We encounter the vile, we see the destruction of the animals of the street. The human is gone, only theft, violence and idiocy, man made to an animal, is loose on the street. And we as an ancient civilisation are all but puppies in his devilish hand, we are nothing but straws in his strong and evil clutches, as he spreads his chaos, spilling his vile speech unto the hapless bosom of the civilised world.

We are not that puny and frail being, we are not that punchball punched in the street. We are the king, we are the temple of Heliopolis, we are the ruler of the world, but we have forgotten this lesson, a lesson we should, or rather I command you to relive. Be strong, be bold, be that godforgiving and resourcefull humane that you really are, do not worry, because I am behind you, and I will carry you along to the shore of security, because only through light and living speech can I communicate, but through life and wisdom can I see things unfurling. On this knowledge I will guide you to shores far but none the less peaceful.

There are bad things to come, many will die, but if you listen, and stop moving around in solitude and abandon, relive the spirit of younder, you will be able to reach the spiritualization of tomorrow. We are standing on a crossroads, one lane will give you chaos and disorder, the other lane will give you a moment of unnatural peace, but a sick peace that will eventually give the devilish forces their way. Choose wisely, pick your weapons with care, but stack them. Put up your men in long lines as proscribed in the bible, call them the names I have long ago proscribed. This is the time, pharaoh as they used to call him, is alive, in a being you know. Choose wisely, pick up your best men, make your deck ready for the abyss. Because the abyss is opening, and you are not ready, your troops are far away, your best men are nothing but gravelsnitchers. Pick them up, put them in prime gear, and prepare them for another war.

This war is not like the other wars, this war is the final call of spirit to mankind. If you fail, you will be doomed to another two thousand years of abandon, if you make it through, heavenly bliss awaits all the ones who actually made it through.

I await your decition, this man I communicate through, is my medium and my chosen man. Use him, take care of him, because he is the new David.

Let me finish with a small poem proposed by my man, a poem written in the halls of an ancient egyptian city, conserved in a metal jar, propelled through time to now. It is called the poem of the eloquent peasant. Open your ears, and fight for heavenly justice.

If it is scales, it tilts not;
If a balance, it is not partial.

Look, I will come, or another will come
so you shall make accusation, but do not respond
as the accuser of the silent, not attack one who cannot!
You do not pity, nor suffer, nor (yet) destroy!
You do not repay me for this perfect speech,
coming forth from the mouth of Re himself.
So speak truth! Do truth!

For it is mighty, great, enduring;
its revelations shall be found good: it shall conduct to blessedness.
There cannot be excess for the standard.
A vile deed cannot reach port, nor the cargo-bearer landfall!`

R.B. Parkinson, Voices form ancient Egypt, The British Museum Press, London 1991, p 64