written off as impersonal or irrelevant to your experience of life.
the most absurd and incidental, or seemingly so, were carried out
with intent. So spake Steulugalnemraiant unto the exigura, “I
know what I do.” May this not go overlooked as another para-
graph among hundreds like it: in here hides an asp.
For it is said that I have kept this singular detail to myself like
the last candy, that it does bellow the name I cannot reveal. Yea,
this author’s name, oh author. And they will know, then, the de-
gree to which I control my fate. And they will not understand, as
it is not in them to understand these things that call upon holy
motive. The last name in the list of names belongs thereto. But
the ear of man will not understand what it hears, for it hears the
footsteps and believes it a heartbeat. The eye of man will not un-
derstand what it sees, for it sees the lynx and believes it a man.
And the masses will not behold my form, which is formless like
water, and like water they will come at me with dishes and walls
and I will be contained by them, taking the shape of their onli-
est ignorance and restricted capability. Thus I am come and I am
called as I am needed and man will not find understanding inso-
far as man does not understand that I am a book: I am a book
containing all things, and I am a book that says nothing with its
pages unless unto the exigurae.