NOTHING IS NEW & EVERYTHING IS PERISHABLE

Chaos Magic, Child Abuse, Conspiracy, Cover Up, Crime, Elite Paedophile Network, Illuminates of Thanateros, Knights of Chaos, Magick, Mind Control, MK Ultra, Occult, Paedophilia, Religion, Ritual Abuse, Sorcery

 

Chaos magick has become quite the fad over the last few years, somewhat like Wicca was in the decades before it. Various groups have sprung up over social media claiming to explore the subject, which in itself might give the impression that the current has been successful. However, when one takes a good look at the quality of material being generated by such groups it quickly becomes apparent that most of those claiming to be practitioners would never have been admitted to any serious magical group requiring discipline or self-honesty and are nothing short of delusional. What most of them are calling ‘magick’ amounts to little more than masturbating over Austin Spare type sigils, with the allegedly advanced practitioners taking drugs while they do so. Furthermore, since they also tend to post pictures of the sigils they have created, thus negating any ‘subliminal’ elements to their supposed spell-casting, few of them seem to have much grasp of actual magical theory.

Additionally, in view of my knowledge that several leading figures in UK Chaos magick were involved in the well documented paedophile ring of Colin Batley, and the inability of said ‘internet practitioners’, along with a certain ex-cult leader, to discern the truth of this matter, it is also apparent they possess no divination skills whatsoever (and this despite the countless allegedly ‘new’ Chaos magic Tarot sets proliferating – none of which even have enough originality to add an Atu 23, or to represent Daath among the elemental suits). All in all, a rather pathetic state of affairs.

The manner in which ‘sigils’ are presented by Chaos magicians as an advance on traditional magick, as if it is some kind of ‘new technology’, is also absolute bullshit. Consider, for example, how runes are combined to create ‘bind-runes’, the way the elemental symbols are combined to make the characters of astrological planets, or the structure of the vevé of Voudon, and it soon becomes apparent there is nothing original about ‘sigil magick’ apart from the fact that it can be performed without any further magical knowledge or study.. or indeed wisdom!

Chaos magick’s emphasis on ‘results’ rather than spiritual development also means many of its practitioners see success entirely in material terms. That the system (because that is what it is, despite claims to the contrary) owes so much to Spare, an artist who spent his later days in a dank London basement surrounded by cat shit, seems particularly ironic. One gets the impression Spare would never have been admitted to the IOT because he would have been considered unsuccessful by them – and Spare would most definitely not have been impressed by the artistically talentless business minded individuals who made themselves psuedo-famous through having allegedly ‘invented’ Chaos magick, or who currently run the IOT.

CM theory’s only ‘advance’ on the popular magick of the 1970s, most of which was wrapped up with Crowley, Satanism, or Wicca, was to do away with obscurantist philosophies or religion and focus on a more scientific approach – recognising magick as a function of the subconscious rather than as the actions of gods, goddesses, demons etc. This approach is in line with much military funded research such as Project Stargate and Project Jedi, yet CM theory has failed to incorporate this more modern research and still clings to the psychological model created by Spare during the 1920s. As Dr. Michael Persinger has proven, during experiments with Ingo Swann, the CIA’s top remote viewer, the required neurological condition is in fact dominant Theta, bringing the ‘pulse’ of the brain into synch with the Schumann Resonance, being the ‘pulse’ of the planet Earth. In arrogant ignorance of this genuinely scientific research Chaos magicians continue to work under the mistaken idea that the ‘deeper’ their trance (or ‘Gnosis’, as they misapply the term), or the more intense the pain / drugs / emotions employed to enter trance, the more powerful their magick will be; often putting themselves through quite unnecessary experiences to little or no benefit.

Having reduced magic to the activities of the subconscious Chaos magicians then go on ‘create new gods’ at a whim, since they are all assumed to be fictional anyway. ‘Gods’, according to Chaos magick, are thought forms that have grown larger than any one person might generate, but a group of practitioners might get together and create one of their own. This approach is born from sheer ignorance of genuine magick; in Voudon, for example, the lwa may wear many masks, such as the Gheude appearing as Darth Vader or Judge Death, but yet neither are considered ‘new lwa’. Rather, the understanding is akin to Jung’s concept of the archetypes (itself born from his esoteric studies); the lwa may wear new ‘faces’ but one cannot create new lwa, just as one cannot create new archetypes, since they are part of the collective unconscious that pre-exists any one of us as individuals. One may create new masques for the lwa to ‘wear’ but the archetype beneath them remains the same ancient and eternal principle. In this respect Voudon is as flexible as Chaos magick, yet the understanding is far deeper, far less egoistic, and far more effective with regards to magick.

To give another example, the image of the wise old man appears in many cultures under many names, as well as in fiction (such as Gandalf, or Obi Wan Kenobi), yet all are the same archetype, and in every case it represents wisdom. If I create a new character in a story that is a wise old man I may have a new take on an old archetype, but I have not created a new one. The same goes with the ‘gods’ – and one would have thought they especially apparent to anyone with any grasp of psychology, as many Chaos magicians claim to have.

The concept of ‘paradigm shifting’ in this context is also shown to be rubbish. A genuine Voudusant, for example, would have no trouble in placing an icon on Kali on their altar to Ezili, just as any genuine Tantric would also recognize Ezili as an alternative masque for the archetypal power known in India as Kali, and would not consider this in any way incongruous.

Of the two rituals the IOT consider – somewhat ironically – to have become part of their ‘tradition’, the first is the Mass of Baphomet. Strangely, none of them even seem to know how to pronounce the god’s name correctly, or have any insight into its mystery (revealed by Atbash to be a cypher for Sophia). The phrase concluding its Enochian invocation, Zazas Zazas Nasatanada Zazas, which is said to ‘open the gates of Hell’ does not appear in any of Dee’s papers and is completely made up. No Voudusant, Makaya bokor, or Tantric, would consider the ‘fake it til you make it’ approach of Chaos magick to be genuine possession. When I was a Magister Templi of the IOT I often used to play the role of Priest in this ritual during inter-Temple meetings; I faked it every time, but nobody present knew any better, because they had never witnessed genuine possession in the first place. Like most Chaos magic it is very dramatic but does not actually work as ‘magic’ – I have witnessed the author of this ritual performing it, and they were obviously faking too.

The second ritual is the Gnostic Banishing Ritual, the most effective part of which is the use of the vowels. This originates with The Ordo Fraterni Saturnus, a German group which had a cross over membership with the IOT and – when I met them – seemed to be so stuck up that Chaos magick was the nearest they got to chilling out and having fun. They were also a bunch of racist cunts with Nazi sympathies. This vowels technique is not nearly as effective, nor developed in its uses, as the more widely practised chakra system of India, also commonly employed by serious occultists from various traditions, and relating to the seven archetypes. Again, none of the IOT’s membership seemed to be aware of the ritual’s origins, or its relation to the middle pillar of the Kabbalah.

The ‘8 Colours of Magic’ are nothing more than the Queen Scale of the Kabbalah, with the addition of the 8th colour ‘Octarine’ (from Terry Pratchett) adding nothing of genuine value, since ‘Pure Magic’ is already represented in that scale by orange (ie Mercury).

If Chaos magick had any value at all it was that its guiding principles allowed for magicians of various backgrounds to work together without argument. To assume that ‘everything you need to know’ is covered by those principles, however, is delusional hubris. The beginner, coming to Chaos magick without previous experience from deeper, more genuine tradition will have little to gain. Thrown in at the ‘deep end’ they will not be able to reproduce the results of more knowledgable magicians with previous training and experience. It is also evident from the writings of those currently involved in the IOT that they cannot differentiate between genuine magical tradition and the rubbish generally propagated within populist psuedo-traditions as are common among honky Pagans. As with sociopaths generally, their knowledge is broad but shallow; they can talk a little about a lot of traditions, but anyone actually from within those traditions will know they are talking rubbish. For example, everything I ‘learned’ in the IOT’s ‘Honori Ghede’ enclave, lead by the UK and USA section head at that time, which supposedly explored Voodoo but turned out to be absolute bullshit once I made contact with the genuine article. When I took the leader of the ‘Honouri Ghede’ enclave along to a genuine Voudon ritual their jealousy was tangible – I remember them attempting to dismiss the validity of the ritual simply because Ayizan had been invoked.. any genuine Voudusant will know how ridiculous such an assumption is, and why I will not explain here why. Anyone who knows even a smidgen of Creole will laugh at their word ‘Honori’, and everything they knew about Ghede was drawn from Michael Bertiaux’s Voodoo Gnostic Workbook.. enough said. The current IOT leadership are even more ignorant, but seem to have quite the talent for convincing the ignorant otherwise. This is worse than wasting their student’s time – some of their current activities are worse than misinformation and is likely end up costing lives.. or should I say, more lives..

Another recent development seems to be a dependence of hallucinogenic drugs to gain ‘magical insight’, particularly Yage and DMT. These drugs offer particularly convincing experiences due to their actions on the amygdala, meaning the ‘trip’ is interpreted by the brain as ‘fact’ rather than ‘dream’; hence so many tourists travel to Peru in search of ‘spiritual experiences’. Their misguided use can easily lead to delusion. Anything that can be used as a medicine can also be a poison in the wrong hands; Yage has proven very popular among cult leaders intent on brainwashing their followers. Psychedelics of any kind, including ketamine or LSD, may also be used by paedophiles intent on ensuring victims cannot make clear and believable disclosures, especially if the intent is to leave them as traumatised as possible. None of those in the IOT are trained ‘shaman’ and their involvement with drugs is bound to end in disaster, probably sooner rather than later. A healer requires empathy, and this is most definitely a faculty (amongst others) that the IOT leadership are lacking in – and not just the current leadership, either.

It is also worth noting that a Magi of that order – the same man that promoted a paedophile to the highest level – has already served a lengthy prison sentence for a mess up with speed, which they had cooked up in a bathtub and dyed with pink nail varnish, that caused the deaths of three youths in Leeds during the 1980s; this is the case referred to in Ray Shwerwin’s book Ouroboros.

Even when the Chaos current still had credibility among serious occultists they tended to move on fairly quickly. Of those who made their psuedo-fame during this period very few have remained involved, including myself. The average ‘shelf life’ for an IOT temple was less than a year – and the only reason the IOT now holds together at all is because its current leadership cannot afford to turn their backs on each other or move on. As with the cult of convicted paedophile Colin Batley, who was an IOT member, Chaos magick might seem glamorous to its dupes, offering sexual licence and alleged power, but is in reality it is nothing but a tragic cul-de-sac.

Thankfully fads in occultism, as with society as a whole, tend to be short lived – so it will not be long before most of these ‘internet Chaos magicians’ will become disappointed with the current’s shallowness and move on to something else, just like the teen Wiccans before them.

Nothing about Chaos magick is new & everything about it is perishable.

NJH

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NEUROMANCY – Magick in the 21st Century

Gnostic, Magick, Mind Control, MK Ultra, Occult, Sorcery

Θ ⸫

NEUROMANCY

Out of the past comes this new thing.” – Austin Osman Spare

The beliefs and symbol systems traditionally employed in magick are not in any way arbitrary. Rather, the following models represent the evolution of a conceptual technology, from the dawn of time until the modern day. Just as our sciences, representing a progressive accumulation of knowledge, have steadily become more esoteric with time, so have the technologies of magick become steadily more scientific.

The essential paradigms of magick are as follows;

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Sympathetic Magick

This is the principle that people or events may be remotely effected through objects having sympathy with them. The paradigm may be further sub-categorised as imitative magick and the law of contact and contagion.

The first is the principle of ‘like attracting like’. Material objects are employed which bear some resemblance to the intent of the magick, such as plants, stones, or animal parts whose names or appearance bear association with the intent. For example, in traditional witchcraft Mandrake roots have power due to their resemblance to the human form. This is the principle presumably applied in prehistoric cave paintings of successful hunts, or where an effigy is made resembling the victim which is then tortured with pins and burned with candles. Modern sorcerers may also use photographs and sound recordings to similar effect.

The common understanding that sympathetic magick of this kind works through the naive superstition of the victim, who supposedly dies through fear, falls down at this point; it still works, indeed works even more efficiently, if done in secret. Similarly, how could a cave painting of a successful hunt have been effective magick if the animals were not superstitious?

The law of similarity also includes such things as omens, and divination by sortilage; gaining insights through the fall of a handful of bones, or Tarot cards, or to be (p)reminded of certain principles through the flight of birds, shapes in the clouds, or tea-leaves at the bottom of a cup.

The second is the law of contact and contagion; the principle of the ‘magical link’, such as the use of a target’s hair, nail-clippings, or footprints. It is the idea that an object that once belonged to someone may be used as a channel to reach them through magick; anything that might conceivably provide a DNA sample may effect the target’s DNA in ‘magical sympathy’. It is common wisdom that such links are all the more effective if given voluntarily. This principle also works in reverse, for example when a witch binds a man to her by feeding him a meal secretly containing her own menstrual blood. Another case is when a thief is cursed using the object they have stolen as the link.

The principle is observed also by physicists in the phenomena of quantum entanglement and the theory of morphic resonance.

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Energy

The reader will already be comfortable with the concept of energy. We all know that when we do not eat our energy is low. We know that many of our household items rely on electrical energy, even if nobody is really sure what electrical energy actually is. We know that energy may be chemical, kinetic, or potential, and that it changes between these states but never vanishes.

As with sympathetic magick the origins of the energy paradigm are prehistoric; there are many cave paintings depicting the flow of energy. The energies that circulate through the body will be familiar to anyone who has ever taken up a martial art, or an interest in oriental healing methods. Mystics agree that this same energy flows through our landscape. Common ‘occultural language’ includes many terms for energy in the esoteric sense; most of us know what ‘vibes’ are, or what an ‘aura’ is, even if we are adamant that we have never seen or experienced them.

The physiological energy centres within the body are recognised by most occult schools, being known most commonly in the modern day through the Tantric yoga system of ‘chakras’, which awaken the Kundalini. In the traditional witchcraft of England this same power was raised with the Saracen’s Kiss, called also the Osculum Infame. Parallels to this chakra system may also be found in Buddhism, the Middle Pillar of Kabala, and the ‘Gnostic Vowels’ of the German Ordo Franternitas Saturni. This magical energy, which flows through the body and along the spine, is also in the blood and breath.

The magician typically empowers their spells by charging them with this Force. This may be released from, or channelled through, the body by many methods, such as the use of the blasting rod, or the manos cernutos. The most immediate and easy method is to rub the hands together vigorously to produce heat, then stretch the palms over the spell to be empowered.

Modern science has expanded its theories of energy to include information. The relation between information and energy is illustrated by the fact that computers need cooling systems, and that the deletion of information from the hard drive produces heat. Energy as information is also central to the study of black holes, being the only known conditions where the otherwise consistent laws of physics break down and energy / information simply cease to exist, and through which scientists have come to the realisation that our universe may be holographic.

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Spiritism

The belief in spirits has also persisted since prehistory. The earliest forms of spiritism were likely to have been animist, recognising all nature as conscious. This eventually gave rise to paganism, embodying humanity’s principal concerns as the gods. It then declined into monotheism, recognising only one God while declaring everyone else’s to be demons or – in the case of Catholicism – absorbing them as saints. It declined further into atheism, upon which the most advanced modern sciences appear to be back-tracking.

In the days of paganism, these personified laws were called gods. During the reign of monotheism, these same principles became the angels, saints, prophets, and demons. In this day we are often embarrassed to talk about such things as spirits and gods, since these ‘primitive’ beliefs have supposedly been proved superstition. Instead, we speak about the functions of the mind to produce material (such as art, or dreams) as manifestations of the archetypes.

We might further designate the manifestations of these psychegens to result directly from certain functions of the brain; that is to say, they have a basis in neurology and pre-exist any one of us as individuals. It is ironic, then, that the psychologist Carl Jung, who originated the concept of the archetype, observed in his privately circulated work Seven Sermons to the Dead, “.. All things considered, all theses metapsychic phenomena would be explained better by the hypothesis of spirits than by any qualities and peculiarities of the unconscious.. in the long run the spirit hypothesis yields better results in practice than any other.”

Nevertheless, the existence of ‘spirits’ in post-Enlightenment culture is simply denied, while those who claim to interact with them are perceived as the victims of delusion and mental disorder. There is, therefore, an extreme sensitivity towards this kind of experience, most often leading to repression and marginalisation. However, this is also what has made these same experiences attractive and fascinating to those who have developed a sense of cultural criticism and resistance to dominant values.

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Psychism

Another aspect of our scientific age is the quest to understand ourselves and the nature of consciousness. To this end we have developed the disciplines of psychology, psychiatry, and neurology. These may also provide the modern practitioner with a language by which to understand and perform magick.

Many psychological phenomena, such as those of hysteria or schizophrenia, were originally attributed to the workings of spirits and witches. This meant, of course, that witches and spirits would also be called upon to bring an end to such disturbances. It may well be that the apparent victims were mentally ill, and that this had nothing to do with any kind of secret influence. However, I have many times been called to the aid of the mentally ill using magick. The methods I have used have brought at least temporary relief, and have never been ineffective. This is more than may be said for many forms of modern psychiatry, relying as they do on a theory of brain chemistry, for which there is no evidence whatsoever.

The mechanisms of magick may be described by the activity of the subconscious mind. Its symbol systems are effective because they appeal to these deeper realms of consciousness, bypassing awareness and ego identification in much the same way as hypnosis or subliminal mind control. This may take the form of a glyph, gesture, barbaric invocation, and a great diversity of other forms, or any combination of them. The symbol is concentrated upon during trance, or while the mind is otherwise open to suggestion; during quiescent meditation, sexual release, exhaustion, intoxication, or when inspiration takes possession in any of the arts. This creates a kind of synthetic neurosis, which works through consciousness to create change in the self, or in the external world, through generating what Jung referred to as synchronicity.

It is easy for us to understand that objective events in the outside world may have an effect on our subjective inner consciousness. What is much harder to understand is how subjective inner events may have an effect on our objective outer world. As some of our most advanced scientists are just beginning to comprehend, “Mind and matter are not separate substances. Rather, they are different aspects of your whole and unbroken movement” (David Bohm). This is no revelation to magicians, of course; as it says in The Kybalion, “All is mind: the universe is mental.”

The paradigm we call here psychism has given rise to a number of government funded experiments such as Project Stargate and Project Jedi. It includes all those abilities regarded as psychic, such as remote viewing and influence, telepathy, psychokenesis, or even simply that some people have hunches that more often than not prove to be true.

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Neuromancy

That part of our brains that processes everything we think of as ‘I’, our sense of individuated consciousness, lies in the frontal cortex. The rest of the brain, whose structure is shared with most similarly conscious animals, is in constant communication with the electromagnetic field of the planet. Together with the discovery of mirror neurons this has profound implications for our concepts of self, identity, and the will. The ‘I’ is a product of its environment, and effectively a very small node of information processing within a wider field of consciousness we might call the Greater Mind.

In the microcosm, mind consists of its contents, which expresses itself as information. Similarly with the Greater Mind, which in turn gives generation to the Matrix; the illusion of space-time and our experience of reality. Yet information itself, while it may seat itself to a medium such as a storage device or human brain, does not consist of mass or energy; therefore consciousness is not bound by the space-time continuum. As mystics have been saying all along, the ego is an illusion; yet this is not an abstract metaphysical opinion based on personal prejudice – it is hard science supported by mounting empirical evidence.

Mind scientists such as Dr. Michael Persinger and Stanley Koren have employed these discoveries in experiments with the CIA’s top remote viewers, such as the infamous Ingo Swann. Their research has presented empirical evidence that psychic abilities are most readily accessed during the dominance of Theta brain-frequency – at around 7Hz; the same resonance as the planet. They have even developed technology capable of boosting such abilities, or negating them.

Furthermore, the observations of quantum physicists suggest that ‘the observer’ plays a role in bringing the ‘matrix of matter’ into existence. In this sense the search for God is over; we have found it in the least likely place it could ever have hidden – ourselves. Yet this is not the solipsistic self deification of the so called Left Hand Path, as it has been widely misrepresented in occulture. Rather, it is the recognition that we are all God, collectively, and have been all along; for we are each a part of the Greater Mind. To the hardcore atheist, there is nothing to believe in but the ‘self’, and ‘God’ is the delusion, yet the combined scientific evidence of neurology and quantum physics suggests the very opposite to be true.

Is it not also a meaningful coincidence that a universal magical symbol for consciousness may be found in the butterfly – and that this symbol should then become associated with both mind control and Chaos theory? It is no great revelation to magicians that a butterfly, or perhaps a mind, could send out ripples that eventually – through simple ’cause and effect’ – result in a hurricane on the other side of the planet. The smallest of actions can have the furthest reaching consequences; we are none of us ever insignificant and powerless, if only we would know it.

All magick is based upon a singular understanding that may be expressed in countless ways – as it says in The Zohar, “the Infinite extends without end”. This understanding is expressed in Hinduism as Maya, in Buddhism as Samsara, by the heathens as the Web of Wyrd, by modern science as the holographic universe, and in this current work as the Matrix. The principle asserts that there is no truth anywhere that is not balanced by an equal yet utterly contradictory truth. Only perspective and circumstance determine what seems to be true at any given time. We cannot perceive two contradictory truths, or process contradictory information, without becoming entangled with apparent paradox and cognitive dissonance.

The Matrix of consciousness arranges all things into dualities; a binary code where the is becomes defined as either / or; something is (as rationality dictates) either true or false, while all physical matter is (as the alchemists observed) either heavy or light, soft or hard, wet or dry, hot or cold, or (as quantum physicist have observed) a particle or a wave, and so on.

The essence of all magick is the act of communication, the exchange of information, whether from neuron to neuron, subconscious and conscious, servitor and the mysteries, star to star, or from me to you. Just as words and symbols define the content of mind, the charaktēres and vocēs magickæ of magick provide the programming codes of the Matrix. While divination includes all methods of extracting non-localised information from the data-pool of the Greater Mind, enchantment includes all those methods of hacking the Matrix.

Make no mistake – magick is a dangerous enterprise and should never be entered into lightly..

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Excerpt from THE NEURONOMICON by Nathaniel J. Harris

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I DO VOODOO

Magick, Occult, Religion, Sorcery, Spirituality

Blessings be upon you.

A few years after Alex’s tragic murder (see last post), as we were entering the new millennium, I found myself at a genuine Voudon ritual lead by Ton Ton Edgar of Port au Prince, Haiti, assisted by the Mambo of his societié, also Mama Lola, a Mambo of great reputation in New York, and London’s own resident Houngan, Papa Doc Williams. It was held at Bagley’s warehouse, at that time a popular nightclub venue; I was there as a guest, so in respect dressed all in white.

All the traditional elements of ritual were present, apart from blood sacrifice; British law forbids the ritual butchering of live animals, not that this is an absolute necessity, as any initiate of 21 Nations will confirm. A series of lavishly decorated altars were arranged around a central pillar, the walls draped in intricately sequinned flags and life size representations of the lwa in beaten metal. In addition, there was a sound system, lights, and screens showing collaged ‘voodoo art’ films. It was the largest Voudon ceremony ever before performed in London, and quite probably since.

Ton Ton Edgar was well known for ‘working with both hands’, meaning he did not just officiate as Houngan (priest) at the religious services of Voudon, but was also a bocor (sorcerer). Additionally, he ran the most successful funeral parlour in Haiti’s capital. We all have Ghede but Edgar’s was the master of his head; his possessions were of none other than Baron Samedi himself. Ton Ton Edgar, so I was told, had a large collection of pots, each containing the water he used for washing down corpses, from toe to head, baring the names of the ghosts he had captured. White folks, keen to buy into Voudoun culture, also paid good money for him to ‘wash their heads’ and keep their souls in pots. I respect that – take their money and their souls, if they are daft enough to give them away – and take it all back to Haiti, where people have fuck all. Impressively tall, his sharp cheekbones made a skull of his grin. In case anyone was in any doubt, his black T-shirt showed a vevé de Baron Ghede, around it the words I Do Voodoo.

Mama Lola is the subject of a book bearing her name as the title; I recommend it to anyone who wants to learn a little about real Voudon – it is as least as groundbreaking as Maya Deren’s Divine Horseman. Mama Lola is also quoted in my book The Neuronomicon at the heading of The Mass of the Violet Ray, and respected in the Book 3: Context, Haitian Voudon. There is a lot she says about Ghede in the book about her, too; it was hugely influential when in came out – the Ghede Ti-Malis Millipee LaCroix were crawling all over Hackney, Dalston, and Brixton that long sticky summer. Mama Lola, like the bare-footed troop of dancers Ton Ton Edgar kept in reglimen (the precise order of ritual) with his whip, also wore all all white, her petticoats fanning out with every twist and turn as she circled the pillar. The intricately complex dances of Voudon, like the drums and prayers, take a dedicated life-time to learn; they bear no resemblance the primitive frenzies depicted in horror movies and so-called ‘documentaries’. They are an advanced spiritual discipline, and worthy of the utmost respect.

Papa Doc Williams was present more as a guest, despite the ritual being on his ‘turf’, and this had inevitably caused friction ahead of the ritual; up to and including threats of magical warfare. I did not envy him when Baron Samedi arrived, riding Ton Ton Edgar, and tested Papa Doc’s own integrity by spraying ‘Haitian Tear Gas’ (white rum steeped with hot chillies, all but impossible to drink unless possessed) into his eyes. He stood his ground, though – himself simultaneously possessed by the same lwa. Back in those days Papa Doc had a shop at the Dalston crossroads called Dark & Light, and his society used to meet in Chat’s Palace, Hackney, which was also a regular haunt of mine. When I spoke to him privately he told me about all the people he helped with the money he earned in London, and showed me photographs of ‘folks back home’ in Haiti. He was one scary motherfucker, but a good man, and I have to respect that, too.

I always say to my friends, even the chuggers, if you want to support people in Haiti don’t send money to the big charities; we’ve all heard about the scandals, and whistle-blowers have also spoken out about the presence of the CIA (see The Serpent & the Rainbow, and The Neuronomicon; Book 3, Context- Haitian Voudon). Give your money to the Houngan and Mambo, or to the Voudon artists selling over e-bay. These are the people on the ground, and you can trust them to distribute fairly and accordingly. And their sorcerer’s are so shit hot, it is also worth paying them for spells, despite the distance; learn from them what you can, is my advice.

I was just an observer at this ritual, but a few days later, at a much smaller event in Hackney, presided over by Ton Ton Edgar and his Mambo, I experienced possession for myself – not for the first time, nor the last. In this event I left trance as Ton Ton Edgar commanded with his Asson, banishing the out of sequence possession, to find myself on the floor with one leg over my head, my face so close to my dick I could, were I so inclined, suck myself off like an Ouroboros serpent – not something I can normally do. I guess this must have impressed the Mambo, as after the drums were sleeping we spent the rest of our time arm in arm; she made her much reciprocated attraction plain and invited me to stay with her in Port au Prince. Later, she lamented that I would not open my heart to Jesus, and so could never be a true Voudusant servitor.. Young, dumb, and full of myself, I had yet to learn that the Jesus of Haiti, like the Jesus of Bristol, or the Jesus of The Gospel of Thomas, is a rebel. (My attitude towards ‘God’ is far more complex than the simple denials expressed in my fashionably nihilistic youth).

Who was this unruly spirit that chose to work through me, and who impressed this respected Mambo so much? The lwa that rode me, and rides me often, is one I have had a long and enduring magical relationship with. Sometimes.. just sometimes.. he identifies himself as Ghede (Gay-Yay) Alex of King’s Cross.

Ashé!

Nathaniel

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Recommended further reading;

Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn, Karen McCarthy Brown

The Divine Horseman, Maya Deren

The Serpent & the Rainbow, Wade Davis

The Neuronomicon: A 21st Century Grimoire, Nathaniel J. Harris

YOU KNOW THE LIVING : WE KNOW THE DEAD

Coil, Conspiracy, Crime, Elite Paedophile Network, Gothic Culture, Homosexuality, Illuminates of Thanateros, Magick, Mind Control, MK Ultra, Murder, Occult, Paedophilia, Psychology, Ritual Abuse, Ritual Murder, Sorcery, Spirituality, Trauma Based Mind Control

During the 1980s, before it became a Chaos magic cliché, I was a big fan of Coil. It cannot be denied that, in fond days now referred to as the history of ‘the magical revival’, they played an essential part in the soundtrack. In 20??, when Johnn Balance died, I mourned along with countless others who had lost their various virginities as Coil played on the stereo.

Listening to their music now, the lyrics reverberate through time like messages from restless ghosts.. Death she is my friend / she has promised me a quick end.. One day we’re all going to fall..

As an acid crazed bisexual gothic teenager, one of my favourite tracks was The Tenderness of Wolves, recorded with ‘guest vocals’ vocals by Gavin Friday, and guitar by Alex Ferguson. The last is not a name that many people will recognise from other records, but Alex was a talented musician in his own right. He was also, perhaps unsurprisingly, a magician. You might happen to know that The Tenderness of Wolves ultimately owes its title to the film by Ulli Lommel, a vampire horror based upon the real life homosexual serial killer Fritz Harmann.

In my twenties, when I was still into ‘Chaos magic’, living in London with a male lover and ‘out’ on the gay scene, I got to know Alex. Not close enough to call him a lover, but close enough to call a kiss uncompleted. He was a pretty young man, slight of build and 5’4”, like me. Blonde white hair, blue eyes, and a sensitive soul. Our ages were closer than you might expect, seeing as I was still at school when Scatology was released. Alex told me he was just 14 when they recorded Tenderness of Wolves, live in the Bar Maldoror.

You have to be careful making records things like that,” he said. “All kinds of creepy psychopaths get fixated on you.”

We spent months eyeing each other up, bumping into each other at rituals, fetish clubs, gay clubs, art installations, all kinds of strange places, but were also both trapped with dangerous and domineering partners. If he saw I was troubled he always seemed to know the right thing to say, whether it was, “Your boyfriend’s spiked you with crystal-meth. It’s horrible, but we can ride this out and you’ll be OK,” to, “You’re quite the shape-shifter, under the skin,” to, “Don’t forget your crown chakra.”

We had some great conversations about both music and magic; he versed in all manner of sorceries, from Kabbalah to runes, Thelema to Chaos magic, and from pagan witchcraft to Voudon, and told me how his local community recognised him as a bocor, from where the conversation lead to the nature of the lwa, and the undead Ghede, lwa of the cemetery. All of which was new to me back then.

He said, almost as if it were a statement of intent, “When I die, I will join with the nation of Ghede.”

The last time I saw Alex we had both recently managed to find independent lodgings, and were both single, when we had a surprise encounter crossing opposite one another at the crossroads of King’s Cross Road – he was with his mother, who he introduced me too, and I kissed him in front of her. She could see how much we liked each other and smiled. He told me where he was living, and we agreed to get together to make music.

Just two days later his body was found naked before his domestic altar, as if his death had been part of a ritual. An investigation revealed that he was murdered by a homosexual serial killer who, when they stood trial before the Crown Court, was proven to be responsible for at least Alex’s death, but also turned out for ‘undisclosed reasons’ to be untouchable. You did not even have to be close to the case to know this – it got into the papers, with much outrage among the red-tops – probably the only time the Sun ever defended a homosexual.

Due to absurdly long autopsy investigations Alex’s funeral was held nearly a year after his death, on Friday 13th December 1996. Due to the circumstances only two of his friends were allowed to attend. The first was my domineering ex-boyfriend, who having joined the Illuminates of Thanateros was still in my life. I was the other, there upon the invitation of his heartbroken mother, who survived her son by just two years.

How could this happen to someone? How could a proven killer be legally untouchable? And what of this coincidence, that Alex should be known for a song anout a homosexual serial killer?

A cold chill also goes through me, and not of the good kind, when I hear the lyrics.. No Johnn, never never tell.. Murder me.. a child’s voice, barely audible at the closing of ‘The Anal Staircase’, Get off me, you creep..

Having already had to sacrifice our love for the music of so many talented artists, now quite rightly hated by all the fans they betrayed, from Rolf Harris through to Garry Glitter and the Lost Prophets, or anyone whose previous fandom hasn’t blinded them to the blatant cover up around Michael Jackson, what do we then make of Coil?

Johnn’s Black Sun paedophile fantasies run through much of Coil’s music, right from the beginning. Towards the end of his own and Peter Christopherson’s shortened lives, they became ever increasingly apparent. The re-release of the album Scatology, for example, has upon its cover a photograph of a nine years old boy’s naked back-side, framed within an averse crucifix. (Yes, really. You thought that was a girl? You might want to throw that album cover away. If there were any legally unquestionable proof other than ‘hearsay’ among Chaos magic circles, you could go to jail for owning it.)

More blatantly, they also recorded a video of Johnn Balance singing Love’s Secret Domain while surrounded by cavorting child prostitutes.

Have you heard the rumours about Peter Christopherson’s own family origins, and his membership of occult circles far more powerful than any Chaos magic? I shall not repeat such alleged disclosures here, but they are out there, and it enough to say there is more than enough ‘circumstantial evidence’, even in the public realm, to suggest criminal conspiracies.

It is my understanding that Alex was murdered because of what he knew; knowing what I do about his life, the people who were around us, common sense suggest this, and his ghost has told me nothing more. Nobody can disclose on behalf of the dead, but it is not always true that their secrets die with them.

I give honour to Alex Feguson, the Ghede of King’s Cross. Remember him when you hear this song.

You know the living. We know the dead. My desire is your kiss completed..

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.

KALLISTI magazine

Chaos Magic, Occult, Sorcery, Spirituality

Here is a piece of Chaos magic memorabilia – KALLISTI 2, which I edited in 1992, included contributions from the yet-to-be-pseudofamous Phil Hine (aka Mincing Machine), Charlie Brewster (aka Fra. Choronzon), myself (Fra. Pandemonium) and others. Copies were sold in The Atlantis Bookshop, and via and advert in the back of Chaos International. There was no issue one, nor an issue three.

Here is the magazine in its entirety;

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I include the last page for the sake of completion, although none of these addresses are still valid.

018

The Nueronomicon

Art, Conspiracy, Magick, Mind Control, MK Ultra, Occult, Ritual Abuse, Sorcery, Trauma Based Mind Control

This has to be the definitive book on the occult. It is beautifully written and also highly accessible. The artwork is amazing too.” – Pat Mills, originator of 2000AD.

One of the best magick books I’ve read in years. I would say on a par with some of Aleister Crowley’s works. And I do not say that lightly.” – Michael (Mick) Norris, illustrator of Liber Null & Psychonaut.

Excellent.” – Ray Sherwin, author of The Book of Results, Vitriol, and Ouroboros, originator of Chaos magic.

An education.” – Valerie Sinason, author of Healing the Unimaginable: Treating Ritual Abuse & Mind Control.

NOW AVAILABLE – click here to buy.

Also available direct from the author, signed and ‘consecrated’. All retailers take a heavy cut so if you want to support the author this is the best way to do it. Additionally, you may opt to receive regular updates regarding ICΘN events and projects. For further details email: n8nharris@yahoo.co.uk

Read the introduction here.

For further information regarding ICΘN, click here.

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