The Prince of the Matrix is hopelessly rotten inside. And this rottenness reaches truly chilling levels.

The pain of his fellow men and his neighbours, including his closest collaborators (!), gives him pleasure… deep pleasure… ecstatic enjoyment. And the more acute this pain is, the more visceral and all-encompassing his enjoyment is: he is literally inebriated. The pain of his neighbour is like a drug with hallucinogenic effects for him, a drug to which he is now completely subjugated and which day after day humiliates his splendid heavenly origins.

The prince is a slave to the prison he himself has built. And this imprisonment has bent him physically and broken him morally and spiritually. His reasoning and lucidity vanish in the twinkling of an eye in the presence of his drug, which exercises absolute dominion over him. It is in fact his master. In front of it he kneels and submits day after day in a supine manner.

How sad it is to see the ancient cherub with outstretched wings kneeling in front of the most unrestrained and cruel sadism, eager to the point of blindness to inflict suffering and torment on anyone around him, be it enemy or friend. And this perversion has now broken all limits, he even takes pleasure in his own suffering and enjoys his daily acts of self-humiliation.

What is intolerable to a sane mind is desirable to him. What is contemptuous, demeaning, degrading, squalid and mortifying, to him is exhilarating and stimulating.

The former morning star child of the dawn has fallen from the sky into such a degrading state of humiliation and annihilation that every molecule of his being is ashamed to represent him.

The real truth is that the ‘prince’ is a miserable slave who, in his few moments of lucidity, hates himself profoundly and considers himself repulsive, disgusting and nauseating.

The self-styled bringer of light now brings nothing but rot, deviation, disease, putrefaction, schizophrenia and perversion. He who was once the most resplendent creature in the universe is now rotten inside, but so rotten that a putrid stench accompanies him wherever he goes.

I seem to recognise this stench: it is the stench of death!