23rd June 2012
It was pretty easy to see she was ‘off’ on one. Off we were all off in one way, or another, or another. Always missing the target. ‘missing’ being operative. M-IS-ing. Check the mental I-Ching while she was getting dressed. Check the flow of energy in the room. The Sigil I had marked into the floorboards with a licked forefinger. Sweep of this and a sweep of that. Interlinked with her personal sigil which looked like a Circle A but with an E. Always with an E. She walked straight into the circle without much of a clue and stood rigid like she remembered something, but. Oh. In those little latex thigh boots and that little latex black bra and that…her toes were barely touching the salt and she was doing it on purpose again. Letting the salt burn her a little, the area around the big toe brighter. That mean’t pain. Shake the hair free Baby. Do your thing.
The RITUAL transfers information from one ‘ALTERNITY DEITY’ (i.e. Eris) to another with quality/accuracy of content diminishing incrementally at each ‘junction point’. The ritual is also typically played as a single/isolated event with all participants involved in the ritual (though of course the details/methods may vary). The quality of the evocation depends on the energy you put into it.
‘I blocked you on Facebook’ she said. She was licking her forefinger. Alternity feedback. My mind was being forced. She had picked up on the energy from the sigil I had made while she was away. She had changed the room and the floorboards had become cheap laminate. Pine giving way to the plastic. I wondered why she had done it. She wasn’t one to give away free answers. Oh sweet random variable. I think trivial is a fair word to describe such preoccupations, since they don’t actually change anything.
‘Lick my cunt like a dog’ she said. Jiggling her breasts in front of my eyes. Overtly sexual and displaying. I didn’t even want to touch her. The display was sick and disgusting like a third rate lap dancer. But she looked fucking great. I did love her once. But now. The act is the catalyst for a jump into the next alternity. The one free of A-EYE perhaps. Also, every memory of her when recalled becomes layered with the recollection of the memory, and the context of that recollection, ad infinitum.
Hers is the only act I have seen so far that makes this claim. I give her the benefit of the doubt, as she has no reason not to be honest, especially since she’s not advocating for the ritual being anything other than flawed memory, the echo from the previous alternity. Still, at this point, I am disinclined to judge someone else’s chiming in to say they, too, remembered it without the suggestion, as the memory of what prompted the recall would have been tainted already. That’s the whole trouble with this heresy. It bounces you straight back to flawed verses and stabbing yourself with the sharp blade in places they will never see. Never get involved with.
Don’t forget kids ‘total experience cannot be fully recreated’ just alluded to
She was finger fucking herself slowly, luxuriantly every nerve ending in total agreement about the end product, her inevitable orgasm within the circle. She would drop to her knees and stick her tongue out, being bad.
But there it was, a glimmer and I saw it winding around her flesh like a projection, the images free and easy. Howlin’ Wolf the old Bluesman sitting on a bunk made of soft strands of silk and a window behind him which showed a multitude of stars. Wolf was turning a harmonica over and over in his hands, staring at it in those big black hands he had, the instrument looked like a childs toy. In the background a hum of machinery. He let the harmonica go and it floated in front of him. Weightless. He was in space, light years from anywhere, playing blues from hundreds of years ago.
We are living and breeding parallel universes in constant touch bleeding and mixing our juices into one another. I’m not sure there need be separate material spaces for this to function; we are, each of us, constantly splitting from each other’s and our own Alternity without ever leaving this plane. Ozmosis on a macro scale.
‘I love being fucked up my arse, that pop as they put their cocks in me, I luxuriate [FEEDBACK] in it, fucking, to be fucked, fucker, cunt fucker, stick it in me please’ she gasped as she shook those hips in rapid fire peak masturbation. But I remembered the Book of the Black Sun. Book of Heresy, Chapter 4. verse 14…
‘And it was said that in the Monad of Augustine there stood a woman and she was want to case the seas to set aflame and the hills and mountains devour themselves lest she would devour herself’
There is beyond any doubt, in my view, such a thing as ritual memory (affect) and it’s this that is the source of trauma, memories that can’t be mentally or emotionally assimilated/processed and so get trapped in one part of the body. On the other hand, most memories, later in life at least, get converted into aural-visual data and then, by talking and thinking about them (re-membering them), they are effectively converted into abstract sigilisations.
Fucking slut. Abstract and full of pomp at the same time. What was she? Her hair as she moved turned red, ginger, light brown, auburn, streaks of blonde grew louder, muted black Gothic. Her eyes blue, hazel, green brown, black like coals, shining like diamonds. Her breasts small, large, soft, hard, erect, constrained, marked with slashes of a switch and then unmarked golden. At my side I glanced down, my phone flashing and moving, vibrating with notifications. Twitter, Facebook, Emails, text messages, picture messages, the phone spinning and turning.
It’s these rituals are correct. I think that they are inherently unreliable (divorced from original affect/experience) and can be tampered with. The matrix is made of code, and once our own memories have been encoded by/into/as our own minds, they essentially belong to the Demiurge. Here the sexual is abstracted, distilled to a pure form. I cross my legs and make notes as she pulls off the small latex bra she affects [now] and her beautiful breasts fall free and she stares right at me for a moment and I see the chaos and she is unsure as always. Her life soft and endless when all she wants to do is live awhile, a few seconds, minutes, hours.
The Eris Ritual, also known as The Dome Breaker or the Babbalon Ritual(BAN032, INN) and commonly known by its street names of Burner, Jack of Shadows) is an Intrasexual alternity switcher originally synthesized and designed by by C.R. Ashton Bright in 1908 by adding two Mantras to the Hepta-Babblon, which is found in Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien in coded form. It is the 23rd verse of the lost writings of Elias Porter.