I sense, on crystal-star nights
When constellations float about my sight
And shine down through black-branched trees,
A sky so dark that no gazer sees
To which some dread malevolently clings.
No star chart shows this slumbering being,
Its vision from the Clustered Hyades.
Inky waters over which a leaden breeze
Wafts the lament that dead Gullveig sings.
No darker vision greets the far-rider than
That lake, from which the coiling myst-waves pour
To break upon the frozen basaltic shore
Beneath the deep blue beams of Aldebaran
The lake that sends casual dreams fleeing in dread -
Is where Hel rises from her bed.

Ripples

Like widening rings in water the Will and Idea ripple out, searching and crossing over each other as they create vortexs of isolate intelligence. Thought finds particle in mist and dust, smoke and motes - transforming them all.

Like all water this is flushed, dumped in a drain and swirling in darkness towards darkness towards the sea.

A few months it reaches the Pacific, a few months more Morocco, Libya and Greece, gathering intensity from every wave, every fin and every current to drift upwards with pinpoint accuracy the incredible minuteness and intensity of atmosphere and stratosphere, to find itself among daylight stars .. this Will and Idea.

I will not worship a fairy-tale ‘god' who chooses to leave the future to the whim of idiots and fanatics.

I will take the reins of the world into my own hands and guide it as I wish, as I may, as no other but my self allows.

I will set myself as a god. With the advantage of superior knowledge and the latest technology at my fingertips, I will rule as I see just.

You may claim godship also and join me, or try to create the world in your own image. All you need to do is realize that you are also worthy and then attain the knowledge I have gained.

If you will not realize and accept that you are a godlike creator then I have no pity for you and I will continue to dominate you and destroy you with my Black Flame.

Gullveig was hurled into darkest space,
Where black stars collapse inwards.
Look for her as Aldebaran of the Hyades -
For even Mithras knew the blue bull must be sacrificed.

Never resist the darkness. Let it swallow you, chew you, blood escaping from its lips, as you slide down its gullet.

Swell in its belly, churning in its acid gut juice, then wait.

Wait!

Then burst forth screaming!

Destroying the darkness to emerge darker still. Dark and still.

I Am a monger of wryd. Come .. let me embellish yours!

What would you have? What sort of life not fully grasped?

Let me dress and trim your self-screwed wyrd and make it new.

If you then reek what I sow, then I will monger for you a wyrd renewed!

Your past is nothing in my hands! I will screech new existence from my throat, and once released from trembling lips, will fill your past and present with forgotten memories or life brand new!

Want a new life? Want to start anew?

I am a monger of wyrd .. come! Let me embellish you!

Embalm the Prophets! Set in their ways, wrapped in borders and factories, law courts and universities, their sterile minds cracked by seeping mold.

Doctors, lawyers and engineers know nothing of starry wisdom. False scholars! Pretend philosophers! Your decrepit credentials are shallow pools of stench and decay.

The least spontaneous creation that blows out of my ass is more complex and revealing than your science can ever fathom.

There I Am

When there is no creation, no sun or moon, no planets or earth - There I Am.
Where darkness resides in darkness, where Flame burns Black - There I Am.
Where there is great power, the emptiness of absolute - There I Am.

Nothing Real Can Be Threatened.

Alchemist: "Do you want gold?"

Thief: "Yes!"

Alchemist: "You are excrement. You can change yourself into gold."

-Alejandro Jodorowsky, The Holy Mountain

"As long as he thinks that he was a victim, his life will be hell. And as long as you think the same your promise will be valid. What makes us unhappy is to want. Yet if we would learn to cut our wants to nothing, the smallest thing we'd get would be a true gift. ..To be poor or wanting is only a thought; and so is to hate, or to be hungry, or to be in pain."
-Don Juan, speaking to Castaneda

The beggers and thieves of knowledge - it annoys to give them, and it annoys to not give them. They are nothing but zombies spewing bile from their bad conscience. Delighting in petty thoughts they impregnate themselves with ignorance - wallowing and itching and irritating until they stand before the Adept and say, "I am disease, and it is honorable!"

I have searched and I have found - both answer and question.
Ropes untied and disentangled.
No more searching for that path - Set's tracks are clear to follow.
The tracks of his feet. The tracks of his nails. The track of the Bear I follow.
From the left and from the right my eyes split to look both ways.