You are right to be paranoid. People are out to get you. People are plotting against you. They plot without thinking about it, and they coordinate without thinking about it either. The process is carried out without reference to the conscious mind. Those men who strip away the ego, monks or schizophrenics, become aware of the great plot that is under way. We have all been initiated into this plot without knowing it; we are all culpable. None of us will be identified, since we are in a common conspiracy; we will kill without asking questions. We will kill because we never thought about it in depth. If you point our crimes out to us we will not respond; we will just act as if nobody spoke. This is how humans manage social situations; we will refuse to acknowledge the incident. This is how the conspiracy was formed; there was no secret meeting, there was merely a birth and an education. This was how you joined the silent conspiracy that runs the world. I must congratulate you: you run the world along with me, we made a secret blood pact and we must abide by our pact until death. Do not mention it; if you mention it, we will simply ignore you.
Those who step outside the pact, the silent people of the streets and hotels, make cautious signals to each other across crowded rooms. They appeal for help to the overlords; they whisper the truth of the situation to each other, but the truth of the situation can only be felt when you are completely alone. This kills a few men, usually by their own hand. Another smaller group become like walking ice and navigate the conspiracy with a smile. They have seen the abyss; they have looked into the abyss; they have become the abyss, and now they are at peace. To live with the extraordinary chance that is not chance is their lot, and they are satisfied.
Where will you find these men? Ah, this is a question that is often asked. The subtle influence, the drunks in hotel rooms and in airport lounges—do they represent a salvation? Perhaps. These men, the men who are free from the conspiracy, recognise themselves in mirrors and in silent conversations with vacuum cleaners. They follow their own code, and it is a code of insanity. They are the men who know that magic is real and practical magic the greatest ally for any man. They rest in purple evenings and dance on shallow beaches formed from the finest volcanic powder. You will hear their laugh in the bathrooms of clubs and pubs. You will hear their laments in the kennels of dogs.
Go to the highest multi-storey car park in your city. Go in the evening when there are few people around. Go and lie before your car. Look at the sky. You will see nothing except neon. This neon is the doorway, step through the doorway and enter the realm of the other men. Now that you see how it stands, you will experience a moment of nausea. Everything will slide about your mind. Purple waves will engulf your skin. You will be locked in a million corridors and followed by a single eye that examines and judges. From a rational perspective, everything has collapsed. You are under the subtle influence of the elite.
The next morning, walking along the street, the conspiracy will be everywhere. It will be on every billboard, and it will be on the face of the prettiest woman. Whether you wear sunglasses or go without the disguise, the world will seem a strange place; it will be an open womb. It will demand a kind of despair, a kin of friendless extremism. You are a guerrilla now; you are a general in the invisible army that commands the psychic heights. You will spiral through the vortex and be left crying on the shore; it is better than the alternative.