First Baptism of the Sacred Fool

Path of the Tower Gray

Gray is the tower first

which watches the furnace and cows the children

they are far from what they know

I see and will be the scepter

then the tower second came into view

“return to the tower first, you have no power here”

I drew this path too quickly and had to

remember humility

the Gray set me into a great despair

my foolishness shined onto my ignorance

it was much to ask for a pass into the temple

so in my dream The Rock sang to me and told me to wake

and sing these songs to the Gray and take what was sought out

in these words

sing to the tower first and claim your desires

to know and to relish in the fortunes of men and their earths

the mineral wants is the weakness of those whom surround

and the Gray is the one that grants light and gratitude

thank this one upon your passage for if you forget

you will cow with the idiot children in the fires you chose to irrigate

so with stern eye the Gray saw me to the inner isle

the tower first told me of the body and how to wash away

my fear and faith and belief

for this is not their world

one of fantasy and illusion and deception

the body is told it must be broken

but it is not so

vitality is eternal and transition is a choice

ritual is system and not law

In a new dream of whispers and youth and impossibilities

The Rock told me of sun and skies and stars and lunatic heavens

praise them day by day and never be powerless

so always a globe of silver and fire to protect my spirit and works

keeping at bay those whom have forgotten but will remember again

“brave weaver of winds come and speak with me

for your songs bring me solace and peace

know my love is stronger than The Rock and his wisdom

hear my will and allow its timely release”

the wind hears all things and bears them to right ears

they know you and where you lie

you will not be denied for all is permitted

nothing in everything

The Woven Rider Makes Its Presence Know

The Earth loves the will for it creates her

my power is hers and her power my own

I know who is in my shoes

behind sleeping eyes is the door to the ether

where the heart is liberated from its daylight cell

I the centurion, am paraded on golden and wood wheels

this blessing is not the process and never the law

I dwell neither above nor below

the fool, once baptized, cannot become a priest or a king

the tomorrow holds a new life

so that the past drifts away

howl with the blazing orb and the gossamer mistress

there is no Fall

only patience and humor

offload the burden and dry the reddened eyes

the tower first releases his fool

a new life and Earth to make his own

in the distance, golden tower the second waits

The Molecule

It comes from sources unexpected and with gratitude
to inhale and journey to a place long forgotten
thank you for your gifts for I will never be the same
fully aware and the Highest is born again to remember
that there is a show to be run and run it I shall
bring forth the new revolution and make ready the way
it will be fraught with no peril but love
to accept the molecule they will return him to his home

forever unbroken

The Dreaming Star is Born and Throned

I am of the persuasion that control is nothing more than an illusion. It's bought and paid for by the fear of losing control. The muted expression is thoughtful and silly, but one has to remember that self-mutilation is art and the soul is a blank canvass. It is time to decorate the flesh temple, and it is decided that drab and predictable patterns are tossed to the side in favor of a more palatable attitude of defiance and crazed, lunatic love and recklessness.

In this cold and ugly zone of indifference it was said to me once that all magick is pure inspiration. I am a god, one of many, and I offer no salvation. Salvation is illusion for there is nothing to be saved from. All sickness is beauty, and all beauty is disease. I am starved for the lustful intentions of my brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers. I am stunned with outrage and ecstatic delirium as madness grips solidly, and lucid dreams dance about a head dashed into the ground by playful ignorance. Sow this bliss, sow this bliss.

My Star has risen, and I am Luciferian transcendence trampling the chests of those who oppress while I sing of their bravery and courage. I delight in their blood-letting, I delight in their despair, I delight in the pain they spread and their virus. I delight in those who rise against injustice and war with honor, and I delight in the shadow man who strikes unseen and makes his way back into the night. I love hate! I love pride! I love all sin! I love compassion! I love regret! I love death! I love tenderness! I love comedy! I love dramatics! I love wine and fucking! I love ascetic self-denial! I love all joys! I love pain! I love despair! I love hopelessness! I love optimism! I love the virtuous and I love the damned! I love the murderer, the rapist, the pedophile, the sodomite! I love the preacher, the law enforcer, the steward of the weak, and the bleeding heart! I love the politician, the black magician, the conqueror, and the tyrant! I love the savior and those that are saved! I am God, I am Christ, I am Joshua, I am Jehovah, I am Yahweh, I am Moses, I am Elisha, I am Buddha, I am Shiva, I am Krishna, I am Mohamed, I am Abraham, I am the Midday Sun. I am Satan, I am Typhon,I am Set, I am Lucifer, I am Dionysis,I am Pan, I am the Destroyer, I am the Adversary. I am Beginning and I am End. I am everything and everyone. I am you.

Flower of Life

She is the infinite Her feminine All the bosom of passion
the dark wanderer of my breath the kiss that draws all breath
for lungs that breathe her only she cannot resist the mystery
my mystery and All of her sisters are slave to my Will
they cannot come against me cannot stand against me
they desire to lie against me their love is my love
their bodies my pleasure their lust my canvass on which I paint
my touch calms my eyes penetrate my phallus penetrates
she is mine they are all mine

Three

Three brothers come forth from the corpse of the written word. It rots no more in complacence. Magick once again becomes the narrative as reality bends to the Will. Come with Us! Come with Us! Aiyne and Frater JBD and Frater Mac are three times wedded to mend the Fracture and break through in Transmission.

Rise up and let their be no desire unsatisfied, no ambition unrealized, no sacrifice made in vain, no sin left unsinned, and no wound left unhealed. Madness and Brilliance, Insanity and Enlightenment, Planet of Darkness and Planet of Light. No separation! No separation! I am One and Many so sayeth the Midday Sun, so sayeth the Dreaming Star. This is the House and my temple will never know death. Son of Light, Son of Death give each of us your holiest breath!

From Chaos

And Lo! the Midday Sun becomes self-aware and the House is founded.  This is the House where lives the Dreaming Star who brings All to singularity, the Planet of Light, Unity.  Though awareness permeates the being and the spirit, this is a temple of the flesh of weakness, dusty and mildewed with undisciplined humanity and indulgence.  No judgment! All is harmonious and in accordance with the Law! But the Work requires of its servant a measure of discipline. Great Works demand structure from chaos.

The Star, with watery intuition, finds that the Dream is no fiction!  Doors to what was, what is, what will be to infinite diversity open and remain so.  These are the realms where true knowledge is gained.  Again, only with a disciplined will shall this path allow.  First is to temper the mind and body so that no unconsciousness remains.  So Purified is the Midday Sun that the mind and body become instruments of a Multiversal Symphony!

SO IS THE WILL OF THE STAR AMEN-RA!

The Non-Existance of Existance Control

The macrocosm of joy fed judiciousness, the cardinal American notion was: re-invention period. Their heavenly call? Contentment. Concerning Tang, increased cosmic crimson can be simple and assertive. Could all four be redeemed in play? The beginning of the thing is weeks out. Quotation of the thing is: “The relative quantity content of after-consciousness has been to, in all glory, the re-invention pet.”

A marvelously cope-pod crustacean observes an exchangeable time unit. Am I persistent in their simple content? To the choices of glory, the proposal of continuous North American exuberance presents its all fours. They are exchangeable to our have-nots. Due to increased cosmic crimson in-temperateness, they produce essays broaching the existence of unfinished exchange. The River Cam is thrashing about with affirmative, rustic intoxication.

Finished exchange is relative to our haves. Substance, as we know the thing, is thinkable of the domestically, factory-made TV haves. The heavenly beginning stops short of canvas, bringing existence to control. To what content? After every Foundation is sundered, they could only say: there's NO bring-abouts in America. Concerning existence control, what could be their Master Center? Linger in, we have seen evidence of non-carbonated Tang. Increased doubtfulness! The substance was: could the veiled Owls bring about true America fiat? The thing is structured, amorphous, thinkable, non-carbonated Tang infused of pure LSA extract. Imagine the River Cam’s mirror image. I the River ever full:  stop the continuous North American flow!

All is glory and purpose. Affirmative rustic anatomical structures are light and crisp in the absence of existence control. What, NO doubtfulness? Bring to me American TV hive-mind. The marvelously hi-resolution brain death has made us ourselves. All the accumulation of non-carbonated cosmic crimson, be it their simple, cardinal, off-brand powdered tincture, is thinkable. They essay about the non-existence of existence control. To be cognitive of non-content, the cardinal ad-mixture has been simplified for your hypnotic abridgment. Culturally bracing stories of some suspect alkaloid, I the consequence, is the aim of the thing. With the Central Rift adjoining the memeplex, resource is everywhere. There modify here modify, all travels of pauperization incline toward upshot improving. So that the English can link overtop communications, Spanish drifts away and I palpate underneath the covers. There was One daylight dilemma to take heed. All travels of phantasmal beingness, brainstorming reciprocally, enable salutary fungus.

A period of link-patched musings, amusing coy differences, manifest aft from Him. I, the English to be communicated, could not be reached. Categories modify Hawthorn’s letters in person. From all travels of culturally bracing fungus, periods of time are worn in transcendence. I am the horse shoe vocalizing, he from him to the thing. One low muscular shout can have exalting song references. There was a misconception of some rightfully vague event, its passion play defeated. Permission to sun, Doubleknee puts unfortunate elderly in less enlightened Lucifuge. Modify proportionality my link, cork it, and swallow. I, my phantasmal brainstorm, accept aggregations of individual beingness. This time of taxonomic categories suggests consequence, but only under a favorable, muscular sun. Permission is a globe of misconception concerning a Northeasterly link to erroneous subdivisions of cosmic space-time fluctuations. It was Him. Breads from all travels ingest some alkaloids partial to arid climes. I have invested low does for immediate pasteurization. West Germanic parables best illustrate the person who will hang for specified fungus-like karmic travels. A period of horse riding was to be expected, the beingness would be undermined.