ST JOSEPH’S COLLEGE, IPSWICH – LATEST MEDIA NEWS

Child Abuse, Cover Up

Pat Mills, creator of 2000AD, started a blog exposing child sexual abuse in his old Ipswich school. This has lead to a campaign that is now beginning to see justice.

Pat Mills

https://www.eadt.co.uk/news/education/ipswich-judge-dredd-author-on-st-josephs-college-8314362

Excellent report by the East Anglian Daily Times. I’m really pleased it’s out there because it raises awareness about the De La Salle connection, especially locally.

Finally the modern day St Jo’s have commented:

Current school bosses say they “acknowledge the gravity of the questions being raised” adding that at the college, they are “absolutely committed to the safeguarding and wellbeing of every student in our care”.

“As a community, we have the greatest sympathy for anyone who has been a victim of abuse, wherever and whenever it has occurred,” a spokeswoman said.

College chiefs said that due to a change of ownership in 1996, and with active police investigations ongoing into the historical claims, they are unable to comment further.

They said the allegations relate to a period of time “prior to the current college structure”.

It’s as I predicted. What I take away from their response is…

View original post 581 more words

THE STREISAND EFFECT

Child Abuse, Cover Up

“How long is it going to take before lawyers realize that the simple act of trying to repress something they don’t like online is likely to make it so that something that most people would never, ever see is now seen by many more people? Let’s call it the Streisand Effect.”

Mike Masnick

The Streisand effect is a phenomenon that occurs when an attempt to hide, remove, or censor information has the unintended consequence of increasing awareness of that information, often via the internet. It is named after American entertainer Barbra Streisand, whose attempt to suppress the California Coastal Records Project photograph of her residence in Malibu, California, taken to document California coastal erosion, inadvertently drew greater attention to it in 2003.

Attempts to suppress information are often made through cease-and-desist letters, but instead of being suppressed, the information receives extensive publicity, as well as media extensions such as videos and spoof songs, which can be mirrored on the Internet or distributed on file-sharing networks.

The Streisand effect is an example of psychological reactance, wherein once people are aware that some information is being kept from them, they are significantly more motivated to access and spread that information.

In many cases taking out a legal injunction—or even a “super-injunction”, whose mere existence may not be reported, ultimately leads to much increased publicity.

PHIL HINE’S PRO-PAEDOPHILIA

Chaos Magic, Child Abuse, Coincidence, Conspiracy, Cover Up, Crime, Illuminates of Thanateros, Paedophilia, Ritual Murder

Having heard that Phil Hine‘s CONDENSED CHAOS has recently been republished in the UK as an audiobook I am reminded that he and Dave Lee published pro-paedophile materials in Chaos International magazine, grooming the burgeoning community right from the start.

The below is from Chaos International issue 8.

As Phil rightly points out, the Chaos magician Hakim Bey was also openly pro-paedophile. This shows that an irresponsible attitude towards paedophilia was ingrained into the Chaos Magic movement right from the start. No wonder so few of those identifying with this movement seem to care that their ‘influencers’ include so many nonces. Had I been wiser in my youth I would never have involved myself in this movement. It is a great shame to me that my name is still associated with it in any way.

Police say ‘black magic sex cult’ rapist Colin Batley is not back in a Welsh town

Child Abuse, Colin Batley, Paedophilia, Ritual Abuse, Satanism

An article by Robert Harries, Senior Reporter, published 17 JUN 2021 –

https://www.walesonline.co.uk/news/wales-news/carmarthen-kidwelly-colin-batley-police-20837645

Police have moved to reassure people that a notorious paedophile and sex cult leader who abused children and young adults has not been released back into the local community.

Colin Batley was jailed in 2011 after being found guilty at Swansea Crown Court of carrying out a series of perverted sexual attacks. Having moved to Wales in the 1990s from London, Batley, aged 48 when he was sent to prison, set up what was described in court as a “black magic sex cult”, of which he was the self-appointed ‘high priest’, at a quiet cul-de-sac in the small town of Kidwelly in Carmarthenshire..

In total, he was found guilty of three indecent assaults, causing prostitution for personal gain, causing a child to have sex and inciting a child to have sex, and 11 counts of rape.

Three women were also jailed for crimes associated with the group.

Jacqueline Marling, then aged 42, was jailed for 12 years, while Batley’s wife Elaine, then aged 47, was jailed for eight years. Shelly Millar, then aged 35, was jailed for five years.

As the “evil and manipulative” leader of the group – who smiled and laughed in court as he was found guilty – Batley was warned he may never be released and told that he would serve a minimum term of 11 years.

One of Batley’s victims later spoke out to describe how he had forced her to wear a satanic symbol and raped her as a teenager.

The woman, who wanted to remain anonymous, said at the time: “He (Colin) was the boss. He barked orders at everybody including me. People just did what they were told. He had Rottweilers that were scared of him but vicious to everyone else. At 15 I had to have sex with Colin. He said it was an initiation into the occult. He said he did not want to do it but it had to be done. He said if I did not follow orders I would be killed. People ‘higher up’ in the cult would do it, he said.”

Colin Batley pictured outside court in 2011 (Image: D Legakis Photography / Athena Picture Agency)

However, despite that, rumours have circulated in the past week or so that Batley had been released from prison and that he was living in the Carmarthen area – just 10 miles away from where he carried out some of his terrible crimes in Kidwelly. This speculation led to concerns in the area that a convicted sex offender and rapist was now residing within the community.

However, it has now been confirmed that Batley is still serving a custodial sentence in Gloucestershire, with a Ministry of Justice spokeswoman confirming that: “Colin Batley is still in custody at HMP Ashfield.”

In response, Dyfed-Powys Police has attempted to allay fears in the local community.

A spokeswoman for the force said: “We have been made aware of speculation and concern in Carmarthen that convicted sex offender Colin Batley has been released into the community, which is not the case.

“Therefore, we urge people to refrain from posting any further speculation or possibly libellous content on this.”

__________________

PERSONAL COMMENT:

It is a relief to finally know where Batley is being held. Sonia Poulton had been unable to find where he was located, or even if he was still in prison.

BBC article regarding HMP Ashfield shortly before its conversion from a youth offenders to adult prison. We hope conditions have not improved since this report. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-22755787

UNDERCOVER COPS (Channel 4)

Child Abuse, Crime, Elite Paedophile Network, Paedophilia, Ritual Abuse

Last night saw the first episode of Ch4’s new documentary series UNDERCOVER COPS: Hunting Paedophiles.

There are at at least 300,000 people in the UK posing a sexual threat to children, according to the National Crime Agency, and half a million men have viewed child abuse material online.

The documentary follows the teams dedicated to cracking down on abusers, hunting perpetrators and screening and grading thousands of extreme images and videos – often at a deep, personal cost. It is a real eye opener, especially for anyone struggling to receive justice for such crimes. Having watched it I am left wondering what point there is in officers being exposed to child abuse films online, a severe stress on their mental health, if paedophiles are treated so lightly even when they are caught. It is also apparent from this first episode that there are so many ‘low hanging fruit’ that the more cunning criminals stand very little chance of being caught at all.

The laws in the UK need a serious overhaul. The problem is twin edged, since heavier penalties increase the chances of children being killed in order to prevent disclosure, while lesser penalties mean these dangerous sickos are too soon released back into our communities. And what is the point in putting a paedophile on the sex offender’s list for a limited time? These people do not change.

MOST IMPORTANTLY the system still ignores the disclosures of children. Name me ONE case where a paedophile has gone to jail due to the disclosures of a child – let alone a VULNERABLE child.

EX-COP ON PAEDO RINGS & COVER-UPS

Child Abuse, Conspiracy, Cover Up, Crime, Elite Paedophile Network, Paedophilia

It seems the way we were treated by police when we took disclosures of the paedophile ring with Paganism / occultism, is far from unique. It wasn’t because we are ‘weird’, or because some was ‘ritualistic’, it wasn’t because ‘we could have handled things better’.. it was simply that the police (and social services) betrayal of victims and whistleblowers of WHITE paedophile rings is TEXTBOOK.

Evidence has also arisen concerning a paedophile ring operating within Bristol social services itself. This scandal has so far seen three whistleblowers within our Council having been themselves wrongfully placed on a ‘potential sex offenders’ list – which when discovered saw them compensated for one million pounds EACH – and yet still no investigation into their disclosures?

Extreme child abuse – child RAPE – is being allowed to run rampant in our system, with organized crime and systemic corruption behind it ALL.

MEMOIR: My Life at 14

Art, Child Abuse, Magick, Occult, Sorcery

Last year, in an attempt to reclaim my history through a veil of trauma, I began writing what turned into an autobiography. Initially, this was purely for my own healing, but I posted some excerpts on FaceBook; the reactions I received were so extreme I decided to keep my work private until it was completed. The book is now undergoing its 3rd draft, and several people have emailed me asking when it will be published, so I plan to make it available later this year.

The following excerpt is from Chapter 14 (each chapter is numbered after the age I was). Some background – my mother was still married to Greg Cox, the father of my three half-brothers (Jasper, Silas, and Zachary), and a founder of The Ecology Party (now called ‘the Green Party’). We were living in Peldon village, Essex. This chapter tells not just of the abuses my mother and I suffered (I have attempted to write with humour, rather than compile a ‘misery memoir’) but also my embracing of anarchism / punk, and how I took up the practice of magick – who my first teachers were, and my first ‘results’.

____________________

Silas was born sometime in 1984. I cannot remember exactly what month it was. He looked like a miniature Greg, but with curly blonde hair. I now had two half brothers, which might have added up to one full brother, but did not. I had little to do with the house dwellers by then and felt an outsider to this new family.

Now there was the baby there was need of extra money. Greg decided to rent out the caravan. For a while, at least, I was allowed to move back into the house. Although I had heard my parents arguing from the end of the garden I did not realise until this time how far things had escalated.

One day, when Owain had come to visit and had been staying with me in the attic, Greg kicked off. He began by taking a sledge-hammer to some kitchen units gifted to us by Uncle Dennis and Aunty Alice, which for some reason were still in the back garden where they had been since being delivered. Then there was screaming from downstairs in the kitchen. Owain stayed put, his face turning sickly grey. The screaming stopped and the back door slammed. I heard Greg get in the car and drive away, then went downstairs. As I walked past Jasper’s room I saw him huddled up under his blankets, trying to block it all out.

In the kitchen, Silas was still in his high chair, crying. Mum lay on the kitchen floor, surounded by shards of broken crockery, blood pouring from her head. Greg had hit her with a plate.

I think the neighbours must have taken her to hospital. It is hard for me to remember. What I do know is that she needed six stitches.

A little while later the new lodger moved into the caravan. I think the lodger’s name might have been Mark, but I am not sure. He was a Christian, having converted after his split from a hereditary witchcraft coven. The priesthood had been passed to his older brother, Tony Skinner, who had allegedly attempted to murder him with an athame (ritual dagger) for betraying his Oath. He feared for his life and the fact he was staying with us was a secret. Mum did his shopping so nobody would see him.

I had seen Tony Skinner swanning round Colchester with his long red hair and coven of young ladies, their flapping cloaks giving glimpses of stocking tops and thigh high leather boots. His priestess, Mandy, was the lead singer in the rock band Cat Genetica, while Tony was the guitarist. Wild rumours were spreading about sex magic orgies, all lipstick lesbians apart from their Magister. There were also rumours about the blood sacrifices, which did not sound as attractive, but he definitely had something working for him and it looked a lot more fun than Christianity. I kept my opinions to myself and did not ask too many questions.

Mark mostly kept to himself, out of sight, as is sensible when a black magic cult is hunting you. It was not long before he found a Christian flower-child girlfriend and was gone. I hardly even spoke to him.

* * *

There was a report in the newspaper about how they had brought in a curfew in Paris that only applied to punks, making it law that they were not allowed out in the streets after 10.00pm. A small gang had been stopped by the police, roughed up a bit and searched. A girl punk among them had had a pet rat, which had bitten an officer and turned out to have rabies.

Reading this at the breakfast table I asked my parents, “Can I have a pet rat, please?”

Absolutely not. They’re filthy creatures,” said Greg.

I was crestfallen.

When he was not around Mum said, “Maybe you could keep a pet rat, so long as it was a secret from Greg. We could put the cage in the bottom of your wardrobe and he’d never know.”

She even gave me some money to buy the cage and the rat with.

I called her Lucrezia. She was white, with brown and black spots. She seemed quite happy hidden in the bottom of my wardrobe, and chewed the hem of my Crombie all along the bottom. When I went to Colchester she came with me, hidden in my inside pocket, which I lined with tissue paper. When she wanted to come out she crawled down my sleeve, nudging me with her nose. I would hold open my hand and she would suddenly appear, as if by a conjuring trick. If I went to visit people she would run around freely, then come back when I called her and climb back in my pocket. Rats are as smart as dogs, by my reckoning, or at least Lucrezia was. She was my constant companion for much of the early summer.

I was at school when Greg found the cage and threw it down the stairs. Mum said he squealed like a girl, and seemed quite smug about it. Nevertheless, I was told I had to get rid of her. I was devastated.

Owain said I could bring the cage round to his, and he would look after her. That way I could still have my rat at weekends. Sadly, however, she got out of her cage while he was at school. She tempted hamsters to the bars of their cages by dropping bits of food, then killed them and ate whatever she could reach. When he got home there was carnage, half eaten hamsters with their guts torn out all over the place. He caught Lucrezia and punished her by not giving her any more food. By the time I saw him again she was dead, and we had a major falling out.

Teenagers can be very dramatic, and I had a lot on my plate besides a dead rat. I had also drunk a whole bottle of Merrydown to myself. Nevertheless, Owain and Simon were confounded – hard core punks are not supposed to burst into tears. They are especially not supposed to take themselves to an overpass and attempt to throw themselves into passing traffic. Simon dragged me forcibly off the railings and sat on me until I calmed down and promised I was not going to commit suicide over a pet rat.

* * *

Shortly before Mark (the Christian in the caravan) left I was displaced into the shed sorry studio at the end of our quarter acre garden, which was vacated for my accommodation. I had to make my own bed; nailing short planks of wood across a door-less old wardrobe, laid on its back. This provided support for the mattress with storage space beneath. I was not the best carpenter and every now and then a slat would break, the mattress tipping into the cupboard at one end or the other, but it was comfortable most of the time.

The shed sorry studio was annexed on one side with the greenhouse, which meant free weed, so long as I was not too greedy and Greg did not notice. The opposite wall was immediately next to the fencing for Mr. & Mrs. Balls’s chickens and what had been sold to them as an ornamental goat, which I suspected was some kind of shoat or geep, if such cross-breeding is possible. It was black, with sharp little horns, and bounced on its stumpy hind-legs like springs, rearing up to pin you with its yellow slitted eyes before nutting you like a Barmy Army skinhead from Glasgow. Sunrise was accompanied by the crowing cockerel and the possessed geep head-butting the fence.

A friend of Mum’s was, or had been, going out with a drummer from the punk band C.R.A.S.S., or something. Apparently they lived not far from Colchester on a communal farm, but they were never seen around the graveyard or by any of us in town. A selection from their catalogue was passed on to me; ‘Penis Envy’, the ‘Big A Little A’ single, the infamous ‘Person’s Unknown’, with the album ‘Hex’ by Poison Girls having a noticeably witchy theme. Strangely, Mum did not appreciate the music when I played it to her, showing her the lyrics on the album cover for the anarcho-femisist classic ‘Jump Mother Jump’.

Why would I want to listen to something like that?” she said.

I suppose the lyrics were a bit too close to home for her.

Rarely mentioned in modern histories of punk music. most of which try to write the movement off as a flash in the pan, is the political divide that was happening at street level. They did not call it ‘The Punk Wars’ for nothing. Not that Greg could tell the difference, accusing all punks of being fascists and me along with them; which was pretty rich considering his fantasies of ‘Green Shirts’ forcibly installing composter toilets and raising Greg as the UK’s ecologically sound dictator. I did suggest he tried at least reading some of the lyrics on the record covers, printed in concession to the vocals being completely incomprehensible, which might have been why Greg found it hard to distinguish between the movements, but as usual there was no arguing with him. All this seems particularly ironic when you consider that his friend Cat, who stayed on his land in France, was the manager of the punk band Special Duties, who made the alternative charts in N.M.E. and Melody Maker with their single ‘Colchester Council Full of Shit’. Their singer called himself Steve Arrogant, in parody of Steve Ignorant, the singer of C.R.A.S.S., which, might be why we never them in town; people were jealous and had a shitty attitude.

I considered myself an anarchist, although inspired more by the individualism of Stirner than the mutualism of Proudhon, the collectivism of Bakunin, or the communism of Kropotkin; I did not like doing what I was told by anyone, be that government or society, but that is teenagers for you. My attraction to anarchism should come as no surprise; its origins, as far back as it can be traced, lie with the Free Spirit movements of the eleventh century, which was largely spread by hedge-priests, heretics, and witches; in an age where church and state were one, politics and spirituality become inseparable at every layer of society. I covered the plaster-board walls of the shed with album covers and fold out poster art of white on black stencil declaring ‘Jesus died for his own sins – not mine.’

The next lodgers to move into the caravan were far more interesting. They too seemed to be hiding, although were nowhere as paranoid as Mark had been. They had recently been banished from Findhorn, a New Age commune in Scotland, allegedly for ‘upsetting the fairies’. Their names were Leroy and Natasha.

I do not know much about Leroy’s background, except that he was a paid up member of Sinn Feinn, despised the I.R.A. (who I at the time had naïve and somewhat misplaced sympathies for) and played acoustic guitar. I thought he was alright for a hippy, even if I could never agree with his opinion that The Doors had any influence on punk (which he may in fact have been right about).

I think perhaps Natasha had known my mother from when they were at school, although I had not met her before. She was the daughter of Sir Donald Swann, the composer of ‘Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud’, from which he gained considerable royalties any time Playschool or some other TV show assumed the song was ‘traditional’. He was also the best friend of Tolkien, for whom he had set to music all the songs from Lord of the Rings. Apparently Donald came to visit, making no effort to conceal his staunchly conservative disapproval of all our lifestyles, although I was not in at the time. Mum described him as, “The kind of person who thinks, if someone has no money, they should get down on their knees and scrub the doorsteps of those who do.”

Leroy and Natasha spent a lot of time socializing with Mum and Greg, smoking copious amounts of weed and sitting round playing records, particularly The Incredible String Band‘s The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter, the lyrics of which provoked considerable discussion; was the answer to the riddle about the five elements in a basket as obvious as it seemed? Did ‘Just Like John’ imply the band had turned Christian? Were there hidden meanings in ‘If I Were a Witch’s Hat’? (The album grew on me in later years, perhaps out of nostalgia, but at the time I hated it).

Both Mum and Natasha would sing as Leroy played guitar, mostly traditional folk songs about fairies and witches. They both had stunning voices, my mother’s like the ringing of bells and Natasha’s with a slightly husky whisky and cigarettes sexiness.

Mum had written several books of poetry, all in the most intricate cursive script as with a feather. Leroy and Natasha persuaded her to turn some of them into songs. The results, never performed to an audience, were enchanting;

No breath breaks silence, nor dry twig moves,

The stones unstirred by weightless hooves.

The trees bear witness, mute as I,

Grunhild’s host prepares to fly.

They said, “You have not seen them, you could not see them, no,

These shades the pentagram of man eclipsed so long ago.”

Should I not then have set my foot upon this Old Straight Way?

A greater magic moves this world than Arte of ours can sway..

Each evening as the lodgers prepared to go to bed I heared Natasha sweeping the floor of the caravan with a broom, from the back to the door, then out the door, calling aloud, “Out! Out! And stay out!”

I thought at first she might have been kicking out Rosie dog, who was always on the blag if she thought there might be food. It certainly was not Leroy. Eventually I worked out that it must have been some kind of banishing ritual. Perhaps they had a problem with offended fairies that had followed them from Findhorn. They believed in some pretty nutty stuff.

One evening when I was hanging out with them in the caravan Natasha said to me, “We’ve seen you flying around at night.”

Astral projection. You have what they call a ‘wild talent’,” said Leroy, passing me a neat weed spliff (on agreement I did not tell my parents).

I coughed, exhaling a cloud of grey and blue smoke. “You what?”

Do you ever go places, just with your mind?” said Natasha.

Sure, but nowhere real.”

What’s real, anyway?” said Leroy.

I don’t know. A punch in the face always seems pretty real, to me.”

Not everybody travels like you do,” said Natasha.

I was beginning to catch on, “You mean when I’m meditating?”

If that’s what you’re doing. Meditating, dissociating, leaving your body, astrally projecting, whatever you want to call it. Like in a dream, but not. I’ve seen you doing it. Flying around.”

But astral projection? Leaving my body? Isn’t that all about travelling in the real world, finding missing people and spying on military bases? I haven’t been doing anything like that.”

That’s remote viewing. It’s close what what you do, but not quite. Have you ever tried it?”

It’s not actually possible, is it?”

There are secret government projects where they train people to do that kind of thing. They wouldn’t invest all that time and money if they didn’t get results,” said Leroy.

Where you go is more like a dream, right? Like a fairy world?” said Natasha.

I knew she was not referring to the kind of fairies in Victorian children’s books, but all the same it sounded a bit silly. I had yet to fully understand that the ‘language’ of magic is all about consciousness, and how it is experienced within trance, dream, or other altered states.

The shaman call it the spirit world. Ceremonial magicians call it the astral dimension,” said Leroy.

A magic world, with mountains and forests, but also other places,” I admitted. “It’s just imagination though.”

Then how come we’ve both seen you?” said Natasha.

I was stumped. I had never told anybody about my meditations. I knew it was an eccentricity, since nobody else I knew seemed to do it, but it had never occurred to me that it might be any kind of ‘psychic skill’.

Over the next few weeks we talked about yoga, and I had my first proper meditation lessons, writing down my results in a diary and attempting to prolong periods of mental quiet. I also began a study of magical symbolism and how it is applied. It was explained to me that the elemental forces were like the elements in chemistry but related instead to consciousness. Earth is the body, with all its needs, air is the intellect and the ability to create or understand models and theories, fire is the power of will and the life force moving through all nature, water is the emotions and powers of intuition. They also taught me about the Tattvas of yogic meditation, and how they could be used as doorways into specific astral realms.

We practised a technique where I stood on my head for around three minutes, was lowered slowly with my head still to the floor, rising over half a minute into a kneeling posture. I then focused on the elemental symbol I desired to explore. The Tattvas themselves were presented to me as bold shapes in complimentary colours on a background of black. For example, if I desired to move into the elemental realm of fire, the symbol for which is an upward pointing red triangle, I would be shown a green triangle (cut from a piece of coloured paper) on a black card. At the very centre was a white spot, which I focused upon without allowing my vision to waver. This resulted, through a natural effect of the brain, in the triangle apparently turning black and momentarily disappearing, at which point I would close my eyes and see the ‘ghost image’ left behind; a red triangle requiring no effort to visualize. This image was maintained for as long as possible then ‘moved through’ as an astral doorway. After this came free-form visions inspired by the idea of being in the ‘realm of elemental fire’ and everything this symbolized to me.

Apparently all this would all be a lot safer than just travelling around willy nilly with no idea where I was going. Both Leroy and Natasha insisted there were astral vampires and other spirit entities which, even if I had yet to meet one, were out there waiting for the unwary traveller. They made constant reference to Israel Regardie’s The Complete Golden Dawn System of Magick, which they let me borrow so I could read more of the exercises. I suspect they had also been reading Kenneth Grant’s Typhonian Trilogy. They made regular mail-order purchases from the Sorcerer’s Apprentice in Leeds, and whenever they did so they allowed me to choose something that interested me.

So long as you don’t tell your parents. Greg gets totally freaked by this kind of thing,” said Leroy, with a wink.

I supplemented my studies with regular visits to Colchester library, where there was a well stocked occult section. It was a shame they did not teach witchcraft at school, or I might have spent more time there. Like many people studying magick in the modern day read whatever I could find by Crowley. Although I had a good chuckle at his poem Leah Sublime, which I had in chapbook form, his works seemed deliberately obtuse and belaboured with gratuitously obscurantist verbiage. It was a long time before I could understand any of it, and even then it was with reservations – he was a vile character and not someone to be admired. (Many years later I learned that Crowley had made efforts to gain initiation into the Essex Craft and had been turned down for being a sex pest, so I congratulate myself on my good taste, even if nobody else does.)

I was much more interested in runes, and the relationship between ancient magick and modern writing. There remains a strong resemblance between the runes and the letters spelling these words as I rite for you to rede. Books of spells were called ‘grammars’, from where we get the word ‘grimoire’.

I was soon expanding my knowledge of the grimoires, particularly The Goetia, which I already had passing familiarity with through it being referenced in DragonQuest. In 1986 it was much harder to get your hands on original manuscripts, as there was no internet, so I had to make do with books by people who could, such as Richard Cavendish’s Black Magic and Idris Shah’s The Secret Lore of Magic. Regarding the tradition of East Anglia, the most influential of is Le Veritable Dragon Rouge, otherwise called The Grand Grimoire, a 17th century text dealing with the making of petite pacts, where daemons are petitioned for smaller favours, and the grande pact, as with the tragedy of Faust. Grimoire are, in my opinion, a much overlooked literary tradition, far more interesting than just ritual instruction or long lists of demons, with many reading more like stories or confessionals. Like any good book, they act like astral doorways, the reader losing all awareness of the here and now as they are hypnotised by the glyphs upon its page, transporting them to another world.

Both Goetia and galðr (the Germanic word for knowledge of runes) are central to the witchcraft of England, especially in East Anglia. There is evidence of their combination with in the 10th Century text, Solomon and Saturn, where a formulae is given for banishing the Roman god of darkness by spelling out the words Pater Nosta in runes. Their relationship is also apparent in the surviving galðrbok (runic grimoires) of Iceland. As Waite says of The Goetia in The Book of Ceremonial Magic, 1911, “Here it is not the Law of Continuity persisting in its formulae despite the Law of Fantasia; it is Croquetemaine explained by Diabolus, the runes of Elf-Land read with the interpretation of Infernus..”

Besides witchcraft, Greg was afraid of spiders. I witnessed him try to sweep a huge Boris out the back door into the garden, but it scuttled up the broomstick towards him. He spun the broom around and around, but the spider kept changing direction, like it totally had it in for him. He squealed like a little girl with blood in her knickers, and threw the broom into the back garden, as far away as he could. I laughed about that for ages, but only when he was not in earshot. He also squealed when a wolf spider leaped on him off the lampshade hanging in the front room and bit him, dropping his towel and running naked out the back door. That one definitely had it in for him. While Greg was arachnophobic, I have always had a fondness for spiders, be they big fat Boris, skinny Daddy Long Legs, or Incy Wincy. and encouraged them to share my shed in large numbers.

In my studies I came across a traditional spell involving spiders, alleged granting the power of invisibility. I knew enough by then not to take such claims literally, assuming the magic was in some psychic element allowing the caster to escape notice by other means than light travelling right through them. Nevertheless it seemed worth a try, since the worst part of my day was coming home in the evenings and sneaking past Greg’s truck – if it was in the drive – without being noticed.

Like most traditional witchcraft it was not a spell that would appeal to bunnies; it required the spiders be eaten whole. I started off with money spiders and worked up to the thriving community of big fat Boris building webs in the shed roof. Strangely it did seem to have an effect; it got so my parents did not notice my comings and goings, or even if I was in at all.

Whether it was anything to do with the curses I put on him, I do not know, but Greg had a rapid onset of early baldness. He lost all the hair on the top of his head, while what remained stuck out wildly to either side like a bad clown wig. He made a green mushy patē, the main ingredients of which were marijuana and vodka, then spread it all over his bald patch. He walked around like that, naked and hairy but for a pair of home made wooden clogs that made his feet look twice their real size, and his baldness smothered in this green mush that looked like a giant pigeon had shat on his head, singing “Oopie Doopie Doopie Doo” to himself.

I do not know if it was supposed to be magic or science, or both, but the patē had no effect whatsoever. This might be because I had plundered the vodka and topped it up with water; nobody else in the house drank, except for Rosie, and as far as I was concerned it was going to waste.

Although it became impossible to take Greg seriously he was no less terrifying. I had nightmares about being taken down to Hell to converse on matters of the soul with none other than Lucifer. His appearance, as well as that of the hierarchy surrounding him, were as depicted in Collin de Plancy’s Dictionnaire Infernal (1863); huge comic noses, oversized feet, like surreal caricatures. It was almost impossible not to laugh at them, but for the consequences being so serious. It was just the same trying not to snigger at Greg. I would soon discover I was not alone in finding him laughable.

One day, when I was in Colchester, I wandered into Phaédre, a hippy café that had opened on a cobbled street leading to the Castle Park. They sold second had records and books, although I did not find anything on the shelves that interested me. Also on sale was a local publication, a kind of intellectual fanzine, called The Corpus of English Conversation. It ran a comic strip about a wife beating hippy hypocrite with crazy hair sticking out around a shiny bald patch called ‘Mr. Oopie Doo’.

I do not know quite how Greg managed to convince himself it was ‘coincidence’, and that Colchester’s alternative scene were not laughing at him behind his back, but he did. Denial, as they say, is more than just a river in Egypt.

⸫ I.C.Θ.N. ⸫ AN INVITATION

Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Conspiracy, Cover Up, Crime, Elite Paedophile Network, Gnostic, Magick, Mind Control, MK Ultra, Murder, Occult, Paedophilia, Paganism, Politics, Psychology, Religion, Ritual Abuse, Ritual Murder, Satanic Ritual Abuse, Sorcery, Spirituality, Trauma Based Mind Control

Those opposed to abusive mind control, within occultism and society as a whole, need to organise, network, and direct our magick towards its complete and absolute destruction. We are engaged in what amounts to psychic warfare. Let our minds become our weapons, with which to liberate ourselves and others. To this end the anti-order I.C.Θ.N. has been formed: the International Conspiracy of Theta Neuromancers.

I.C.Θ.N. is a network of independent sorcerers and psychic researchers, membership of which is through self initiation and declaration – in much the same manner as the hacker group Anonymous. No expectations are placed upon agents beyond supporting one another in our work and opposing those who are our natural enemies. Agents may declare themselves publicly or keep their allegiance secret according to personal preference. They may work together or alone, but always towards a common end; the liberation of our culture from mind control.

Agents recognise one another through the Theta symbol, displayed upon the person as jewellery, a tattoo, a badge, or even simply as an avatar over social media, in much the same way as the members of any group recognise one another through shared symbols. I.C.Θ.N. has no official centre, leadership, or online presence. Networking is achieved through coincidental meetings and mutual introductions only. All that is required is to display the symbol, cast our enchantments, and we shall find one another. Upon doing so it may be appropriate to offer the ‘watch words’; “Hello, you and I should know each other.”

Where the establishment form orders, the magicians of I.C.Θ.N. form societies. These rely entirely upon voluntary cooperation, with nobody giving or obeying orders of any kind. Structure must be allowed to arise spontaneously; one does not defeat an enemy by playing a game whose rules they have devised, but by playing a game they cannot predict or determine. Similarly, there are certain patterns that tend to arise within free social dynamics, such as the circle, and the circles within circles; to deny this would also be to deny address to implicit hierarchies that arise naturally.

There are no robes of office, or requirements of nudity, in group rituals of I.C.Θ.N.. Members may wear any clothing they choose, so long as it is either black or white; the neutral ‘non colours’. If service to the archetypes is to be given, coloured clothing may be adopted as appropriate to the seven rays. If an altar is prepared, the charaktēre of Theta should be prominently displayed.

All workings, actions, or other activities are the responsibility of the individuals concerned. Any agent may coordinate a meeting or action. No agent is obligated to attend or comply. All agents must remain aware of attempts to infiltrate or otherwise pervert the course of the I.C.Θ.N. egregore.

Active members of I.C.Θ.N. are invited, but not obligated, to share confirmed research and ‘tried and tested’ rituals with other agents through I.C.Θ.N. TRAINING PAPERS. These should be clearly designated as ‘internal’ and ‘public’ with regards to publication.

While discretion may be important to the success of certain projects, and magical operations are generally undermined through discussion with outsiders, no oaths of secrecy are required. Agents may also leave at any time without fear of reprisals from the conspiracy; this will never in itself be considered a betrayal.

It should be apparent that I.C.Θ.N. will not gain support from the established / establishment ‘occult orders’; to which it is diametrically opposed. Such is neither courted or required. Agents may choose to boycott any business supporting or compromising with abusive mind control groups, or conceive of direct actions to damage such businesses and where possible expose and destroy them. It is up to each individual agent to decide for themselves what actions they deem appropriate.

Г ⸫

It is clear that Western culture requires desperate and urgent healing, of the kind that only magick can provide. The agents of I.C.Θ.N. include those organically called to this task by virtue of the light within them; acting as solitary pylons for the Gamma frequencies, or uniting to awaken this integrating light in others, and in society as a whole.

The New Aeon will dawn only when we all share the power to see what we see, hear what we hear, and know what we know.

For further information see THE NEURONOMICON, the official training manual of I.C.Θ.N., available soon. Watch this space..

CHAOS MAGIC & 2000AD COMIC

Chaos Magic, Child Abuse, Illuminates of Thanateros, Ritual Abuse, Ritual Murder, Satanic Ritual Abuse, Sorcery

Those who were on the scene in the 1980s – 1990s remember that Chaos magic gained its ‘street cred’ from referenced in the comic 2000AD.. where Alan More and Grant Morrison cut their teeth. I have met no small number of CM practitioners that admitted their initial introduction was through the comic – without this it probably would never have taken off and become the fad it is today.

I played a large part in Chaos magic’s appearance in 2000AD. I also appeared in the comic a number of times, although unlike Phil Hine I appear under my own name – as myself! – and have not been lampooned or killed off horribly. You can find me as Brother Nathaniel in Nemesis the Warlock, Book 3. In the only ever Nemesis photo-strip (1986) I appeared twice – as the punk in Forbidden Planet, and the loon on the moon who scrawled “Nothing is true & everything is possible” on the cell walls). More recently, a character called Nathaniel appeared in book 2 of Pat Mill’s Defoe, a story set in the 17th century, where I am seen flying around in angelic armour created by – and stolen from – Dr. John Dee.

Chaos Magic has been appearing again in the pages of 2000AD recently – the character Nemesis is long dead, but Deadlock remains alive in Pat Mill’s story ABC Warriors. The below page is from this week’s copy (artwork is by the incomparable Clint Langley).

DEADLOCK 001

Gosh. Deadlock sacrificing children? It is almost as if Pat Mills has been paying attention to the fact the ‘leadership’ of Chaos magic (i.e. the Illuminates of Thanateros) has fallen into the hands of ritualistic child abusers.. Deadlock almost appears to be quoting them.. And he’s being fought against by Tubal-Cain, whose name just happens to be a Masonic ‘Watchword’..

Support for our cause pops up in the most unexpected places, such as in a comic shop near you..

A Note on ‘False Memories’ – Pat Mills

Child Abuse, Cover Up, Elite Paedophile Network, Psychology, Satanic Ritual Abuse

Ritual abuse and False Memory Syndrome are subjects I’ve heavily researched myself and Nathaniel’s analysis is thoughtful, compassionate and authoritative with useful guidelines. A couple of details I would add for the benefit of anyone told they are suffering from “False” Memories.

The British False Memory Syndrome Foundation (“Syndrome”?!!) not only has a formidable battery of very well connected people on its advisory board but usually receives very positive reports in the British press such as the Mail and the Guardian. Yep. They have good lobbyists. So if that is your only information source, you could well think you were imagining what ever happened to you. And that’s their objective. Please don’t let them influence you.

There’s a quick example you can find easily on line that will prove otherwise: Frank Fitzpatrick, a private detective, experienced recovered memories which led to the successful prosecution of the notorious paedophile Father James Porter. Thanks to Frank’s work, there are now on line 53 similar cases in America where the guilty were prosecuted because of recovered memories confirmed by other objective evidence. Would the Guardian ever report this? Of course not. And that’s so wrong, because Frank Fitzpatrick is surely a hero of our times.

Sadly, our media has a mental stranglehold on us which is why we desperately need more works like Nathaniel’s.

Pat Mills