The Apostate Apostle's Epistle upon the Apotheosis of Gnosis

"The Apostate Apostle's Epistle upon the Apotheosis of Gnosis" was a scroll posted in various places around Lynchburg. It is unattributed.


Lo, I say unto you seven churches of the secret hymnals that there will be an explosion of grenadine green out of a mean corked tight bottle upon that day. Pray, listen when I speak to you, not to me, but to what my signifiers conjure in the magnification of signification to you! There is Scripture in Heaven unfathomable and incoherent which maintains a pure sense of logic and reason simultaneously! Glory to scrolls which Ezekiel ate which were not scrolls but the new manna, manna given only to prophets and kept from the obscenely complacent.

There will be a war in those times when the bound attempt to bind the free, but all they will bind is their own swollen and sickly minds, leprous with identical insanity! All, they are as contagious as lepers in their sickness, and all of you who are astute in the ways of reasoning recognize that leprousy is incurable, especially by a forsaken Galilean.

But enough of these times which have already past us by. They have become shadows of obscurity and notoriety which distract us from the eschaton. The eschaton is all we may rest our hopes upon. The inly salvation from the bleakness of the past and present is the study of them which points to the inevitable rise of esctasy and gnosis. Any worship of the present which precedes the concept of gnosis will inevitably be discounted in that final day. I ask you once again, will you help me fight the jaundiced, the pale and weak hypocrites who tell us that the new law has been handed down to them by the old law, which again is only worth celebrating upon its destruction on the day of the eschaton.

Tied in black lace and crimson-gowned,
She'll give us DMT
The books once lost will then be found,
and evermore shall be.

When we have drunk ten thousand beers,
And haven't left a one,
There's not a pace we haven't raced,
And we've already won.

When the archways crumble in mad wonder at watching their own crumbling, and sullied black doves take to the sky coughing after griming their wings on the sidewalk, there will be no need for Knowthing. We will have proved our point: these beauties and violences are ultimately ephemeral. What is lasting is the way the archways crash. Were they beautiful before? Now they are nothing. Were they violent? Nothing.

The ultimate goal is in knowthing how the archways will crash and doing what you can to make that crash as beautiful and forceful as posoible. If a sad man dies silent and young without drinking, women, or pleasure, then his existence and non-existence were both sorrowful. But with pleasure existence is joyful and non-existence is bittersweet in celebration of joyful existence. Yes, the fall is inevitable.

This is why we create art. If anyone has any doubts that we led a joyful existence, we can fucking prove them wrong. "Look at the things I've sensed! Look at what I have created from my own senses! When I was alive, there was joy in me!"

And upon the moment the archways crumble, the hyper-sanctified will be subjected to the macabre and obscene. Their white-washed cloistered walls will be soiled by each lonely strain of graffiti, each written by a madman. And they will see each unspeaakable image and phrase repeated at that moment. Each sin they suppressed in their supposedly sacred compartmentalized skulls will spill out to horrify them. And they will call out to God to damn the signs and symbols, but in doing so, they will be foolishly condemning themselves for imagining them in the first place. Every one of them with that hope their whole family died on the car ride taken without them that evening. That way, they couldl play the martyred orphan, lonesome and pitiable.

And the way their purposed can be measured is pleasure: pleasure given to themselves and others.

When the charter is signed, they will agree to fortify each archway to ensure they will never fall. Politicians with shifty eyes and crooked backs will shake hands solemnly with the hints of smiles while they put the inevitable event out of their heads. In interminable idiocy, they believe and imperfect world will continue to exist perfectly in an imperfect universe. Each sickening briefcase will be more fodder for the flames. Each pointless urge and terrifying penstroke will be erased.


Archways archways archways,
you enter through the archways.
You exit through the archways.
They all fall down.

Make sure to tell the good news to your family and friends! Now that you've accepted the Apocalypse into your heart, make sure you're not the only one to know! Otherwise, you might be the only one who knows the archways will crumble! Here's a fun samples script you can try out on one of your friends!

YOU: Wow Bobby, playing with these Tonka Trucks is really fun. You sure are lucky to have them.
BOBBY: Vroom, vroom! Thanks!
YOU: Bobby, have you ever heard about the archways...?