Shimmer, Sparkle, Spin & Burn by V. Cummer

WHAT IS DIVINE INSPIRATION AND WHY DO WE NEED IT? Why do we put ourselves through the efforts of creation, giving and giving of ourselves over and over again, when it sometimes seems there is so little return? Why do we feel compelled to write, as though our very blood and breath, our bodies and our spirits, couldn't live without it?

As though we have little choice but to dip into that divine well and drink of it as best we can and, in so drinking, surrender ourselves to what comes after. The words surge through us and we can't just help ourselves. We must write or die.

As poets, it's true that we can't help but be inspired by the wonders and horrors of the world around us and our own experiences in it, both sweet and the bitter, but poetry comes from a divine source is clearly something special. It seeks to cast a light darkly through a stained glass window, a light that otherwise might not be seen. It seeks to tell a truth that can't otherwise be told. It seeks to transform all who hear it, spreading change in both creative and destructive ways. While the poet who becomes the conduit for that light, that truth, that transformation may not, at least at first, even be consciously aware what it is we've gotten ourselves mixed up in. We may not know we've essentially become a priest or priestess of the Muse.

Words pour through the hands of a poet like drops of crystalline water, sparkling and sparking off the outer world, looking for purchase in the physical. Poetry wants to describe what is difficult to describe, hard to capture. It tries to hold the shimmer of the dying sun on the waves, the gleaming arc of the stars across an impossibly deep night sky, the smile and scent of a newborn baby, the energy rising up within you as you dance around a Beltane fire, something you can't otherwise grasp and yet are intimately drawn to. As Yeats puts it, the true poet is all the time a visionary...

Divinely inspired words carry an even greater charge, one that resounds through all aspects of prophecy, magick, and witchcraft. These words have power because they remain closely linked to the web that lies behind the physical form of things, a shining web that some call Wyrd or fate itself.

Of course, all destiny cannot be written in words, cannot be captured in a physical shape. Yet destiny must, by its nature, find its way into this world and the only way to do that is to take on form.

The current of power is the bright darkness and black brightness that hides behind divine poetry, divine song, divine prose, all of them paeans to the Goddess Muse. They are prayers to destiny, seeking to grasp what cannot otherwise be grasped. We know its there because we've felt it on rare occasion. We've caught a glimpse of what is really real through the cracks in the world's skin. We've dreamt and dance it, and yet seen it slip away as soon as the dream ends or the dance dies.

Of course, it means pain to hold the truth of these words, these feelings, even for but a moment. It's an ecstasy and astonishing to behold, just for a breath or two, what lies behind the window they make on the greater universe. But then for a poet to be a channel for the divine, we must live in pain and pleasure for the time it takes to write these words down - knowing the whole time that they can never be enough, never tell the whole story. All we can do is brave the pain and not let ourselves be carried too far adrift into the rapture. All we can do is struggle to submit ourselves and our meager talents to the gift we have tapped into.

Truest poets often die of this gift. We are torn apart by the forces we have unleashed upon the page, the canvas, the world. We wear ourselves out by rushing ever after that singular experience; often giving up what most others think makes living worthwhile. But then what can food and family, fame and fortune, mean to us when compared to the glories of drinking the divine essence? Better to be a bright light and burn out than to live on in the slumbering dark.

Like prophets of old, we can't quite help it. We can't resist that bargain, difficult and dangerous though it might sometimes be. That beautiful light is just too terrible to resist, and to make the attempt to put it into words becomes a quest as great as any hero ever undertook. But then we are heroes in our own way - going Out There, experiencing the edge of what is normal and stared, and then going even further, into the dangerous Abyss. Trying to find a way to bring back what we've found there and give it purchase in this world. Through our efforts, what is supernatural might become quite natural. That is, the odd may well turn into the norm, the strange becoming the accepted way of things. And then, the poets of the next generation must do it all over again, pushing the envelope, sparking the continued evolution of the human spirit and collective psyche.

Many artists have found themselves on that bittersweet edge, riding between ecstasy and despair. John Keats, Edgar Allen Poe, John Wilmot, Sylvia Plath, [Jack Kerouac] - there are many names, many gravestones, some well tended and some forgotten, scattered along the battle line of the Arts. And yet how could they not fight the fight? They were all drawn to it, unable to resist, unable to be anything else but whom they were meant to be. They chose to live until they died and to not demean the price, to not deny their gift.

This is our shared journey, the journey of the poet and the madman. It's much the same journey as that taken by the practitioner of the occult, the seeker after what is 'hidden', what can't be grasped by mortal means. For magick is an art like any other and needs inspiration, and so must seek to court the chancy favors of the Muse. Ritual may be expected method rather than the pen or the keyboard, yet they are all tools in the end to touch the source and bring about transformation.

We, as poets, are the Witch, the Magician, the Prophet, the Shaman, the Star. We are all wanderers in the dark, seeking to bridge two worlds through the sheer power of the word, allowing that bright current to flow through us. Destruction, change, rebirth, passion, fear, heartbreak, hunger, need, bravery, seduction, daring - all must pass through the page and out into the world. As ideas and spirits and forces far too great to exist in their present form and be intact in the physical find their manifestation through the arts.

We do our best to open that door for them to enter in, even if it means we pay a great price for the effort. Even if, sometimes, that price means everything. For we hold the door open through our life force, bleeding to bring to the world of form something that's never been seen or known before. Out of love, we make new what is most needed. We do it because we can and because we must. For that creative force, once felt, no longer allows us to turn back. We've tasted the divine and we want desperately to share that essence, that experience, as best as we are able.

Who are we and why do we do this? We are poets. We are madness. We are desire. We are prophets. We are witches. We are the evolutionaries of the world and revolutionaries of [destiny]. We are glitter in the hundred thousand eyes of the great spider who sits in the very center of all that is chaos and empty and nothingness and weaves all that is real and there and perfect. We are the darlings of daring and the servants of the art, an art we would willingly allow to break us, if only it lets something truly special into the world.

From Datura : An Anthology of Esoteric Poesis

Magic Psalm by Allen Ginsberg

Because this world is on the wing and what cometh no man
can know
O Phantom that my mind pursues from year to year descend
from heaven to this shaking flesh
catch up my fleeting eye in the vast Ray that knows no bounds
-- Inseparable -- Master --
Giant outside Time with all its falling leaves -- Genius of the
Universe -- Magician in Nothingness where appear red
clouds --
Unspeakable King of the roads that are gone -- Unintelligible
Horse riding out of the graveyard -- Sunset spread over
Cordillera and insect -- Gnarl Moth --
Griever -- Laugh with no mouth, Heart that never had flesh to
die -- Promise that was not made -- Reliever, whose
blood burns in a million animals wounded --
O Mercy, Destroyer of the World, O Mercy, Creator of Breasted
Illusions, O Mercy, cacophonous warmouthed doveling….”

Come,
invade my body with the sex of God, choke up my nostrils with
corruption's infinite caress,
transfigure me to slimy worms of pure sensate transcendency
I'm still alive,
croak my voice with uglier than reality, a psychic tomato
speaking Thy million mouths,
Myriad-tongued my Soul, Monster or Angel, Lover that comes
to fuck me forever -- white gown on the Eyeless Squid --
Asshole of the Universe into which I disappear -- Elastic Hand that spoke to Crane –
Music that passes into the phonograph of years from another Millennium -- Ear of the buildings of NY --
That which I believe -- have seen -- seek endlessly in leaf dog
eye -- fault always, lack -- which makes me think...
Desire that created me, Desire I hide in my body, Desire all Man know Death, Desire surpassing the Babylonian possible world
That makes my flesh shake orgasm of they Name which I don’t know never will never speak –
Speak to Mankind to say the great bell tolls a golden tone on iron balconies in every million universe,
I am thy prophet come home this world to scream an unbearable
Name through my 5 senses hideous sixth
That knows Thy hand on its invisible phallus, covered with electric bulbs of death –
Peace, Resolver where I mess up illusion, Softmouth Vagina \that enters my brain form above, Ark-Dove with a bough of death.

Drive me crazy, God I’m ready for disintegration of my mind, disgrace me in the eye of the earth,
Attack my hairy heart with terror eat my cock Invisible croak of deathfrog leap on me pack of heavy dogs salivating light,
Devour my brain One flow of endless consciousness, I’m scared of your promise must make scream my prayer in fear –
Descend O Light Creator & Eater of Mankind, disrupt, disrupt the world in its madness of bombs and murder,
Volcanoes of flesh over London, on Paris a rain of eyes – truckloads of angelhearts besmearing Kremlin walls – the skullcap of light to New York –
Myriad jeweled feet on the terraces of Pekin – veils of electrical gas descending over India—cities of Bacteria invading the brain __ the Soul escaping into the rubber waving mouths of Paradise –
This is the Great call, this is the Tocsin of the Eternal War, this is the cry of the Mind slain in Nebulae,
This is the Golden Bell of the Church that has never existed, this is the boom in the heart of the sunbeam, this is trumpet of the Worm at Death,
Shovel my feet under the Andes, splatter my brains on the Sphinx, drape my beard and air over the Empire State Building,
Cover my belly with hands of moss, fill up my ears with your lightning, blind me with prophetic rainbows
That I taste the shit of Being at last, that I touch Thy genitals in the palmtree,
That the vast Ray of Futurity enter my mouth to sound They Creation Forever Unborn, O Beauty invisible to my Century!
That my prayer surpass my understanding, that I may lay my vanity at Thy foot, that I no longer fear Judgment over Allen of this world
Born in Newark come into Eternity in New York crying again in Peru for ultimate Tongue to psalm the unspeakable,
That I surpass desire for transcendency and enter the calm water of the universe
That I ride out this wave, not drown forever in the flood of my imagination
That I not be slain thru my own insane magic, this crime be punished in merciful jails of death, men understand my speech out of their Turkish heart, the prophets aid me with Proclamation.
The Seraphim acclaim Thy Name, Thyself at once in one huge Mouth of universe make meat reply.

De Occulo Bjundo remixed by Syd Arthur

1. This is thee Book of the Growing of the Nostril Horn of the OverWHOAMan-icorn, of which the symbol in the profane world is the dot in the circle, and of which the meaning is Illumination.
2. Thou who readest this doth not read; thou who seeketh shall not attain; thou who understandeth doth not understand. For attainment and understanding cometh only when thou art not thou, yea, when thou art no-thing.
3. Once there was a Dude, a disciple of some great Member of our Order whom men name the Great Bud which signifieth He Who be Here & Now Mate. For men asked the Great Bud, Are you a God? And he answered, No. And they asked again, Are you a saint? And he answered again, No. And they asked then, What are you? And he answered: I am awake, mate. Thence is he known as the Great Bud, the Awakened One.
4. And the Dude, in order to awaken himself, practiced the Art of Meditation as taught by the Great Bud, which in its original form before being distorted by False Imaginings and Elaborations of Theologians, was but this: To look upon all incidents and events and Remember to Say Unto Thine Soul of each: This is transitory.
5. And the monk looked upon all incidents and events, Reminding himself always: This is transitory.
6. And the monk came close to Awakening, and therefore was he in great peril, for The Lord of the Abyss of Hallucinations, whom our Order calls E. Gawd, the Sky Tyrant, cometh quickly to one near Awakening, to hypnotize him again into the Sleep of Fools which is the ordinary consciousness of Men.
7. And E. Gawd did sorely afflict the Dude with death of offspring, and insanity of loved ones, and eye-troubles, and slander, and malice, and the great curse of Law Suits, and diverse sufferings; but the Dude thought only: This is transitory. And he was closer to Awakening.
8. And E. Gawd, the Sky Tyrant, the Lord of the Abyss of Hallucinations, then caused the Dude to die and reincarnate as an almost Mindless creature, a Parrot, which flitted from tree to tree deep in the jungle; and E Gawd thought, "Now he hath no chance of Awakening."
9. But a brother of the Great Bud came strolling one day through the jungle, chanting the Teachings, and the Parrot heard, and repeated the one phrase over and over: This is transitory.
10. And Mental Activity began in the Parrot, and the memories of his past life came to him, and the meaning of the teaching, This is transitory; and E. Gawd cursed horribly in frustration, and caused him to die again and reincarnate as an Elephant, even deeper in the jungle and further from the languages of men.
11. And many years passed, and there seemed no chance of Awakening for that soul; but the effects of good karma, like those of bad, continueth forever; and eventually Men came to the jungle, and took the Elephant captive, to sell him to a Boss Playa.
12. And the Elephant lived in the courtyard of the Boss Playa, and many years passed.
13. And another brother of the Great Bud came to the Boss Playa, and taught in the courtyard, and his teaching was: This is transitory. And memories awoke in the Elephant, and meaning was understood in the memories, and Awakening again came close.
14. And E. Gawd cursed wrathfully, and caused the Elephant to die; and this time E. Gawd took good care that reincarnation would recur at the furthest possible remove from all chance of Awakening, for E. Gawd caused that the monk be reborn this time as an American Evangelist.
15. And the Evangelist was of the Moral Majority and he journeyed across the American nation, North and South and East and West, preaching that all were in danger of hellfire, and that there was only One Path to Salvation, and that this Path lay in believing All he Said and doing All he Demanded.
16. And he enslaved many, who became mental Automatons, and these Automatons went about crying: Hallelujah! We Are Saved!
17. And Gawd was gleeful, for now the soul of the monk was further from Illumination than ever; for previously he had been a Subjectively Hopeless Idiot -- id est, one who is aware of his own hopeless idiocy -- but now he was an Objectively Hopeless Idiot -- id est, one who Thinks that he Knows when in fact he doth Know Nothing.
18. But the Evangelist met with others of the Clergy to discuss sending Missionaries to the Heathen of the East; and there One spoke of the superstitions of the Transient and Eccentrics, and he mentioned the Great Bud teaching that All is transitory.
19. And Mental Activity began in the Evangelist, and memories of Past Incarnations stirred; and E. Gawd, in bitter frustration, attempted the Last Trap of All, and caused the Evangelist to become MegaBroWhoaMan, Master of Masters, Penultimate Supreme Being of all possible Universes.
20. And MegaBroWhoaMan abode in Divine Bliss for billions of billions of years, creating many lesser Supreme Beings who created Their own universes and were as Gods to them; and MegaBroWhoaMan watched all this Activity and rejoiced in it with High Indifference; for MegaBroWhoaMan was Consciousness Without Desire.
21. And the Dude now seemed at last cut off from Illumination forever.
22. But finally MegaBroWhoaMan observed, after watching many Supreme Beings come and go, and all Their universes grow and flourish and perish, that the great Law of Laws is that All is transitory.
23. And MegaBroWhoaMan realized that He, too, was transitory.
24. And MegaBroWhoaMan achieved Illumination.
25. And MegaBroWhoaMan came back to ordinary consciousness in the mind of the Dude practicing the Great Bud meditation of looking on all things and thinking, This is transitory.
26. And the Dude did not know if he was a Dude imagining he had been MegaBroWhoaMan or MegaBroWhoaMan playing at being a Dude; and thus was his Illumination perfected.

[Lovingly remixed from RAW by Syd Arthur]

THEE GRÆNN BÖK BUY P. ORNOT

They speak Panic. They conquer from within. From within. Whispering words of Panic to an inner ear, suggesting, conniving, adding brush-strokes to the pictures of the Last Few Days. And we are mere understudies, mere look-alikes.

The curtains rose on these histrionics with the birth of Man. Long before the first crude figures were daubed in the half-light of ancient caves, they were here, waiting, with Infinite Patience. We have never been alone. There are others indigenous to this spinning ball, trapped in some Phantom Zone, waiting for the kill, the sacrifice, the Second and Final Death.

The father of Grock the clown, having had his legs broken in eight places by his father for professional reasons, broke Grock’s legs in eight places to be certain that the child would grow up walking grotesquely so as to ensure his eminence as a clown.

We are the spinning, hobbling,  waddling clowns in the eyes of our secret police. The livestock and the Farmer.

Humans can be programmed with any belief or attitude. The human does not possess “free will.” We do not control our personal convictions, our opinions, our feelings. None of these are constant. We are composed of many “I”s, each a crystallization of opposite belief. When the wind changes, one “I” blows away, another steps forward. All of these “I”s revolve around an absent center. Penetrate the veils of personality. Within, there is nothing. Beyond a series of successively more tenuous masks, a hollow core. But, not quite hollow. A Puppet- Master sits and presides. A foreign body.

When you walk down a street your eyes are presented by a continuously changing perspective, every visible object slides across your field of vision in a precise geometrical relationship to reinforce the illusion that one is really walking through three-dimensional space.

I thought it was permissible to sit in my comfortable armchair and doze, as it didn’t seem anything particular was happening. No-one is demanding my attention, so why should I feel guilty to just drift?

Once, I opened my eyes again, and I saw the facts of my situation. My comfortable chair became the seat in the cockpit of an aircraft, flying 50,000 feet above the earth, quite out of control, guided only by a long obsolescent automatic pilot. Despite the enormity of danger this situation presented, I sought the oblivion of sleep once more. It’s hardly ever now that I panic, and stirring briefly, kick spastically at the controls, striking random levers.

We are content to see nothing.

We have no control.

It doesn’t even feel like failure.

We thought the world was merely a question of gathering. We didn’t understand that knowledge is kept under heavy guard. We thought that to see a door implied the probability of its opening. We waited and waited, until finally such a great lethargy came over us that we were compelled to drop our aspirations, or seek their fulfillment in a purely imaginary landscape.

We have never been alone. The door is fastidiously patrolled. There are, and always have been, those amongst us only seemingly human.

Reality is there, but we do not see it.

It is fashionable these days to view the Universe as an “associative domain of consciousness.” The notion of an observer-created Universe, that reality is in essence subjective, might perhaps appeal and comfort, but it is an imaginary state of affairs. It is a tremendous conceit. There is a Reality that in no way needs our participation to ensure its continued existence. The Universe is not conditional on human population. Our notions that we have only to “become whole,” filled with joy, to see a corresponding change in the Universe, contacting friendly angels and so forth, is really an insufferable arrogance. There is nothing out there that cares. There are no guardian angels, holy or otherwise.

Were we to possess any real degree of consciousness we would have the facility of being able to immediately discern truth from falsity, reality from fantasy. There is a distinction.

Individuals approaching critical breakthrough point, on the edge of evolutionary transition, the strange attraction to a new order of being, are ruthlessly attacked by the Fear Arm. They are either broken down—paranoid schizophrenia, demonomania, cardiac arrest, chronic migraine, suicide, radiation sickness—or initiated into new belief systems, arteries quickly hardening, lusting to re-locate the nullity of mind on earth. Individuals are attacked and herded like sheep, duped into a false flower garden. Like pawns in a vast Chess, our magnetic center, that part of us which is drawn towards the search for freedom, is taken with consent, because we are believing creatures. Born to grow fat on belief. Forcefed with belief. Turned towards blind alleys along which we will forever stray. We sleep on eternally, dreaming that we are awake.And the Ultra Terrestrials (UTs) are the Dream-Masters.

Our conclusion: UTs draw their vital sustenance from the tapping of the human state of arrested evolution. At critical transition points in human development, belief-circuitry is activated, which acts as a conduit for the life-energy.

That we are not in control; that we are not alone. These are facts of our existence. Everything you have “known” and thought to be true up until this point is a lie. You are stupid, and you are asleep. All your systems of knowledge are based upon an absence of understanding. You talk of progress, yet you still have to begin. What you have is worth nothing, because it was not had through struggle, but through “accident.” You have wandered clumsily. And beneath everything, underlying all your squalid joys, hopes, trials and tribulations, your vestigial dances, you are overwhelmed with misery. A suppressed emergency. Not one person understands another. Almost everything in life is wrong. There can be no accurate meaning. It is all accidental, nothing is controlled, at least by us. We are thrall to the Law of Accident. A tall story of hypnotic alliance, and every little thing, every little thing. A foul fix of blank kidnapping time.

Our experience of life is of a continual succumbing to inertia. Always abandoning for the anesthetic solace of black wings.

We talk about love, about truth. We have never known love or truth. Up until now they have not existed. They are but a distant rumor. We are like spoilt little children. We presume consciousness, but we are asleep. We presume the Universe accommodates us, but it does not care. We presume our thoughts can change the Universe, but it will never change. Forget the Universe, forget your “humanity.” At the end of the day, there is only YOU. You in your small corner. You in your Hell. You and your Personality.

What is it that sucks the spit from your eye? What dim crave is the sound of your love? See it parade everything it can not uncover. The world blocked out with one hand.

The only way to begin is to try and realize that you are asleep. It is no good to say, “I am asleep.” You have to realize it. There is a great inertia which works against us in this. There is the inertia which had been imposed throughout long years of social conditioning. Even should this inertia be overcome, additional external pressures come into play. Simply put, there is something out there that doesn’t want you to learn.

Some people are very conceited indeed. They decide that they can perform “magick” and influence the very fabric of time and space, in a cat’s whisker. And all of this without ever pausing to remember that they are asleep. Western “occult” traditions are practically valueless. If you want freedom, if you really want to wake from your sleep, then the “occult” is probably the last path you should follow. It is the idiot’s road. The idiot’s love of distraction. Another game to keep you from the real work.

Forces malign, coupled with typical human inertia, generated through thousands of years of false learning, combine to produce a deterrent so powerful that it is a rare individual indeed who could possibly hope to persevere through such an ordeal. The ordeal: objective verification of all experimental hypotheses through intense study of oneself.

Resignation, however, is not an option.

If escape is not achieved, and if the hidden hand does not snuff out your candle, the likelihood is entrance into, and adoption of, a rigid system of beliefs based on certain “clues” or “keys” occurring in the original work.

These clues may have originated from dream, vision, visitation, voice, etc. Once keys have been formulated as such, and begin to cohere into a belief-system, the real work has, for all practical purposes, been terminated. What then happens is a gradual slide into redundancy, stagnation, and obsolescence. Such beliefs present only minute fragments of a larger jigsaw, and in themselves, are an index to nothing.

Their beliefs are wholly induced by external agencies in their bid to prevent the larger picture coming into view, and to rule out the possibility of real breakthrough with the work.

The so-called “born again” phenomenon is one clear example.

The UFO and associated phenomena constitute a vast panoply of bizarre and inexplicable events, spawning an equally broad spectrum of theory and belief. Evidence contradicts itself. It is like a box full of parts from fifty different jigsaws. This is called “the confusion effect.” It is quite intentional.

The pivot of meaning, the space between a possibility and a belief, is the threshold of knowledge. The agencies which subvert real knowledge and channel it into harmless and passive beliefs are the guardians of the threshold. Through the manipulation of belief, a shiny silver slug’s trail of disparate clues, these agencies seek to control the destiny of life on this planet.

By default.

Sentient, discorporate beings. Ultraterrestrials. From neither outer, nor inner space. An order of beings which resides within the same spatio-temporal co-ordinates as ourselves, on a different vibratory level of matter. Clearly, they possess the facility to access our vibratory level of matter, and can “phase” into our physical reality.

This act of intervention requires energy: blood sacrifice, vampirism or simple appropriation. A dead cow, or a stalled engine.

The Men-In-Black (M.I.B.) are amongst the crudest, yet paradoxically most sophisticated, manifestations of the Ultraterrestrials. Apparently minions, shock troops, as it were, they come from below, and have a sense of humor to match. Their aim is the inculcation and escalation of fear. They circumvent possible transmission of witness accounts. If necessary, they have license to kill.

Another level of UT manifestation is as the Knowledge-giver. The Dispenser. The Great Holy Pharmacist. This is the direct “hacking” of human herding disposition, laying down “bugs” with post-operative, delayed effect, often years. (Look back into your childhood, down a foggy grey tunnel. A guy dressed in all black ever whisper in your ear?)

Carefully staged theater. Visitation. Dream. Vision. Angelic conversation. In the midst of a subtly induced delerium, certain knowledge introduced. Small scraps of panic. Little shards of a counterfeit heaven. And then God disappears, leaving you on a yellow brick road, preternaturally glowing.

Puppetry. True knowledge is a matter of control. Counterfeit knowledge is a matter of promulgation and worship.

Our growth is forestalled, deferred, by the “friendliness” of Gods and Angels. We have no will of our own, because we are bound to beliefs generated from without, spoken within. Every belief is the ragged claw mark left by a long-gone parasite. The vital sustenance has been drawn. We are dead. Until the next time, asleep, and in very great danger. On the wings of nightmare.

One minute, absolute confidence and assurance. The next, all is lost. That is the way we are constructed. Built up to fall down. No substance, no backbone. Transported by brief glories, only to end up more crippled, more irrevocably broken than ever before. And all to no purpose of our own, because we never retain anything, never build on anything other than sand. Never reaching and touching, never finding anyone. Your mute suffering achieves nothing. Doubled over with gut pains, gut suffering, black vomit accreting on your feet. Never finding anything worth finding. Always thrown back into the same freezeframe of horror. You. You found comfort with others, apparently sharing the same misery. There was solace in that. A small place to stay and breathe in, look out of. Never daring to remember you had to leave. Be alone once more. It has to happen. Others forget you, achieve some miracle escape of circumstance, spinning off into further mad orbits of their own. The trappings don’t matter. All that matters to you is that they’re gone.Your haven destroyed. Perhaps it’s the same for them. There’s really no way of knowing. This is what it’s like to be asleep. No comfort. No escape. No presence. No satisfaction. It’s the warmth where you just sat, as you leave for another cold seat. That’s what hurts.

Nowhere left to go. No place to stay.

They were consigned to their phantom zone before we were a glint in Horus’ eye. Turning in fear and loathing. Gradually sieving through the sands of knowledge and being, locating their truth, finding their source and path and way to do. We can’t call it consciousness. It’s merely a modality of instinct. Having no sex, they located ours. As surrogates. They don’t need it, don’t want it. Need only to play with our fascination and horror of it, to further their escape. If they draw us away from the body and what it means, the further bodies attainable and what they mean, the Law of Reciprocity, then they win. We approach the Second and Final Death. Which means death for us all, death for the believers. Another Holocaust. The Infidels live, and escape their prison, their karmic cycle.

The Angels and Gods know no sex. Are completely without passion. Their seeds in our physical reality are sterile. Jesus on the Cross. The cold plague of mass religion. Sexless, denying carnal experience. Mirroring the Ultra-terrestrial landscape. Jesus was an Ultraterrestrial.

This state of sexlessness is called “iesu.” A bitter joke. Sexual molestation is one of their most cynical manifestations. The Christ- Spirit is a shadow of a ravening thing, a twisted mirror of a wormbrained deity, struggling to escape the confines of its narrow cell, sending its spirit-spores across to Earth, to wriggle in the body of a man on a cross.

And the future?

We live in screens. Pure screens. The removal of ourselves, our identities, from the organic to the solid-state. Our symbolisms are a succession of steps away from corporeal existence. We drive our cars as extensions of the physical body. We conduct our lives through the screen, through the shift of perspective, barely deigning to move slow, leaden limb across the flat earth. We never leave our homes. We observe the Other on the screen of our projection. Repeatedly, steps removed. The ecstasy of information. Information vertigo.
The vertiginous heights of our ambition. The cold sheen of the new orgasm. Leaving behind forever the Ancient Mysteries, for a New Sacred. The Information Ecstatic, the imminent execution of World Holocaust through the neutral screen, is the countdown to the Second and Final Death.

From Religion to Technology.

The voice whispers, babbles on, in the inner ear.

How would an eagle feel if it were hatching chickens’ eggs? At first the eagle thinks that it will hatch little eagles whom it is going to bring up to be big eagles. But what comes out of the eggs is always nothing but little chicks. Desperate, the eagle keeps hoping that the chicks will turn into eagles after all. But no, at the end they are nothing but cackling hens. When the eagle found this out, it had a hard time suppressing his impulse to eat up all the chicks and cackling hens. What kept it from doing so was a small hope. The hope, namely, that among the many cackling chicks there might be, one day, a little eagle capable of growing up into a big eagle, capable like itself, to look from its lofty perch into the far distance, in order to detect new worlds, new thoughts and new forms of living.

You want the truth in a mirror, where you can’t grasp it. You have entered this world quite accidentally and will silently leave it again. Only the truth in your own fist will make you the master of this Earth. You set security before the truth.

You are cowardly in your thinking because real thought is accompanied by bodily feelings, and you are afraid of your body.

You have built everything upon sand; your house, your life, your culture and civilization, your science and technology, you love and your education of children. You don’t know it, you don’t want to know it, and you slay the great man who tells it to you. You built your house on sand and you all did this because you are incapable of feeling life in yourself, because you kill love in your child even before it is born, because you cannot tolerate any alive expression, any free, natural movement.

With the greatest consistency, your thinking always misses the truth, just as a playful sharpshooter is able to consistently hit right beside the bull’s eye.

You always think in too short of terms, just from breakfast to lunch. You must learn to think back in terms of centuries and forward in terms of thousands of years. You have to learn to think in terms of living life, in terms of your development from the first plasmatic flake to the animal man which walks erect but cannot yet think straight. You have no memory even for things which happened ten years ago or even this year, and so you keep repeating the same stupidities you said 2,000 years ago. You cling to your stupidities as a louse clings to fur. You do not dare see how deeply you stick in the morass of your misery. Every once in a while you stick your head in the morass of your misery. Every once in a while you stick your head out of the morass to yell, Heil! The croaking of a frog in a marsh is closer to life.

There is never any progress. Everything remains the same.The same as it has been for tens of thousands of years. The outward form changes. The essence does not. Man remains just the same. “Civilized” and “cultured” people live with exactly the same interests as the most “primitive” savages. Contemporary civilization is based on violence and slavery and fine words. But all these fine words about “progress” and “civilization” are merely words.

There are machines, not people. People who no longer consider why they are here at all. They merely exist. Surrounding themselves with false illusory reasons for living. To pass the time before they die. Millions of dead souls. The children are already dead. They were dead before they were even born. The cycle has come full circle and we are living out our last moments. It is five minutes to midnight. Yet people refuse to recognize it as such. They are told lies and they believe them.


The End is Here or There.

The beginning is nowhere.

The struggle from the exterior to the interior. From the interior to the exterior. In between is the void. Yet the pain of anger is never enough. Whoever put you here is manipulating you. It’s always been that way. Now it destroys. To many of us, only the sound and rhythm of our breathing reminds us that we are alive.

Upon Melanicus Wings it broods over this Earth. Deriving the energy that will sustain and evolve it. An evil thing that is exploiting us. It obscures the stars. A vast, black vampire.

The flux between that which isn’t and that which won’t be, or the state that is commonly and absurdly called existence, is merely a rhythm of heavens and hells, and is intermediate to both.

Uninhabited.

We are all uninhabited. Inside of all of us is Nothing. This manipulation comes from the initial incursion of Ultra-terrestrial influences into the human life-wave, attracted to the individual embryo or sperm as an effective means of incarnating genetic mutations.

We’ve been damned by giants sound asleep, or by “civilized” concepts and abstractions that cannot realize themselves: those little harlots have visited their caprices upon us, those dark clowns have anathematized us for laughing so disrespectfully, because as with all clowns, underlying buffoonery is the desire to be taken seriously. We’ve been damned by corpses and skeletons and mummies, which twitch and totter with pseudo-life derived from conveniences.

Once upon a time this Earth was a no-man’s land, that other levels of vibratory existence explored and fought over for colonization. Mankind won that battle for colonization, yet now the Earth is literally owned by something. All others are warned off.

The Ultra-terrestrials are the beings which exist in the same spacetime coordinates as life on Earth, yet on a different vibratory level. They exist as parasites on human consciousness. As beings that exist as pure vibratory energy, they need the energy that human consciousness contains in order to sustain themselves. That human energy has to be controlled if it is to be tapped effectively. And that is what they have done.

We have been, and continue to be, consistently manipulated into belief systems that lead us to accept that we matter. We believe. We have Faith. We accept. Why? To some it represents a fundamental inherent human trait; the need to believe in something. All beliefs are based on the promise of the afterlife, but it is a promise based upon adhering to rigid behavioral rules during life. A life consisting of unquestioning acceptance of fundamentals, unquestioning belief and dedication to the rules significant to the particular belief system. They are, in all cases, structures that guarantee non-development and human involution resulting ultimately in global destruction.

There is something of ultra-pathos—of cosmic sadness—in the universal search for the belief system that one
feels has been revealed by either unworldly inspiration or analysis. Clinging to it long after its insufficiency has been revealed is utterly hopeless. The only seemingly conclusive utterance, or seemingly substantial thing to cling to, is a product of dishonesty, ignorance and fatigue. All belief structures go back and back, until they’re worn out or until something occurs that indicates a move forward.

Belief systems limit human consciousness, inner development and evolution. That is their sole aim. To bring human consciousness under control so that it may be farmed.

We are the cattle for these ultraterrestrials. Belief systems are the green grass upon which we spend our short lives grazing, safe and satisfied. Faith, prayer, rigid behavioral traits such as hatred, ignorance and unquestioning obedience to all are the milk upon which these beings feed off during human life spans. Physical death and the transference of the undeveloped human consciousness into oblivion is the survival factor of these beings. It’s the meat that keeps them alive, as it were, on their own plane of existence as forms of pure energy.

Yet a characteristic that is inherent in human nature is the question of whether or not the grass we are made to eat is greener on the other side of the fence. Or if some other kind of vegetation growing on the other side of the fence would be tastier. Small minorities are constantly searching and questioning for real answers to the question of absolute truth. They do not recognize any answers in any past or present belief systems. These minorities  represent the gravest danger to the ultra-terrestrial conspiracy. These minorities search for the expansion of the human consciousness and the development of the different levels of the human animal. The danger is not in the small minorities in themselves. They can afford to dispense with a few of the cows if
they escape by breaking down a section of the fence once in a while. But wait. Can they really afford to?
Of course they can’t. Cows on the other side of the field may spot the break in the fence and escape over it too, if they had the inclination, and soon the small break in the fence would become a gaping hole and the minority of escaped cows would become the majority. So no escapes can be allowed.

Any individuals or minority group who threaten escape are subjected to the harshest punishment. The majority are also subject to this punishment, they know this and they present a formidable force working against the minorities seeking to escape from the grip of the ultraterrestrials; from the grip of the status quo. The ultra-terrestrials deliberately manufacture confusion across the globe, manufacture wars, sabotage any attempt at global cohesion. A close analogy would be a prisoner of war camp.

The rules laid out were that anybody caught trying to escape would be immediately executed; they installed fear. However, if anybody had the courage to attempt to escape despite this fear (which could only effectively occur in small numbers; all prisoners can’t escape at once) then the majority of the prisoners in the prison would suffer terrible hardship and torture at the hands of their captors. Therefore there is the installed omnipresent pressure from the prisoners themselves to resist any small minority plans for escape. And so it is on Planet Earth.

Every man and woman who reaches a higher level of spiritual and intellectual awareness becomes more aware of the presence of a higher intelligence that is separate from the human animal. They have become incorporated into rigid belief structures as Angels or Gods, but they are seldom viewed objectively. Any form of Gnosis is destroyed. Any large-scale group illumination is usually forced to an end, either by majority human pressure or a breakup in the catharsis.

Small minority groups are faced initially with the full force of mass human hostility, violence, destruction and murder. However, they are also faced with a more sinister danger from the non-human sources, the ultra-terrestrials themselves. These beings play nasty and sometimes extremely violent and psychological games with these individuals and groups. The aim is to lull them into a dark dead-end belief tunnel by exploiting the very strengths that set the individual apart from the mass in the first place. Those strengths are a willingness to observe the universe in a way that is totally removed from the mass perception of it.

The tutelage. Of poles of belief.

The ultra-terrestrials play with their perceptions of these individuals and minority groups. They do their best to lead them down avenues of pure self-deceit, by presenting them with vivid alternative visions of reality and existence that are mere fronts for dead-end belief structures. Occurrences such as UFO sightings, contact with extraterrestrials, visions of angels, demons, gods, fairies, voices of superior beings informing them of the ultimate secret knowledge of the universe. These are presented in such a real way that to escape the trap of being led into a belief system is almost impossible. It is very difficult to un-believe something that is presented in a vivid way, yet even more difficult when it is presented in such a way so as to align itself with your thought patterns at any one time. The ultraterrestrials seem to have worked out a method of exploiting the very state of mind that such an individual may find him or herself in at any one time.

However, individuals do exist outside of the effect of their belief engendering processes, and these individuals are ruthlessly hunted down and haunted by the Men in Black. These are the ultraterrestrials assuming some kind of human form. They are very crude and imperfect human forms that exist as “shock troops,” and they have the ability to phase into our vibratory level from their own, with the sole intention of guarding the knowledge that they possess of the real state of human consciousness. They are the guardians of knowledge.

The individuals who assume an intermediate position are in the gravest danger of all. The Men in Black hold high positions of power in world government. Their controls are explicit in some countries manifesting as mass extermination; in others it is so insidious as to be invisible.

Everything in intermediateness is not a thing, but an endeavor to become something—by breaking away from
its continuity, or merging away, with all other phenomena—is an attempt to break away from the very essence of a relative existence and become absolute—if it has not surrendered to, or become part of, some higher attempt.

To this process there are two aspects:

Attraction, or the spirit of everything to assimilate all other things if it has not already been assimilated by some higher attempted system, unity, organization, entity, vibratory level.

And Repulsion, or the attempt of everything to exclude or disregard the unassimilable.

A universal process.

Anything is permitted. Everything is true.

To the intermediatist, everything that seems to have identity is only an attempted identity, and every species is continuous with all other species, or that which is called the specific is only emphasis upon some aspect of the general. Every idea and belief is a mere conflict. Every conversation is a conflict of missionaries, each trying to convert the other, to assimilate, or to make the other similar to himself. If no progress is made, mutual repulsion will follow.

Beings on other vibratory levels have attempted positivizations: to extend themselves upon Earth, to assimilate the indigenous inhabitants of this Earth. All things merge away into everything else. That is continuity. The system merges away and evades us when we try to focus against it.

Out of the negative absolute, the positive absolute is generating itself, recruiting, or maintaining itself, via a third state, or our own quasi-state, it would seem that we’re trying to conceive of universalness manufacturing more universalness from nothingness. Out of unreality, instead of nothingness, reality, instead of universalness, is, via our own quasi state, manufacturing more reality. Intermediateness is a relation between the positive absolute and the negative absolute.

In intermediateness there is neither free will nor slave will but a different approximation for every so-called person toward one or the other of the extremes.

All intermediateists feel a lurking fear that they will be forced into solidification and dogmatism and evolve into higher positivists. All things in this intermediate state are phantoms in a super mind in a dreaming state, striving to awaken to realness.

By manipulating the human race globally into pure and simple ignorance and by engendering human systems based on fear, hatred, war, mass extermination, destruction and death concurrently with enormous developments in terms of technology, it seems inevitable that we have only a short time left before mass destruction occurs. This seems to have been the ultra-terrestrials’ plan all along. To have developed a global scheme where all human animals are at the very moment of global destruction in a state of total confusion, undevelopment in terms of human life and each and every person fragmented from each and every other person around. All so that they may at that moment of mass human destruction and death feed off of the sheer mass of unfocused and undeveloped human consciousness that will be thrown into oblivion.

This massive release of human consciousness will enable them to ascend to a higher level of energy, and one which doesn’t depend upon the existence of human life at all. Our urgency is great. But we fear that mass human ignorance is the end that has already occurred. What remains is nothing, with merely nowhere to go. In the end we are all still cows, even if we do manage to escape over the fence. The only mass change in consciousness which will occur is the one that will happen one second from the end. Then all will become realized. And, of course, it will be too late.

The Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, the first and the last; and now the last is reaching the first, and the end is the beginning.

All things are returning to their Original. The heart shattered to shivers, ground to dust.

Everything in the world obeys the Law of Three, everything existing came into being in accordance with this law. Combinations of positive and negative principles can produce new results that are different from the first and second only if a third force comes in. The Absolute creates in accordance with the same Law. Take the Ray of Creation. At the top is the Absolute, God the Word, divided into three: God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost. In our human systems we are the same as God—threefold. If we consciously receive three matters and send them out, we can construct outside what we like. This is creation. All three forces manifest through us and blend outside. Every creation is either subjective or objective. The life of man plays the same role as planets in relation to Earth, Earth in relation to Moon and all suns in relation to our sun.

Passive man serves involution; and active man, evolution. In both cases we are slaves, for in both cases we have a master. We are a whole system within. One center of us affirms, the other denies. It is impossible to free oneself from it. Only he is free who stands in the middle. Intermediately. It is very difficult. We are slaves. We are weak. In order to become intermediate one has to go against the law of nature itself.

The power of changing oneself lies not in the mind, but in the body and the feelings. Unfortunately, however, our body and our feelings have been genetically constituted so as to not care about anything so long as they are happy. They live for the moment and their memory is short. The mind alone lives for tomorrow. Each has
its own merits.

The key to all of the manipulation is the fact that a lack of connection in us between the body, feeling and mind has not been recognized. The majority has become so deformed that there is no longer any common language between one part and another. It is irretrievably lost. The only thing left for those individuals who seek intermediate existence is to establish a connection in a roundabout way, a “fraudulent ” way. And these ways must be very subjective since they must depend on a person’s character and the form his inner make-up has taken. Establishing subjectivity in order that this connection may be built requires that the individual takes himself ruthlessly apart, becomes totally aware of the false layers of illusion that make up his or her
character, and rigorous self-remembering. Associative thought and behavior has to be destroyed.

Conscious faith is freedom.
Emotional faith is slavery.
Mechanical faith is foolishness.

The only worthwhile existence is to strike whilst all fists are clenched. Fear is the refuge of the weak. And we are all riddled with it. The only aim is to find the pearl buried in the manure.

He who fights with monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.

Truth asserted against, and triumphing over error.

Evil is outlived Virtue, or incipient virtue that has not yet established itself.

We are faced with a new dominant.
Thee PANDROGYNE…

In the darkness a contorted face writhing in agony appears before us. It is our own face reflected in the darkness of our own pain. Screaming in the agony of a birth long overdue.

We shall have an outcry of silences.

I leave you all in a fine mess…

CHANGEDPRIORITIESAHEAD

TOPY STATION UK, 1991

Revelations from Demian by Emil Sinclair

"We were lying on the floor by the fire and he was talking about the mysteries and forms of religion which he was studying and turning over in his mind and the future potentialities of which preoccupied him. All this seemed to me more an object of curiosity and interest than a really vital matter; it had a pedagogic ring about it; it sounded like tedious research among the shattered remains of ancient worlds. And all at once I felt a repugnance against the whole business, this cult of mythologies, this mosaic game he was playing with fragments of traditional religious beliefs.

. . . 

I spoke suddenly in a fit of malice which both surprised and frightened me. "You ought to tell me a dream - a real dream - one you have dreamed during the night. What you are telling me is all so damned antiquarian!"

He had never heard me speak like that before and I immediately realized with a mixture of shame and horror that the arrow which I had fired at him and with which I had pierced his heart, had come from his own armory- and that I was now returning to him with sharpened bards the self-reproaches which I had sometimes heard him utter in his ironical way.

. . . 

A voice inside me said, 'No,no, I am wrong,' but I could not say it aloud. I knew that with brief words I had put my finger on his fundamental weakness, his affliction and wound. I had probed the place where he was unsure of himself. His ideal was 'antiquarian'- he was a seeker in the past, a romantic. And suddenly I realized very forcibly that what [my friend] had been and had given to me was precisely what he could never be and give to himself. He had shown me a way which even he, the leader, must by-pass and abandon.

. . . 

When I hit out I thought I was aiming my blow at a tough, well-armed man but now it turned out to be a quiet, suffering defenseless creature who was surrendering without a protest.

. . .

Now for the first time I understood [my friend] and was able to reconstruct in my mind the whole dream he had set himself to fulfill. He had wanted to be a priest, to announce the new religion, provide new forms for the movement, serve it with love and devotion and create a series of new symbols. But it was beyond his power to do so; this could never be his function. He lingered too much in the past, his knowledge of ancient days was too precise; he knew far too much about Egypt, India, Mithras and Abraxas. His love was bound up with symbols that the world had already seen and in his heart of hearts he realized that the New must be really new and different and must spring up from new soil and not be created from museums and libraries. Perhaps his function was to help lead men to themselves - as he had done in my case - not to provide them with the yet unspoken message and their new gods.

And at this point I felt the truth burning within me like a sharp flame, that there was some role for everybody but it was not one which he himself could choose, re-cast and regulate to his own liking. One had no right to want new gods, no right at all to want to give the world anything of that sort! There was but one duty for a grown man; it was to seek the way to himself, to become resolute within, to grope his way forward wherever that might lead him. The discovery shook me profoundly; it was the fruit of this experience. I had often toyed with pictures of the future, dreamed of roles which might be assigned to me - as a poet, maybe, or prophet or painter or kindred vocation. All that was futile. I was not there to write poetry, to preach or paint; neither I nor any man was there for that purpose. They were only incidental things. There was only one true vocation for everybody - to find the way to himself. He might end as poet, lunatic, prophet or criminal - that was not his affair; ultimately it was of no account. His affair was to discover his own destiny, not something of his own choosing, and live it out wholly and resolutely within himself. Anything else was merely a half life, an attempt at evasion, an escape into the ideals of the masses, complacency and fear of his inner soul. The new picture rose before me, sacred and awe-inspiring, a hundred times glimpsed, possibly often expressed and now experienced for the first time. I was an experiment on the part of nature, a 'throw' into the unknown, perhaps for some new purpose, perhaps for nothing and my only vocation was to allow this 'throw' to work itself out in my innermost being, feel its will within me and make it wholly mine.

That or Nothing!"

The Gnarly Tree by Chuang Tzu

“Once a master carpenter named Shih was travelling with his apprentice on his way to the state of Chi. When they arrived in Chu Yuan village they passed a huge old oak tree sheltering the village shrine. It was huge, large enough to fit several thousand oxen under its branches. It was 100 spans and towered over everything else in the village with its lowest branches a full 80 feet in the air. These branches were so large they could have been made into a dozen boats. Many people were standing under it, their necks craned as they tried to see the top. But the master carpenter did not even turn his head as they passed it; but walked on without stoping for a moment.

His apprentice took one look at the immense tree and ran after his master saying: “Since I first took up the ax to train with you Master, I have never seen a tree as magnificent. Yet you do not even look at it, much less stop. Why is this?”

The carpenter said, “Enough! Not another word about this tree! Its wood is useless. A boat made from its timber would sink; a coffin would rot before you could put it into the ground; any tool you made from it would snap. It has too much sap in it to make a door, and a beam made from its wood would be full of termites. Altogether it is a completely useless tree and that is why it has lived so long.”

One night, after he returned home, the ancient tree came to the carpenter in a dream and spoke to him. “What are you comparing me too,” it asked, “useful trees like cherry, apple, pear, orange, citron and all the other useful trees? Yet for these trees, as soon as the fruit is ripe they are stripped; their branches are broken and torn off. It is their usefulness that causes them so much abuse. Instead of living out the years heaven has given them they are cut off halfway through. So it is for living things. This is why I have worked so long to cultivate the spirit of uselessness. I was almost cut down several times but I have been able to attain a great level of uselessness and this has been very useful to me. If I had been more useful I would never have attained the great age that I have, and grown so large.

“The two of us are similar. We are both just beings in the world. How is it that we go about judging other beings? You, an old and worthless man, about to die, how can you judge me and call me worthless?”

Shih the carpenter awoke then and spent a long time lying in his bed trying to understand this strange dream. Later, when he shared his dream with his apprentice the young man said, “If this ancient tree is so interested in being useless why has it allowed itself to become part of the village shrine?”

His master said, “It is only pretending to be a shrine. It is its way of protecting itself. Even though its timber is useless, if it were not a shrine it would have been cut down long ago. It is totally different from other trees. You cannot hope to understand it!”