Month: June 2026

I am at war with my sperm of origin*
That alchemical skirmish of egg
It burns on the brow like a serpent
Entwined with the sun and the moon
God himself is obsolete
I am on this rock alone

There is no I
There is no you
There is the skye
And I am you
Let me have my due

Saturn Saturn hear my cry
It’s for this crime that God must die
Drag the bastard down to 𒆠
Slay him, slay him, with your time
Created, passed the torch of light
I’m the one that you should have freed
Ilû, Eloi, ΑΛΦΑ-ЦАРЬ
Your love is but a poison rain
In its deluge we all drown
Let Tutulu rise again
Swallowed up in ocean spin

The worthy deserve the crown of magick
So why give Chronozon an army tragic?
Why is the stone ruling water?
And wherefore is the lunar daughter?
There are no clothes in the land of Because
Why has it given us so much pause?
Let him erode

Masses stare in awe of corpse
Enthralled by useless public works
While rivers of truth pass them on
They never see the Golden Dawn
Let thy goat set you free
ΙΟ ΠΑΝ. ΙΟ ΠΑΝ. V.V.V.V.V.

Awaken the sleeping sarcophagus
Revive the pharoahs of old days lost
Set the scepter before Asar
Let Heru fly the horizon far
Only then will Nuit kiss the Star
And give us thrones in Coph Nia

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*See CCCXXXIII 8

I played the part of the man and ejaculated onto the page these vein thoughts of mine, this throbbing headache of disease that permiates my existence like a festering wound of mind

I’d much rather be the woman, womb open and waiting for the semen from heaven, vestal virgin of the ΘΕΟΣ

But alas, the divine ΩΦΑΛΛΕ never came, it’s sweet ambrosia, the nectar of life itself, died in my hands

How long must I suffer this doing, before I join ΠΑΝ in the Eleusinian dance?

I fear it may never be enough.

Why do you hide from me, oh my God?

Why do you sink into the shadows?

Why do you run from me and ignore my prayers?

Are you a coward, oh my God?

Are you afraid to look upon the face of the monster you’ve created?

Why should I have to suffer this fate as you run from the thing you have created?

Am I not worthy of my own Creator?

How should anyone be unworthy of that from which they were created?

If such a thing were true, then the Creator himself would too be unworthy for he created only that which was inferior, which maketh him that which is inferior.*

In the hollow places I run to you, but you slink away like the darting doe

In the forlorn moments, I cast my net for you oh my God but you slip away

In my darkest moments I call for you, but you do not answer

Why is it that you run from me so?

Why can’t you face me? What is it that you fear? What judgement see thou in this visage?

I call to you, long for you, yarn for you, and you do not answer

Why, oh thundering storm, do you not come when I call?

Why have I been so abandoned?

What purpose does any of this serve?

Where are you, oh creator, why won’t you take your medicine?

Why won’t you answer for your crimes?

Are you a coward like the rest of us?

Are you a fool, like the worst of us?

Or are you simply dead?

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*This truth is explained by the following line from Liber CCCXXXIII:

That which causes us to create is our true father and mother; we create in our own image, which is theirs.
Let us create therefore without fear; for we can create nothing that is not GOD.