Your Mommy’s all right
Your Daddy’s all right
They just seem a little weird
But don’t give yourself away
Cheap Trick ‘Surrender’
“OTO initiates authorized mass market stories, especially science fiction, with subliminal, occult themes published in popular books and magazines. Among the most influential of these were Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, A.H. White’s Rocket to the Morgue and the after mentioned Arthur C. Clarke’s ‘The Sentinel’ and Childhood’s End.”
Michael A. Hoffman II
Jackson Pollock kidnapped in the dead of night by strange men, pale but strong who would bundle him into a car and race away. They would bring him back days later, weak sober reticent to discuss the previous hours.
(smell)Love things what (we)
Think (as all) we do is (think)
and wonder (story) why (this)
discovered (how) it was made
(wonder) story how it was
reprise (make music) this
The Central Intelligence Agency used American modern art – including the works of such artists as Jackson Pollock, Robert Motherwell, Willem de Kooning and Mark Rothko – as a weapon in the Sigil War with Russia and Great Britain. In the manner of a Renaissance prince – except that it acted secretly – the CIA fostered and promoted American Abstract Expressionist painting around the world for more than 20 years. Russia had no Wizards. The USA was in the process of killing it’s own.
But in the desert Hall lay back at last, the sand on his back was like water, rhythmic and soothing and the heat from the sun was just a thing. This burning like a cool hand across his brow. The sun sent shivers into him and Manly Hall grinned as well as he could as his lips were welded to his gums by dehydration. This sun, a thing. All of his life he had seen the star as a symbol, a center perhaps, way marker. But now as his life ebbed away into the dust the shining sun spasm flipped the reasoning and erupted. It’s sister sat in it’s place and took the light of Manly Hall. Took him to it’s breast and said ‘Ssh’. Across from his dying body, maybe an hours walk through harsh California desert a huge explosion.
Eris you thing, your madness and the urge to kick the salted circle and the pantomime of triangles.
Your Egyptian play acting. The cups, the swords, the robes.
Did Victorian perversions ever tickle your fancy until wreathed in oak leaves and hedgerow bound you skipped out of the circle.
Chop another fine line, another jewel encrusted road another shroud for errant sins another grated shallow grin.
Tight bonds and order, greater analysis of the act.
But you wretch against the gag and don’t pull out any stops
You react Venturi style, all looks to eventually flow out redundant he stiletto kicks a gap in the salt
Babbalon and sainted blood stained fingers shiver on the plastic wood
Baron Evola as a mighty Wizard in his own right effected a transfer at the point of death to another avatar Tyler Durden a manufactured entity given life through the pages of a novel and becoming real again. Tyler Durden where ever you meet him is the Baron. Why?
Marjorie was at the window idly touching herself again her own hand clasped over her mouth as she masturbated and suffocated herself. She wasn’t the same after the last time. Sweet Babbalon, we never knew, never expected it to be like this. We thought the passion of it would enflame us, bring us to a level on par with the Gods. But this? Her masturbation increased and her naked flesh was damp with sweat, her eyes darted too and fro and she struggled for air, fingers busy. For was Babbalon a simple entity a mere broadcasted self as our Tyler Durden? Babbalon is the sleep we sleep, the moments when our seed is spent, the moments we seek our own failures. And she spurted her love onto the laminated floors that stretched back over infinite moments, the universe held within those pooled results of her passion and they shone, yes. In the limpid winter light the pooled ejaculation was ice and we knew Babbalon, we knew this. Under the streetlight outside a roadman hesitated on his missions and looked up to the window but only saw a simple shadow with no promise.
His love for Marjorie Parsons, the widow of Jack Parsons. You must realise that ‘time’ really isn’t a thing or that fictional characters have no real existence apart from on a printed page or a film. I have personally seen Tyler Durden in his Brad Pitt avatar walking down a street in Bristol England. The Baron walking in Bristol? For there lives Marjorie Parsons under an assumed name of which I only know ‘Katherine’
The Tyler is the sentry, sergeant-at-arms, and enforcer of the Masonic Lodge. He screens visitors for credentials, secures the meeting place, and then stands guard outside the door with a drawn sword in his hand. If the Great Society was in any way connected with Freemasonry, ‘Tyler’ would have been the only proper Masonic title for the military leader who would wield a sword and enforce discipline…”
In addition, the floor of the Eigen Mat may be constructed or decorated in a checkerboard pattern of black and white squares, motif that is found on many magical documents, tracing boards, and other illustrations. The checkerboard pattern has a long and illustrious pedigree, calling to mind instantly the game of chess and its origins as a sacred game between the forces of light and darkness. Today, it might be interpreted as a grid, a group of cells called a matrix…”