Every Seven Years the Devil Renews Your Lease
👁👁👁If you know you know, but the county jails library has got to be some way or other by design for whatever psychological warfare is being worked. Mental break is unglier then i figured, i seen some folk become fried up just like that. Exactly how lobotomys portrayed to be when they drilled your pineal gland like they were hanging your head as hunting seasons golden goose. I don't know what was psychologically mind fuckin those guys to that point of being hardly verbal. The pour fucker was litterly down to only grunting words that sound Neanderthal. May the late great William Burroughs forgive me when i confess this, but that fuckin library was the Only book burning I ever considered taking part in. There was Fabio books for the sissys, Donald Goines for the brothers, about a jack shit for someone who hadnt done nothing but roll bud up on a book since I fuckin remember. Probably hughnschool. This shit hole looked like a mausoleum for abandoned brains splattered everywhere, hardly any had binding with missing pieces torn out all speraticly, due to past readers smoke sessions rolling footnotes up in rips. Some clarity hit me then, how so many of my fellow inmates are seamlesslly decomposing mentally. Half the books were missing covers, have missing chapters.Yet, Somewhere between a torn astrology manual and a entire colony of bookworms, was remnants of some chewed up manuscript. Only on that one shelf sat something books rather taken care of, all psychology and metaphysics type of mental masterbation shit, then this old head, fuckin wide eye as could be, with bulging prison yard eyes. The type that look like they hold all their internalized pressure and stress in their eyes, instead of the usual shoulders. Thats when this fucker told me some shit that ever since been forever lodged in my skull like intellectual shrapnel.
“Every seven years you become somebody else.”
👁👁👁At first, it sounded like the quentisental jailhouse numerology type schizophrenia shit you see alot. when trapped in purgatory of any and all kinds, held up with nothing but regret and ramen noodles. Is where prison turns philosophers out, i really fuckin mean that shit, people fix up, and get right for the time, i suppose. the other motherfuckers are Part of the “cant get right” class of fuck ups. They return everytime, punctually without fail.
👁👁👁 They say that, the same way pressure turns coal into diamonds or pipe bombs. A man can either do the same, or become a pipe bomb. youmnotice patterns, even study cycles because his own trends are usually the vice that kills him. Alot of these numbers, keep dragging their fuckin ass back through the gates like their a dog returning to eat his forgotten vomit. Same crimes, like he had to redeem himself from his prior failures. Same cop. Living the Same funeral processions disguised as friendships, as everyday becoms a suicide mission.
👁👁👁The State calls it recidivism, or inadequate it to stupid fuck up criminals. Ol Felonious calls it devine intervention.
👁👁👁most people think they’re living one continuous self. They think the “them” from age 14 is the same begotten creature staring into that broken bathroom mirror when your shit face drun . But every seven years your cells mutate, your mind rewires itself, your worldview decomposes and reforms a new like a snake shedding radioactive skin. Rebirth, reincarnation, it's transcending into the next stage, up until you reach that of your final form. If that dont blow your brains out the side of your madula, The real horror is that most people keep reinstalling the same personality onto brand new hardware. Fresh body. Ancient curses. The Motherfuckers that escape prison physically may never psychologically recover. remaining his ass down as cellmates for life. with the motherfuckin ghost of their damn self.
👁👁👁That’s why some men leave prison and return before the guards even forget their stupid ass names.
👁👁👁Not because they love cages, because the cage became their identity and without the cage means hed have to actually be Free.
👁👁👁I shit you not what i say this, In those cement kennels, I watched men become metaphysicians out of necessity because a weak mind in that fuckin place make you desensitized to your nightmares real quick. Everyone be learning secret teachings and strategy. Some only studied gang literature. Others, 48 laws of power type, myomoto musashi, supreme mathematics, all that shit Mixed with the inescapable street politics. They made it mandatory to Read your criminal indictments in the testing of the certified without being comprimised, mostly Everybody was searching for the same forbidden key to the same motherfuckin lock. It became blatantly clear that the ones looking hard enough ….
“How do I stop resurrecting the version of me that keeps self destructing without dying?”
👁👁👁That’s the real seven year theory in the motherfuckin flesh. pseudo scientific fairy dust shit? Perhaps, but if you read the literature, youd find less unanswered questions then any religious text. the psychology isn't even New Age fuckery.
👁👁👁 It’s the personal understanding that if your internal architecture remains the same, your external reality will rebuild the same prison around you repeatedly, whether the bars are steel, bag up in addiction, in poverty, lust, ego, paranoia, or even in a motherfuckin trance of algorithmic hypnosis.
👁👁👁It goes without saying, Most civilians are inmates too. Their prisons just have Wi-Fi and ergonomic chairs. And they never know it.
👁👁👁Every seven years the world hands you a chance to fake your own death, psychologically that is. Though Very few people take it when offered. They everso drag their old identities around like ancestral curses damned upon them, then they wonder why life smells of that damn scent of déjà vu again. always to burn my nostrils like i snortied me some shards of glass.
👁👁👁i believe rebirth is violent. You don’t evolve peacefully. You interrogate yourself to a fault. You exile parts of your personality That's renders a lability. And do this cleansing unwavered at all as you burn the internal propaganda making the room for the next 7. assassinate your habits before they figure how to remain the same.
👁👁👁In order for you to live tomorrow you must Snuff the past of you out today. coexistence is scientifically impossible and someone's got to die, any questions?
👁👁👁 This very so became so more true then I would ever figure it to when I finally reinvented myself for good. clearly it was time for him to be taken outback, him or me getting snuffed out that night, with the gentleman like homicidal reformer i am. the best man made it out, and heres to 7 more.
.
👁👁👁Otherwise the Devil simply renews your fuckin lease every seven years and calls it your destiny.
Theyre both places that ones soul goes to die. Comparing the 2 is like deciphering different calibers of firearms, by way of see which taste best
What stayed with me was the idea that people do not always return to the same prisons because they failed to escape, but because the prison has become structurally familiar to the self. Beneath all the chaos, rage, and excess in the voice, there is a real question moving through the piece: how many times can a person survive themselves while still remaining psychologically identical? The line about “fresh body, ancient curses” carried the deepest weight for me because it understands that repetition is not always external circumstance. Sometimes it is identity rebuilding the same cage around itself again and again.