SEX & DEATH

 
27/2/09 - SEX and DEATH.

 
“ Two greatest obsessions and motivating forces that drive humanity"
 

Liberation
Enchantment
Evocation
Invocation
Divination
Gnosis
 
The truth exists within the symbolic crevices that are ridden throughout the history that my soul has withstood.
 that dark encoaxing misery that used to ride my soul and inject my heart with the most vile and toxic infestation of venom, has been replaced by the warmth of this splendorous embrace that can only match the definition that they call happiness. 
 
But misery would be an ongoing hell if happiness had not shown its face. 
 
I now understand why suffering is needed for anything good to be worth something.
 
For ying and yang presents the fact that all things have this soul which was split in two. Duality. 
 
Shattered with the line that drives the divide of dark and light, black and white, day and night. 
Thus, I have lived a life with my soul in accordance to a broken duality juxtaposed upon itself  in patterns without end. 
 
I'm deeply split. To the core. 

 
Last night I took a final walk and endured that the burden of his ghastly fixation that broke my heart, mind and soul in the most bitter desperation was a fragment of the past which I see as a once rumbling volcano, now lies dormant and repressed.
 but considered for it was the power I sucked from the "love" he ensnared which brought me the insight to dissolve the "reality" which used to attempt to skin me alive and slaughter the blazing fire inside with its mind-numbing hide and buildings made on a foundation of lies. Maybe I can build a city from the ashes.  
 
For our connection that retied and tied and wired strings that were trying not to spill the surging potential that hid within was smashed by the illusion he buried on my skin as he drove the syringe of poison in. 
 
The never-ending spiralling staircase to oblivion was extracted, and replaced with a vision that dissolved the meaningless division into a curious and clear journey that would broaden my scope for wisdom.
 
It is time to grow and evolve. 
 
For an indefinite length of time, my mind had been fed with contaminated lies and the misleading guide that our society provides and slides across humanity's eyes. 
 
I was sick with my disguises.
 
My obvious isolation and disheartened soul blackened with a slab of misinformation was the perfect equation of self-eradication, 
for when one is made to feel like such a disgusting degradation life becomes a purposeless humiliation. 
 
Suppression of all that surged within beating and hounding my heart for a means of release, denial of my insides resulted in apathetic bliss. 
 
I was building on the hope of an outsider's momentous sacrifice. 
 
The majority's quest for an enslaving demise. 
But for the years I spent locked in the dark, I could only feel half of my murmuring heart, I never felt at home being herded with the masses, nor belonging as one.
I always felt something was missing.
 I'm an outsider, who was cast out from the in;
something to circle the sea of what humanity thrives off with an electrifying glee and eccentric conditions. 
On the edge of surrender to the fucking pretender my spiral that could've ended with a lifeless teenage melancholic drama queens suicidal body smashing across the rocks;
swept up by the surging and chaotic currents that lament the rolling and glistening oceanic seas of this divine planet.
for my path was snared in the glassy endurance of a wave that is destined to climb and fall in the rising motion of the labile tides of time under tension,
It carried my lifeless body and as the sway of the rolling waves droned on for what seemed like an eternity of days until my fog-ridden haze was spread with the brightest daze, 
a mixture of chemical-induced craze on top of sweet-tasting riddles that caused my heart to sizzle, 
even when the coldest winter days, 
made that shiver turn into a body-shaking quiver. 
 
That burst of the divine alchemical riddle was an elixir I could never not chase. 
 
For a moment, the dark cold was kept away by his temporary embrace and with each perfectly delivered line my heart was degaussed and the catatonic mask was carefully removed, although in the end I was failed by him again and again. 
In the end, 
I am embraced by my inner animus, and his voice melted into my brain and taught me how to do the things I couldn't before. 
Now I am engulfed by the transfiguration of the chemical equation merging my sense of self from the old into the new, again and again, the journey, unending.
 
I do thank the correlation that provided the key to turn in the lock concealed under that heavily burdened block, the key to perceive.
 
It was a short journey inclined to shock and jolt my insides to a wide-eyed plight, 
The initiation of my darkest night of the soul, 
burning with passion to light the lack of sight covering my eyes. 
 
His warm comforting arms wrapped so perfectly around me that it wasn't hard to seethe with the exhilarating fury that engulfed as he walked away from me. 
But as I tumbled from the rapture of that well-documented capture that was brutal and beautiful enough to paint a fine and divine tunnel that entwined and ventured through even the most infinite divides and ranges that are embedded in one subconscious mind, for he showed my heart how to examine the picture that ones imagination indents in a bewildered whisper, when I learnt how to see an objective perception every motherfucking misconception was redefined and shown how to find the path that follows one's mind. I was hit by the illusion that brought me the path toward a fusion - for I will banish this disillusion!
 
Journey Inside
 

For each wicked laughing demon I hide 
Legions inside mirrors behind
with an intent to deride the underlying thirst that burns so intense, 
like an enchanted forest devoured by a flaming fire, 
Imagine as each shred of once untainted greenery is burnt to a crispy ash without mercy its once lively desire is slashed! 
The potential to quench this rampaging dryness that coats my insides like a heat-fueled desire is limited, 
when I opt to escape what instigates and manipulates its dirt-ridden traits trying to keep my eyes blinded like a good piece of bait. 
For when I run like a coward and try to escape hate I turn the potential for love and throw it away. I am darkness, 

I AM DEATH, I AM HATE. 

I am blessed, I am okay. 
Each dark-driven desire in turn provides the power to ignite into a bright and white light. 
That will crackle with delight and fill me with insight, 
each demon that doesn’t go buried and denied is worth 
the temporary snide for eventually it will share its will to slide down that spiral slide that is a cherished ride full of wisdom that hides power and knowledge, 
for once it was required that each sparking ignite that surged in flight was forced to endure a fight as it struggled to remain 
as a single complete charge that could spin and win 
with the energising whim of two polar extremes that existed within,
providing this powerful completion, that was more coherent 
than a puzzle pieced together,
or ordinary weather. 
Habits were provoked to evoke and the true nature awoke 
as each surge was callously drawn apart from the complete, 
full circular whirring spin.
It was just existing within and like a painful separation, 
all that existed was diced, split down the centre in a single slice! 
Roll the dice, splice, twice!
 
The surging spin had lost the fully charged whim and these disillusioned particles were injected with what we call rejection, a lost and molested abandoned product of separation, 
These molecular charges longed for reunification for the hand that would mould perfectly into yours, a fusing but eternally painful quest to regain the original equation of what adds to draw together as one from the first hint of separation the hole that follows began to evolve and it was then the split mould was given away to unfold in what manifested into day and night, black and white. The dark and the light that divides the essence of this life.
 
So what I'm trying to describe is how opposing forces have been summoned to a sleepless slur that will cause a havoc but invisible stir, 
 
Day brings the light and is followed by night which presents us with dark, is not a surprise that black contrasts with white for death follows life and my ultimate desire is to overrule this water racing against fire by dissolving away oblivious to the seductive sway of beautiful decay. 
 
This never-ending switch turns on and off but never stops,
 until one admits that everything apparent is also split, 
into an opposing glitch that threads the stitch that weaves together the fabricated illusion due to their disillusion, 
for they trick their minds to feel the impact of the programming.
 
Break the duality, the dichotomy is juxtaposed but both can exist as one creating the trinity, as Pythagoras once spoke of, the constructive angles that create the designs of the structures we build the blocks of our foundations in.
Build a way out.
 
humans, mostly, instead of being real and uncovering all that is reeled away out of grasp so they live blissfully in a heap of bullshit and tell themselves this two dimensional construct of a reality paradigm is all there is. 
it's a program engineered to manipulate your senses engineering your consciousness for the power-money-asset-controller pyramid point that control the resources, media, food, energy, information, land, all aspects of governance by design by design. (UN/AGENDA21/NWO)
 
its fact!
 
To be wise enough to override the lies is not for the weak or the cowards who are meek as the false foundations that formulate the lies are the only haven in which one might find that euphoric carefree splendour that laments a fictitious conclusion.
 
This is a trap, the illusion of democracy comes under the illusion of duality and corresponds to the myth of determinism/fate style philosophical modules of thought. 
 
FREE-WILL is what all reasonable humans should exercise, but not without both introspective and self-reflection and Socratic and intellectual discussion. 
 
Thinking from a macro-cosmic view, or a meta-view is also a way to engage in a deeper understanding of reality. 
 

**** NOTE FROM 2023:

 

I write this in 2023 after reading the 2009 journal entry that appears to be one of my first "magick journal" entries above working from "Liber Null & Psychonaut" by Peter Carroll.

 i was 17 years old and still had the foresight to know somehow to keep a magickal journal because i didn't know, i was a born magician/psychic/medium/spiritist.

.

 I had no “conscious” involvement in magickal work until a few years after this, (evidence says otherwise)when i was practicing daily ceremonial magick and since then i keep a strict magick journal that helps me piece together cause and effect. 

I don't understand anyone who claims to be a serious magician and not even log the most basic workings down in a notebook, it baffles to my core. If you can't write then type it but keep it private, why share everything you do?

Thinking from a macro-cosmic view, or a meta-view is also a way to engage in a deeper understanding of reality. 

 

Many people even today, be it in the alternative media, conspiracy, occult, magick, or community do not engage in healthy levels of both intellectual discourse and self-introspection that is without evocative, shouting emotionally jacked up opinions from the rooftop style social media commentary.

I am going back to analyse and reflect on my many years of shadow work and see the weakness and strength of character to build on in my present state. 

 

Say your truth on social media, but keep in mind, that journaling and keeping private notes and records of things is a timeless art that thousands of years worth of sorcerers stored into well-preserved (albeit often mega cryptographed) grimoires. 

I am also going back to these old journals as an exercise of introspection and self reflection, and because I wasn't properly practicing evocation per-say, I am happy to share my writing because I can now look at it in retrospect as the start of a very long dark night of the soul journey. I can no longer write the poetry of Chronzon, or the tunnels of set, so I ascribe myself the task of auditing them to understand my ordeals through the Qlioppth. 

 

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS WRITTEN FROM 2009, I was a teenager. 

NOT 2023. EDITED IN 2023. 

 

 

QOAW.

How a child's innocence is corrupted by the wickedness of pedophilia

2017, Flooding with memories dissociation and fragmentation:

She understood by that age her parents intention was to wean her out of the habit of cowering on her parents’ bedroom floor whenever the creatures would crawl from the shadows and out of the walls. 
 
They didn’t know her only refuge was when they played with her, or read her stories, or gave her affection. She loved when they would answer her questions. But two babies came along. The eldest child was quickly shunned, for their second and third sons were much easier to raise. 
 
They were peaceful babies, without any night-terrors or yelling into the early morning for their parents attention. They never screamed, rarely had tantrums, and abided by rules. Her parents invested all their energy, on their sons, who they felt were less damaged, their hypersensitive daughter could sense they had love for her siblings that they couldn’t give to her, and over her school years, as her behaviour became more bizarre, their disfigured daughter was forgotten, swept under the rug. 
 
Not only did she feel alone at home, but she was shunned by her peers and they called her ‘weird”. She would wander the playground alone, looking for someone who didn’t slice a knife through her chest when she asked them if she could play with them that day, another no, and she was afraid tears would roll down her face; “crybaby, crybaby, what a baby!” and leer, the boys in her class would tease her, so she hid her face in disgrace. The out of bounds toilets and library a refuge, an escape. 
Books were her friend, her final solution. She remembers a girl calling her a “grub”, for dropping a spoonful of yoghurt down her school jacket. 
This deemed her unworthy of being allowed to play with these girls. Again. Alone. It was painful, and she cried all lunch, and could not get past it. 
 
On her school worksheets she would call herself “Emily”, and her teachers called her parents to ask why their daughter didn’t write her real name. Her parents perplexed at why their child was deviating from what they had taught her at home. The inner shame endured before age 5 was to blame for her inner pain. 
Never wanting to write it down on pieces of paper or books. She hated her name, because she felt she was to blame for hands creeping into areas where it gave her shame so virulent, it would make her retch and heavy. Her heart was heavy, full of trepidation and fear. 
 
She would lie, mislead, and could not comprehend the instructions given.  So she’d spend class head in hands, sobbing in her books because she felt stupid, for being unable to craft a woollen pom-pom, or finger-knit, or do cross-stitch. She would be unable to even loop a needle through a thread, and apparently this made her stupid, ill-equipped and unfit for normality. Rejected by society, she retreated in rebellion and secrecy. Breaking rules was always something that made her happy, because she gave up following them as she couldn’t get it right. It just seemed easier for everyone if she lived up to her “stupid” “bad” “naughty” “dirty” girl mentality. 
She was really good at stealing at school, and made it a habit to take books from her teachers, once she hit second grade she learnt to remove the barcode from library books and sneak them into her library bag to smuggle home. Slowly collecting a collaboration of free things, her self-esteem had grown for each successful gain.
 She would steal from kids bags who had been mean, and when the teacher confronted the class about it she would sit there silent, refusing to confess, letting other kids get the blame. Why should she suffer when they caused her pain? She would never be accused, because she had never been known to be one of the disruptive ones. She slipped by quietly in the back ground, until grade 4. 
This was the beginning of a life of being outside, looking in, trying to disguise her true self and fit in with the rest of the kids. She never managed to get a grip, on her place in her peer group. 
Kids can be cruel, but their words stung like hell. She had no sense of self to comfort her when she was laying in the dark, at night alone. All she knew was to imagine zooming out, imaging zooming above her house, above her neighbourhood, city, state, country and earth. 
Into the universe she rose, trying to escape the evil on earth. She understood weather, clouds, planets, and the human body. She loved her computer when she got it, and learnt how to play sim city from scratch aged 7. She read books every night, and loved learning new facts. But she couldn’t get the knack of being like the rest of the pack. 
 
Her first year of school, they said she was stupid because she couldn’t hold her pencil like the rest of the students. She learnt to read age 3, but never had the chance in school to read books for longer than 10 minutes, what happened at school, she will never actually know.  She only liked reading, and when she had friends. 
 
Sometimes her friends would ignore her for weeks on end and she would have to pretend she didn’t wander the playground without a companion. 
 
She only remembers menial craft, sewing, barn-dancing, and repetitive songs in the quadrangle, boy girl dancing, and two straight lines holding hands. She also remembers inappropriate sexual conversations with the boy she sat next too, and her sleepovers with female friends always turned into orgies. 

Scrapbooking helped me integrate through flooding 

She thought it was normal, it was only after these parties, when her friends disappeared, she became overwhelmed with shame, and blamed herself for their departure. 

Carnal knowledge was her only friend, the only companion from beginning to end. 
 
Where is the peace, where is the security? 

The carefree bliss of childhood? 

A voyage through heaven and hell

Trip report post 2011 LSD/MDMA trip 

The time I looked into the mirror on acid against all advice….

My impulses lay uninhibited and ready to burst out of my chest as sheer euphoria pounded through my body, causing my heart to race with pure adrenaline as I stood alone on that crowded city street, inhaling the smoke from the cigarette dangling between my fingers, my eyes readily devouring the chaos that lamented my surroundings as crowds of people swarming around me carried out their daily endeavours. 

Who were all these strangers I wondered? 

They all seemed so preoccupied within the anxiety associated with their lives and displayed a mask of sour, bittersweet apprehension across their face. Didn’t they know that life was a mere illusion? A pattern within a pattern disguised with the delusion one must commence a lifelong quest in order to obtain truth and happiness.  But there I stood on a cold, rainy Winter afternoon watching as people busily rushed back and forth, filling their life with regulated mundane activities in a hopelessly vain attempt to chase down happiness and seize it by the throat. Never before had I felt more alone; immersed within a sea of faces and bodies, watching life progress from the sidelines, my uninhabited frenzy of emotions longing to break loose and run wild.

The music flowing from my ear phones provided my soul with the only comfort from the hollow abyss of solitude that was awaiting my arrival, 

Tool understood my mortal dilemma, their music is pure fucking brilliance manifested into audible decibels, 

Maynard’s luminous symphonies had never failed to satisfy the eternal longing that echoed within the vacant cavity that had grown to live in my chest, always crawling under my skin and clawing for satiation, screaming my name constantly under excruciating frequencies, begging me to fill my body and mind with a temporary cure to the immense loneliness and ambiguity that lingered and groaned relentlessly. 

Demons, demons knocking at the door, longing to take hold, block them out and ignore.

An uncontrollable grin had crept upon my face and taken a hold, I pondered the sensation of the euphoric bliss that raced through my body and wondered if happiness was simply just accepting the state of eternal solitude that coincides with human life and coming to terms with the fact that one will stumble over rough terrain and high seas and commence their journey to the grave alone? I had known the truth for too long, since that day I sat on the beach as terror sucked me into the vacant abyss for the first time and opened my eyes to the raw and complex mediocrity of existence. I had been stunned that day and my perception had been altered significantly. 

That vacant abyss lingered again, that dense and daunting vortex of naked truth that shrouds every corner of the globe, waiting for the aware and alert eyes to glimpse into its woven web of volatile information. 

It was whispering empty illusions in my ear attempting to coax me into the dark tunnel of infinite oblivion that consequently consumes the entirety of my being after consuming a strong dose of LSD.

I felt fucking incredible, too good, my mind was stimulated and racing with ideas, flowing with creativity and voicing a continual stream of paradoxical queries. 

But the laws of physics hit too close to home for me and I knew what goes up, must always come down, often resulting in me crashing in a cataclysmic meltdown and collapsing into an inconsolable mess.

It wasn’t too long before the demons worked their way through and took hold. I wandered back to the hotel room and found my lover and stripped off to have a warm shower when they lurked their way into my proximity.

 

I broke down in a mixture of hysterical tears and laughter as I attempted to cleanse the demonic entities from my mind and soul, but as I tried to wash them away they filled the bathtub and slithered up from the drains and into my hair. 

My lover held me in his arms and stroked my hair as I babbled incessantly about my fears, trembling and crying, burying my head into his chest and longing to escape the capricious concave of my tainted past that was now infusing my surroundings. 

I felt my eyes twitch as they fought to take my body and mind hostage, flashes of tattered and bloody bodies nailed to crucifixes and pentagrams filled my minds eye, 

I felt like I was vomiting an overwhelming sea of emotion. 

So this is why I hated vomiting, It wasn’t the actual sensation of gagging and choking on digested food that I was afraid of, rather the high anxiety associated with being trapped in my body and being completely out of control of my thoughts and feelings that I could not stand. It was not understanding, confrontation with pure terror, feeling so wrong and out of place, messed up and disfigured by the hands of a sick and twisted man and not knowing why I was experiencing paralysing dread whenever his hands wandered into places they were not supposed to go had literally made me sick, sick with fear. 

The nightmare I was trapped within as a child was now looming upon me, broken memories and shattered recollections overpowered my mind and chased me relentlessly. I curled up into a ball and battled the colourful flow of images racing through my head. I don’t remember when it passed, but it did.

We swallowed some MDMA as the night wore on, inhaled the fumes of marijuana, and chugged down glasses of vodka and eventually I calmed down and had an enormous conflict with my reflection in the mirror as I attempted to do my hair and make-up and get ready to go out clubbing. 

We left the hotel eventually, wandering the city streets and bracing the chill of the cool night air and heavy rain that showered down. 

My lover and I chatted incessantly about the nature of the people who surrounded us and how much we despised the human race, how their facades were disgustingly transparent and their minds shallow and empty. 

We got to the club and stood outside puffing on cigarettes and analysing everyone, after about thirty minutes we decided we didn’t want to be around all these people, this convoy of freaks masquerading false illusions and deceiving themselves and we walked back through the pouring rain to the hotel. 

I collapsed on the bed when I got home and swallowed a Xanax my lover had obtained to end the remnants negative trip I had earlier. Serenity slowly washed over my body and we laid together and the remainder of reality and the external world faded out. He was the only person alive in the whole fucking universe for the rest of the night as far as I was concerned, with music playing, the cigarettes and marijuana infinite and the conversation running open and free we lost ourselves in each other until the morning light began to peak through the curtains.

I realised how I couldn’t be without him now, how his presence meant everything to me these days and we had entwined as one. He was perfect for me, he understood my cynical mind and injected it with optimism and hope. 

He levels out my hysterical and emotional core and provides me with coherence and stability. He is the logic and the rationale that I have always longed to be and he teaches me so much. We talk openly with one another and divulge our buried secrets and untold truths and embrace each other’s souls. 

Being with him as we tripped together on LSD and coming so close to perpetual insanity, with him holding my hand and taking care of me for each step of the journey, never judging me or losing patience with me ensured my connection to him had strengthened significantly. 

I haven’t felt this complete, connected and comfortable to anybody in so many years and only once before this. I contemplated the fact that I might love him, when did this happen I wonder? 

When did I fall into the depths of this oblivious fury? 

I had spent an entire year attempting to get his attention and when I finally succeeded I was fucking ecstatic, something I longed insatiably for had finally become mine and I will always cherish that. 

I speculated that maybe I had tried to dismiss our relationship and sever the ties between us because I was so afraid of falling in love and being abandoned again so once again that horrid sensation chokes me and leaves me desperate for air. I don’t want him to leave me, I worry that he will lose interest and find someone else, or that I’m not pretty or successful enough for him. I am so paranoid that I am broken, beyond repair, plagued by an array of debilitating mental disorders and he will eventually tire of my outlandish antics, wavering, raw emotions and my disposition for pessimistic melancholy. 

What about the way I sit deep in thought and smoke too many cigarettes? Or forget to take my medication and become unstable, staying up all night and writing pages and pages lost in a manic haze, then going out getting fucked up, getting myself into dangerous situations, partying incessantly then crashing into a tedious depression where I consequently spiral out of control and attempt to kill myself and need to be taken to the hospital. 

What about the days where facing the world becomes unfathomable and I become ensnared by a depressive haze and I cannot physically leave the house or get out of bed.

Will he lose interest in the melodrama that incorporates my whole life eventually? Every time we have sex I have paralysing flashbacks making it an almost impossible act and I am frightened that he will become bored and impatient with this, find a girl who will fuck him without crying hysterically and complicating even the simplest act and leave me for her.

 I’m worried I may become so anxious about him abandoning me that I will push him too far in one of our fights and he will never call or text me again, leaving me in the dark forever. 

I’m so afraid he will realise how defective and fucked up I really am, is he ashamed of the scars on my arms and legs from when I slice open my flesh? 

What about my tendency to abuse chemicals? 

 What about when I become consumed by the dark vortex of disenchanted apathy? Or when I lash out and lose control?

I swallowed my AM dexamphetamine and cleaned up the hotel then went for a walk through the city to get coffee and food and became very lost as the morning progressed. 

It took me ages to find the hotel again as I was sleep deprived and disoriented from my cocktail of substances. 

I have concurred that I will NOT take acid again as the outcome is always the same and the journey descends through heaven and into the confines of hell every time. 

My eyes are already open to the divine truths be held by the universe and I have done acid around 20 times and each time It exacerbates my mental health problems to extreme levels and could be dangerous if I have a bad trip and start to think suicide is the only escape. 

I realise the importance of moderation and resisting the urge to abuse drugs in excess, sure I like them a fucking LOT but they do not make up who I am, provide a useful escape or turn me into someone else like I initially assumed they did. I also want to move into an apartment in the inner city as soon as possible because I thrive off the continual movement and action that occurs in the city. xxx