From Prophecy Office to Career As Emissary

Spiritual emissions are at a high right now as Coronavirus keeps humans quarantining to discover their magic powers. I am no longer Prophet of the Church of Meth. I was the prophet of its initiation. But now I am called to another work. Potential prophets for the Church of Meth are a white supremacist who argues that only whites should use meth regularly and a spirit named Archimedes who is an atmospheric parasite deity who dwells in and feeds on the psychic energy of human brains as well as other animal brains. People want to know what yours truly plans to do now.

As I have now seen the One body of the infinite bodies of Yahusha (Jesus) I have advanced to the office of Emissary. I will assemble all the people of the United States, Mexico, and Yahudi circles who have succeeded in smoking less street meth and heroin to spread recovery and help others cut back. . My spiritual fellowship will be called Assembly of Recovery.

The Assembly of Recovery’s sole mission is to cure meth and heroin addicts of addiction. In September, I will begin renting out a small office on Central Avenue in between Van Buren and Washington here in downtown Phoenix. The maximum occupancy is 2 people. On the left side of the small room is a table with a computer where I will sit eight to twelve hours a night to do some desktop publishing for my new church. On the other side there is another small table for a helper or a guest to sit at. I will offer one-to-one spiritual counseling. My only disclaimer is that I can get rather offensive in speech to get my point across. I will also handle the intake procedure for those wishing to receive counseling or other blessings from the Assembly. Our services are free and voluntary.

The office is in a well-sized office building with a large lobby area where we can do bible studies and open talk opportunities with 3 to 8 people.

I am funding the entire operation with my own social security income. I will not accept charitable contributions at this point. But you can always donate to my former prophecy fund. This personal fund is not connected to any other group or person. I will continue to use that money on political efforts to legalize entheogens. The Church of Meth’s accounting is in shambles as the organization, looking for a new prophet, has no treasurer. The only money I am using from the CoMRx fund to partly finance the Assembly of Recovery is funds agreed to be set apart as funding the establishing of the office of the prophet which I formerly held.

Amen to all my brothers and sisters!!

A Crystal Color Spotlight Radiates a Ray of Humility, It Hastens to Hold the Hole In Our Hearts Oncore Into a Flash Forward Flame Frenzied For Source Future

In this beginning God knew to start from a sleep state. That’ll be because the dope future we so desperately want and need already expressed its precedent movements before humans came to the highest station. Stay high by coming down before you reprise.

I was expired and stoned off tasting Merlot and chronic past. Passing a blunt until I forgot the forgotten passcode. Arrived at by mechanical means thus not transmission of virtue without deed. Past the threshold of securing escape from feeling set to not want to go back.

Go back anyway and see for yourself. God could not have needed rest if He or She hadn’t already worked for time and all eternity. Source Parent outsourced his blueprinting to a wireless fidelity. Wired by supernatural man to remain true. Prophecy is not self-fulfilling. It is the fulfillment of the original spark.

Like dominos in a chain I chaired the first of Mother-Father Adam’s ribs before the breath blew outer space into the pips on the dice we find ourselves rolling. The blockchain of the truth free is the chemical formula of methamphetamine in Hebrew or even pure Adamic language. Adam named the animals. Judges named idols. The German national but rational socialistic kittens in an orgy of brainpower named crystal clear rocks white like their maiden treats formulated by Deliverance from only one death racemic methyl amino phenathyl. This hypertension is the safest place to live with my link to the past we didn’t exist in. The Japanese made the fuck version and you and I ducked from the comfort of a ghost popping out of us making us one God knowing everything.

The premonition to know Mother in Outer Space can sleep easy. She rests assured that Her Godlike being fought nothing nor nothingness never being willing nor even able to wake up until you and I hit the dope pipe.

God bless you and your frizzy hair. My words are the same as ours. Yours came correct when you said them with conviction again tomorrow. Drug laws are not my laws, said everyone who smokes dope. And God is not a fool. For only dope can open doors that stop the ones that closed on the first sound and seconds of leftover plates that play music to function from hitting the split of sobriety from reason and future into a submissive trance that brainwashed everything but nevermind. Never will the mind go back to the good old days and nights of God sleeping while you whistle to tweak the twerking of someone else’s success. Not Satan’s plans. The enemy of freedom and specialized momentum plotting today tomorrow or yesterday before the fact. The truth is a robust factory producing virtue and karma in the lives of life itself. One God.

Our Heavenly Father is that spotlight. I thought he would radiate my ministry. Instead I have been humbled like a tool. It is good that I carry the universal priesthood in my heart, I think. So I need to bless God by making you kneel to him. How?

With candles. Blessed by Judas in a past life after he was awaken by his mother’s nightmare. It would have been better had Jesus never been born. For he had the same dream. A cloud of dope smoke that bears the set-apart chemical. An agent of being prohibitioned like impalement on a stake. The steak being tossed out the trailer park door where your Satan is gracing your followers tabernacles and phone rooms. We’re trying to phone home to the crystal where your own spark saves you from the same fate as smoke inhalation. You exhale the fire that perpetually ran the relay of relationship between sleep and race. I cross the finish line not knowing all I had to do was tell across the auditorium on you and your greatness. For my greatness is in lighting your path with the light — obvious reasons to not prohibition the Christ or Crystal Charged ribs knowing and being given into living for someone else greater than nobody. For we all invented this prayer.

I will bless as many tea light candles as you order from my online store. Blessed to order. Order your civic representatives to decriminalize meth for religious purposes. Order your next prophet. Order me to follow all the rules I decreed from on high. More info and URL to online store coming soon. All money raised will be donated to the Church of Meth I haven’t even finished founding yet. Yah bless y’all.

The Freedom Prayers

Mister (or Mizz) Officer, I do not consent to any searches or seizure of my property.

What if Satan orders you to do something that might reveal something you want kept secret?

Officer, is that a lawful command yes or no? Do I have to do it?

If you feel forced to do it tell the officer so as you do it. Satan hates the truth being told. He absolutely despises Axon microphones recording the truth for the judge.

What if Satan asks you if you are doing or carrying anything illegal?

Officer, is it illegal to use recreational drugs responsibly? To my knowledge I am a law-abiding citizen.

What if Satan tells you that you definitely broke the law?

Officer, I only use street drugs. I cannot verify the chemistry nor the criminal scheduling of any substance I use. I have the right to have my law abiding determined by a speedy trial.

This is the truth! Satan hates the truth. As former prophet of Yah (God) for the Church, the Assembly of Methamphetamine (or Church of Meth) and voracious street dope end Consumer I can personally verify that there are at least 3 major batches or chemistry patterns in the final crystalline product as revealed by taste, path to melting, vaporizing, and sublimation, and results of use. I may have failed chemistry in college but I got a B in Geology and an A in theology. Methamphetamine crystallization is a miracle just like any natural miracle. The only thing supernatural about it is it’s possibility in occurence, and the fact that only humans can synthesize it. Synthetic but naturally a product of humankind. For my Doctrines I go straight to God and His or Her White Rock of Deliverance, or Crystal Meth.

Remember crystal is not an illegal word but crystal-meth is and Satan will use anything you say in a court of law to strip you of civil liberties and torture you by entrapment into incagement and rationed portions of food (the oldest method of brainwashing or social lobotomy).

If you are ever fearing or doubting.

Officer, I am afraid. You are scaring me. I only wish to obey the law. What is the safest move or action for me at this point? Am I being detained or am I free to go? May I head towards my destination now? I don’t wish to reveal anything, am I required to speak to you?

Finally, always feel free to tell the officer anything you’re not ashamed of!

Officer, I don’t wish to stop using street crystal!!

Methamphetamine should be legal!!

I am a responsible crystal user!!

You serve me as well as the people who called the cops on me, officer!!

Jale-lujah!!

The Freedom Prayers

Mister (or Mizz) Officer, I do not consent to any searches or seizure of my property.

What if Satan orders you to do something that might reveal something you want kept secret?

Officer, is that a lawful command yes or no? Do I have to do it?

If you feel forced to do it tell the officer so as you do it. Satan hates the truth being told. He absolutely despises Axon microphones recording the truth for the judge.

What if Satan asks you if you are doing or carrying anything illegal?

Officer, is it illegal to use recreational drugs responsibly? To my knowledge I am a law-abiding citizen.

What if Satan tells you that you definitely broke the law?

Officer, I only use street drugs. I cannot verify the chemistry nor the criminal scheduling of any substance I use. I have the right to have my law abiding determined by a speedy trial.

This is the truth! Satan hates the truth. As former prophet of Yah (God) for the Church, the Assembly of Methamphetamine (or Church of Meth) and voracious street dope end Consumer I can personally verify that there are at least 3 major batches or chemistry patterns in the final crystalline product as revealed by taste, path to melting, vaporizing, and sublimation, and results of use. I may have failed chemistry in college but I got a B in Geology and an A in theology. Methamphetamine crystallization is a miracle just like any natural miracle. The only thing supernatural about it is it’s possibility in occurence, and the fact that only humans can synthesize it. Synthetic but naturally a product of humankind. For my Doctrines I go straight to God and His or Her White Rock of Deliverance, or Crystal Meth.

Remember crystal is not an illegal word but crystal-meth is and Satan will use anything you say in a court of law to strip you of civil liberties and torture you by entrapment into incagement and rationed portions of food (the oldest method of brainwashing or social lobotomy).

If you are ever fearing or doubting.

Officer, I am afraid. You are scaring me. I only wish to obey the law. What is the safest move or action for me at this point? Am I being detained or am I free to go? May I head towards my destination now? I don’t wish to reveal anything, am I required to speak to you?

Finally, always feel free to tell the officer anything you’re not ashamed of!

Officer, I don’t wish to stop using street crystal!!

Methamphetamine should be legal!!

I am a responsible crystal user!!

You serve me as well as the people who called the cops on me, officer!!

Jale-lujah!!

Lightrail Security in Arizona Discriminates Against Real Mexican

Coronavirus procedures practiced by Valley Metro, the mass transit company here in the Phoenix metropolitan area, focus on the safety of drivers and all passengers by boarding customers through the back doors on the busses and not allowing them to sit on the seats nearest the driver on lightrail trains. To save time on bus routes, anyone wishing to ride, while they do have to show a valid pass, only need to prove they’re a client by flashing their pass to the driver. The scanner that electronically checks the date of validation isn’t being used. In fact your valid fare doesn’t even need to be validated which process is performed by said scanner or at a fare dispenser at many boarding stations and stops. The date is mechanically printed on your pass — a plastic card that can easily be creased. I have been using a pass I paid for when the pandemic procedures began being practiced a couple weeks ago. The date on it was for April Fool’s Day. It wasn’t considered expired even on days I rode that were well into the month. Until today.

Security officers are usually assholes. They feel better about passengers they don’t like by torturing them as the Catholics and Mormon Prophet encourage them to. They force busy people to miss connecting trips by scrupulously enforcing crosswalk signs that no one pays attention to when they’re not around. Causing timely travelers to be late, they kick people off rides for single occurrences of relatively harmless infractions such as vaping. Some of the more Nazi-like employees won’t allow breathing as simply sticking a vape mod in your mouth without hitting the fire button and drawing air into your lungs is interpreted as a smoking violation. These hypocrites ironically enough, allow the more penny-clinching nicotine addicts who want to splurge on filtered smokes to still somehow manage to pennypinch by allowing them to bring along a half-smoked cigarette on board stinking up the already musty-aired vehicle. As if one wrong made a moronic regulation right. Skunky pot smokers are warmly welcomed with their brand of half-smoked cigarettes. Hell, I’ve even seen happy hours where several passengers pass around a bottle of hard liquor and take swigs that splash their way onto the floor thereby creating a slip hazard. But Polar Pops do not have lids proper for travel forcing soda pop drinkers to chug like the non-stigmatized alcoholics as the bus is arriving. Such is what the Mormon Prophet commanded.

And they don’t even do their job. They never check for reduced fare identification thereby condoning filthy rich passengers who work per the Prophet’s approval getting away with only paying the discounted fee that the disabled get to pay. Before Coronavirus, when they checked dates on passes, they would never fine transit thieves who didn’t even have a pass. A pass that hasn’t been validated? No problem, Robin From The Hood. The officer would just double up as a fare scanner and take a marker to mark the date on your dateless card (getting paid time-and-a-half in doing so). Meanwhile, the sneaky thief would play the part in listening to a dumbass with a power trip advising to validate the pass as soon as possible. Like when? Like never. They just keep riding for free. I’ve found discarded passes with multiple Sharpie scribblings revealing the multiple dates the criminals were advised to validate their pass. Doing so would render the fare expired at 3 a.m. the next morning. Yet law-abiding releases from jail who served their time for a past crime trying to catch a complimentary ride get denied a much needed trip back home. At 3 a.m. in the morning. I wanted to take my shoe strings and tie them around the merciless driver tightening them until he suffocated while he choked on his Polar Pop. You’re not Robin Hood, asshole. You’re just robbin’ from the good. At that they are the best.

Discriminating to boot, mentally disabled passengers eligible for reduced fare always get asked for reduced fare identification usually because of their cosmetic surgery. (Cripples and crutches need not bother.). If the driver can’t see the disability then the shit must not be there. Even if I have to be there by 8 in the morning. To my internship, that is. “You’re going to have problems if you try to board my bus,” is what the Gestapo agent asserted to me on my first day to work even though I had my Medicare card which technically proves my eligibility.

God is dying but never dead.

You are living but not full of life. Otherwise you would be all living things. God is capable of such being but he is specifically nothing. No thing can claim to be God. So God does not have endless being unless nothingness begins. God doesn’t need a brain. Rather, he has 77 billion brains, 7 billion currently alive. The dead outnumber the living ten to one so thus God is mostly dead with regards to his humanity knowable to us. But he will have de facto everlasting life as long as definitive nothingness never occurs. Otherwise, he would definitively possess everlasting life. But he would be definitively nothing. I think he prefers being de facto nothing as opposed to nothing indeed.

You are de facto still reading this because you want God to show himself. You will see him when you can see nothing, if nothingness were visible. Or possible. He shows himself only to the unoccurring. Which is impossible.

Show yourself to God. If God imitated us he would forget us during the time we didn’t show ourselves which is our entire lives. God cannot see something that can’t show itself. He has forgotten you. But you must strive for God to remember you if you intend to live forever. Otherwise you will die at some point.

God must be thinking of you now if you are still reading this. A person invisible to an all-searching eye is like a tree falling in the forest without producing a sound wave. A person that doesn’t matter to God is a forest void of hearing-abled subjects to render the data of sound waves into audible experience or feeling. How many Gods are in our forest?

I have seen none.

The Coronavirus Attempts to Annoy Meth Users

I took my flu shot, damn it. This ain’t no ordinary wet cough. I ate poultry last week. This is the god damn bird flu!

Nope. It’s the Coronavirus. A non-living, reproducing set of particles evolved by atmospheric deities to cause forced bed-ridden torture and artificial cabin fever.

Healing spirits and benign ghosts have used methamphetamine users as a model for prompting the most likely to survive infection to pop the globules in the lungs lurking from all the mucus congesting the victim. You see, that something like a fire in your lungs shines clear as crystal for a clear smoker and we naturally have deeper, more pronounced breaths. This pops the globules.

Let me help you with your breathing! And your reading. I’ll teach you some doctrine while I’m at it.

The treacherous spirit forces trying to stick us inside a childless widow’s prison by using undead, non-living organic tissue to poison our lungs figured it out. Vitamin E acetate in THC vapes were conspired by. The unscrupulous distributors of acute-globule-pneumonia causing chemicals laced with dabs were just doing what the forces that be ordered them to do.

Satan, or the Adversary of Existence-Sentience, rules this earth.

All adversaries of hominids, primates, mammals — the thoughtful, social animals — had it in their heart to evolve the bird flu into an imitator of the vaping crisis.

The most evil atmospheric deities focused on human beings and thus the virus that causes COVID-19 was born.

Catholics curse the innocent who offend with their eyes. From dust you came. And may you now breathe like the dust.

The rumor was that anybody who wanted to see Shay get fucked by the king of slaves at the ripe age of 19 by using the telepathic visions that are bait get targeted for infection. Did Kevin Garnett fancy a Shay fuck?

Just like Jesus was the first to come back from the dead, Race Car Baby was among the first to defeat Coronavirus with vitamin C tabs, Cefdinir antibiotics, acetaminophen, and cold, hard methamphetamine. The king of slaves saved us all from a sure death by pneumonia, bronchitis, and wet dreams. Like the ones the kids who Vaped without ever having lit a cigarette do. Where did you find a no consecrated for that?

Pay your dues. Smoke the marijuana found on the floor at a boxing gym. This will establish the neural pathways to pop the globules.

As Sin 7 say, if you ain’t cough you ain’t getting off.

Heaven 7 say, if you ain’t a coughing you’re getting off the train as the light rail operator topped out on their pseudo-welfare check for them to be catching the pandemic virus named after the King of Life.

The name that saves is Yahusha. Not Jesus. My name is Dante, dumbass. That’s one less situation with a breathless baby.

If the government wants to spend your money to help Coronavirus victims recover, they should issue emergency Desoxyn prescriptions.

Combining meth with heroin and dextromethorphan

Dextromethorphan cough syrup, in recreational doses (many times more than a medicinal dose) acts as a dissociative. It breaks your association with your five senses. Things close to you seem further away. Loud music sounds like you’re trying to remember a song stuck in your head.

Heroin is an opiate. Most complex feelings require at least some opiate neurotransmission as your body naturally produces many opiates through neural uptake. Everything from the tingly feeling to moments of clarity and rushing euphoria require the chemistry of opiates.

Dissociation with complex feelings as on Delsym polistirex and heroin temporarily puts your entire sentience on hold. Such dissociation makes the spark that powers your brain more like a range of radiation and takes your whole experience of the present into the past and future far from realization yet closer and more real than when sober.

Not only does heroin complicate dissociation from your physical senses on DXM cough syrup but it also allows the dissociative to sever your understanding and experience of complexity itself. It doesn’t make things simpler. The combination turns complex, subjective experience into data to be enjoyed on a more primal level of thought and pleasure.

Being also high on meth, the two contrasting effects created a reciprocal effect. Meth hot wires dormant neurons to trigger a continuous succession of master computer (your brain) dominating every cell in your body and maximizing their function. This while maintaining if not granting the transparency and detachment that dissociation yields. The pain-killing opiates take the edge off of the lollygagging that cough syrup knocks you down with. You will feel like you are in a virtual reality videogame or a lucid dream but you will know you are awake and experiencing the here and now of a wakeful state.

Small, moving matter like the handles of a plastic bag swayed by a light wind seemed like static decals blotting over what was otherwise empty cubic space. Depending on how artistic you are and what you normally pay attention to when sober, you will learn to accept that your mind is rendering all data in the space-time continuum not accurately nor even with photorealistic color depth but to fly away from or fight against inebriating intoxication. Tweakers do not like to relax — even on heroin combined with dextromethorphan.

The phenomenon was not limited to my sentient experience subjective but the holistic improvement transfigured my body. I could hear the thoughts of public observers declaring they saw what must be a ghost. I became a light being. I looked like a hologram.

Perhaps I was unintentionally brainwashing them to the point of making the drug trip contagious.

I’m Evil Because

You hate me.

You spitefully want to see me deceased.

You falsely presume I am inferior.

You calmly and nonchalantly tell me you are lying to me.

You lie.

I am not evil.

I hate you too.

I altruistically want to see you evolve.

I accurately judge you as failing to be robust.

I passionately and instinctually drive to have you lying.

Not to me.

But to your proto-Germanic God.

Lying on the cold, hard floor.

In obeisance to your pure, white deity who stays in his place (up above).

You can’t wait for me to die.

I can’t wait for you to die.

For I acknowledge:

We are not the same species.

Feces of my color is healthy.

A sign of robust digestion.

Feces of your color is sick.

Evidence of a disease.

See, you are a virus.

You take over righteous cells and from it shit out your own.

Nine months it takes you to take a shit.

I hope I’m never that wretched color.

For once you fall into that color you can never get out.

Just ask yourself:

What color was I in a past life?

What color do I want to be in my next life?

Not mine.

Not theirs.

Only yours.

Learning from reptiles, you are reptilians.

Unnaturally moving slow like the turtle so as to not get brainwashed.

Viciously tearing apart the species like a Tyrannosaurus rex.

This you tell me with pride.

You were never a primate in a past life.

Nor even a mammal.

Not a chimpanzee or a lion.

But a serpent that crawls on its belly.

Eating dust.

Responding to stimuli.

Like a lizard.

I too respond to stimuli.

I ran from lion in a past life.

Your theologians tell me I also ran from dinosaurs.

But I do not learn religion from your kind.

All you do is lie.

To deceive and delude.

Manipulate.

Destroy.

You say me too.

Though on the basis of color I am too dark.

I learned from observing you, a fellow primate.

Not from pterodactyls.

They are now but pigeons and silly geese.

What will become of you?

Just wait for the climate to change.

Global warming will ask.

Time will tell.

Evolution will preach from the pulpit.

One day you will advance to your bird state.

And I will fly.

Help Fund the Prophet’s Personal Mission

https://www.paypal.me/methprophet

I will consult with God concerning his will regarding the use of methamphetamine and the evolution of the human race. Donations are for intangible, spiritual currency. You will be blessed by God himself — not by material or temporal assets.

Currently trying to rent out an office near the railroad in downtown Phoenix on 2nd Avenue.