MERCH!

Monday, March 30, 2015

Path-notes from the edge of forever(1)

(extremely crabbed handwriting, Page 36)


And it was there on the bus that I had my epiphany. I seem to have a lot of them ever since I stopped sleeping. There's a sort of clarity and a cleansing of the psyche that comes with it, but I must remain on track. The work it never stops. My mind is a furnace with all sorts of movement going on in back as if burly men were moving furniture around back there. The work. I must. The work...
In any case, the epiphany was this: In alchemy, you have a language of chemistry, but alchemy is also a metaphorical art, meant to reach up and grasp the root of the world tree and pick its fruit. I'd cite the relevant works, but I must get this thought on the paper. Must must must! It's a metaphorical art. That's key. Very key.

Emotional states create chemical changes in a person. So, by means of this metaphorical art one (1) can find a means of the chemistry and fundamentally the MATH of the HUMAN SOUL! Parse it! The complex interplay of chemical reactions dictated by the brainwave patterns of the human mind. If one (1) could find the alchemical language to complete the equations, you could create the necessary chemical reactions at will. One (1) needs to find a shorthand for the emotional apparatus. If you can, you can create emotional states AT WILL! 

But further, there is a greater jump. I now believe that the ancient Chinese had a means, a system, to take this math to its ultimate state. By creating chemical reactions WITHIN THE HUMAN BODY, they learned a method, a complicated and multi-step method to be sure, to find a way into immortality.

When I realized this I became ecstatic and the bus driver, the one(1) I do not like, was forced to throw me off the bus. I will bathe in his blood when my powers of reckoning are upon me.

I need to find this emotional alphabet, and I need to tattoo it onto my hands so that I can manipulate the reactions outside my mind. Learn reflexes; study the muscle memory of certain emotional states. I am onto something larger than the whole history of psychology, and if I do it right...I will bring happiness. I will cure madness. I WILL STEP INTO FOREVER!

The Demonic Dialogues(4)


"So tell me about Christ." 
"No." 
"What?" 
"Do I stutter? No."
"Why not?"
(Subject pinches bridge of his nose) "I don't feel like it. And, in some cases, not allowing mankind to know certain things is more potent than telling. Besides, you haven't compelled me to do so."
"I thought we'd keep this friendly."
"We're not friends. NORMALLY what happens is I am summoned and I am either compelled, which requires more mystical juju than most possess...Or I am offered compensation."
"Like what?"
"Hm. Well. I generally only ask for the Devil's Dare. All you have to do is manage to get through the turn of a moon without telling a lie. If you are willing to wager that, I am usually willing to answer any question that I am asked."
"What happens if someone fails?" 
(Toothy smile) "There are consequences." 
"You've been answering questions already. I haven't taken this dare of yours." "No. That's true. I...I was bored."
"BORED?"
"Do you know how long it's been since I've been summoned? No one's INTERESTED in the truth anymore. People are more interested in the Internet. They're more interested in lol-cat pictures and videos of people being hit in the gonads"
"I'm interested in the truth."
"You're not typical. You're not even typical for most seekers after "Truth." And, that's the sad part. People don't want truth. They want to hear what they want to hear. If they didn't I couldn't HURT them with the truth. If people could just learn to LIVE in truth, they would never need to fear it."
"Seems a lonely way to live."
"I admit it can be trying at times. Even someone like me has occasional troubles. The simplest questions can be like a minefield. 'Did you enjoy the party?' 'No. I was bored and your friends are a bunch of mouth-breathing, carrion eating, bottom feeders who wouldn't understand the subtle damaging of an immortal soul if it fell on them.'"
"You have parties?" 
"We're not always on the clock. Try to focus." 
"Sorry." 
"...Where was I?" 
"Living in truth."
"YES! Living in truth...You have to work so HARD. GOD! What I wouldn't have given to have been able to simply say to Talaxis, 'No, those pants don't make your ass look fat'."
"Oo." 
"I KNOW! I know!" 
"So...The Devil's dare is a transformative process isn't it?"
(Subject appears impressed) "You picked that up a lot faster than most do. Yes. Living in truth has a large effect on your life, sometimes a great deal larger than
people suspect." 
(There is a long pause) "Do you have anything to drink in this joint?"
"Seriously?"
"Well, I'm not a Chinese demon. Those bastards can really drink. But, I could stand to whet my whistle. I could go for a beer."
"If I get you a beer, will you let me ask you about Christ?"
"No..."(Rolls eyes) "Ask it this way: 'If I get you a beer, will you answer questions about Christ?' I can let you ask me all night long. Doesn't mean I have to answer. You see how that works?"
"Yeah, I guess so. If I get you a beer will you answer questions about Jesus Christ?"
"As long as it isn't cheap beer. As I said, I don't get out as much. I'm not going to waste perfectly good truth about the Son of Man on horse-piss."
"I'll see what I can do." 

(There is a brief hiatus in the conversation while I find beer in the fridge upstairs.)

"You had a girlfriend?" 
"More than one. Eternity can get lonely." 
"I guess."
"Making love is the closest thing that sentient beings have to being less alone in their own skin. Naturally, relationships between eternal beings can be...complicated, especially if you're on opposite sides."
"Does that happen often?"
"More often than you'd think. They rarely work out well. They tend to flame out rather spectacularly."
"Know from experience do you?" 
"That's...none of your damned business."
"Fair enough. Party foul. My bad." 
"So. " 
"So. Jesus Christ." 
"Doesn't exist. Never did." (Querrent spits out his beer)
"You asked, although, to be fair, you're not being precise enough. Jesus is a Greek translation of Joshua, or to be more literal, Yehoshua. And 'Christ' is actually a title. It is a Greek word meaning 'Anointed One'. When you ask me about Jesus Christ, you're actually asking me about Jesus the Christ, so to speak."
"You know what I mean."
"Of course I know what you mean, but you must be specific when dealing with Demons. And, you mustn't ever forget that I AM a demon, because the second you do, I'll get you."
"But you're telling me that."
"It doesn't matter. People always forget who they are dealing with."
"I'll try to keep it in mind."
"Do. This is the most interesting conversation I've had with a human being in decades. (Subject smiles) I'd hate for you to come to a bad end."
"I'm touched."
(Subject laughs)
"I think you're dodging the question."
"The truth of Yeshoshua bar Yoseph is a bit like a needle in a haystack. It's hard even for one such as I to sort it all out. Are you really sure you want to know?"
"I am recording this." 
"Doesn't matter. To my way of thinking, the divinity of Christ is entirely
immaterial. What is more important? That he was the son of God, as so many believe, or that he was simply a man trying to make meaningful changes in his religion and who paid the price with his life. Which is more important? Don't you think that the loss of the life of the MAN is MORE worthy of respect than the transubstantiation of divine flesh?"
"I hadn't really though about it that way."
"In truth, each person carries within them a spark of the divine, a connection to the ineffable presence. Some have a trickle. Some have a geyser. Why do you even want to know? You're not even a Christian. Most Christians would burn a person like you at the stake. 'Suffer not a witch to live'. Isn't that what the King James Bible says?"
"It's a deliberate mistranslation of 'Thou shalt not tolerate a poisoner among you'."
"Well, you HAVE done your homework."
"I have, and you're dodging the question again."
"Am I? Know me so well in our short time together, do you?"
"No. I only know my question remains unanswered."
"Again, you're not being very specific. You've only asked me about the most general idea of the man."
"Alright then. Let's get specific. I want you to tell me if Yehoshua Bar Yoseph was the Son of God."
"Yes." 
"Yes?"
"Yes, but then again...So are you. You and every other human to walk this earth are the children of God. He said as much. In fact, he never called himself the Son of God. He called himself the 'Son of Man'."
"I think I'm getting a migraine."
"That makes two of us. Look, what is so hard to understand about this? He was a man with a uniquely divine channel. He was also a child of the Most High. These things are hard to pin down when you're dealing with flesh. They aren't so
discrete as you'd like to think. Did the man, laugh, cry, take a piss, belch after meals, fart in bed, love his wife? Of course. Was he touched by God, or least your narrow narrow conception of him, yes, yes he was, but that's nothing you couldn't do for yourself, if you chose."
"Wife?"
"Under Mishnaic law, in order to be considered a Rabbi, he had to be married. The Marriage at Caina was HIS marriage. To Mary, if you want to know."
"A former prostitute."
(Subject spits on the floor) "A vicious Church slander. Mary was a priestess of an Eleusinian mystery cult."
"Wow. Did not know that."
"Most don't. If you look at the history of Christianity, you can see why artists have an inherent distrust of editors. Inerrant word of the Lord my thrice-damned FOOT!"

From the Diary of Emile Belasco(2)


I feel truly sorry for most people who express a desire to study the occult.

The problem is not one of desire. To look into the corners of the secret world is an honorable task. Loki's pants! It's necessary to our continued survival as a race, I think! 

Science is limited. It's very good for what it does, but it doesn't handle the inherent chaos of the cosmos very well. And empiricism’s adherents are just as hidebound and dogmatic as any backwoods bible thumper. Their intellectual condescension closes their minds tightly against the infinite. Oh, there are a few who have seen through that trap, and their minds are needed for this sort of exploration.

And therein lies the problem. Intellectual rigor is often hard to find in the field of true occult study. In order to truly untangle the mysteries, one must have a mind that believes but also is skeptical of new things. Parapsychologists get too wrapped up in their charts and graphs and telemetry readouts. Cultists drown in their unquestioning belief. Poor, wide-eyed, crystal waving fools. They are so hungry for a little magick in their lives that they put themselves at risk, either to charlatans willing to take their money and their faith for their own purposes, or to entities that only need a foot in the door of this world. Like the most heinous things, they need only an invitation. Pity the poor gullible fools.
Ideally, the best minds in the field are people with real powers that have manifested in such a way that required them to study responsibly and get those powers under control. I shudder each time I am in a bookstore and see some bright-eyed young person pull down some volume on Enochian. 

It's like handing a chainsaw to a six-year-old. Someday this world is going to crack in two, like a china saucer because of some ham-fistery on the part of an enthusiastic experimenter with more power than sense or experience.

Friday, March 27, 2015

From the Diary of Dr. Emile Belasco(1)


Madness.
Each and every practicing magus that I've ever known has some cautionary tale to tell of some poor uninformed soul who did something and went mad a result. God knows that my own experience with The Fragments has pushed me to the edge of my sanity. And I know its insidious sigils have left more than one mind broken on the shoals of intellectual curiosity.

But what most people leave out of their equations in these sorts of workings is that madness is not a linear progression. Some go mad slowly, quietly. Indeed many of their closest friends may not see or feel their madness until it is far too late. Drummond was such a case; his bibliomania was one of those quiet forms of insanity. Indeed, his family and his peers fed it for years. No one could have foreseen that he would die from a double cross at the hands of the thief who broke into the Smithsonian at his bequest. If only he'd stayed away from the Biblia Ad Tenebrae, he might be alive today.

Others go mad all at once, and usually with extreme consequences. I remember when Luther Cabrell went over the high side. To be fair, he'd been doing experiments with summonings, and that's always playing with fire, in my opinion. But Luther was a strong-minded individual with the willpower of a true magus. He had power, talent, imagination, and most importantly, patience.

So what went wrong? No one knows for sure, but I suspect that each of us is prey to fears in our subconscious. Fears we don't even know of, and one of the spirits reached in and pulled one screaming out into the light of day.
Pain is what causes madness, and we all react to pain differently. Thus endeth the lesson.

The Hungry Poems


(Found in the wreckage of the Author's utterly destroyed house. A small black leather notebook. There are missing pages

 I have no love, I have no art. There is no fire in my heart. There is no bread; there is no meat.
There is no spark; there is no heat. Not one, from two, to come apart. There is no fire in my heart. I see it now. It is not fair.
The world can burn for all I care. I will not sing; I cannot dance. There is no path. I have no chance. I stand alone. I’m not so smart. There is no fire in my heart.

Call the winds and scour me.
Call the waters and drown me. Call the fire and burn me. Call the earth and cover me. Call the void and claim me. Forever and ever, amen.

 I lie .Broken and torn
On the cold, slick, black rocks of desire.
So close.
I fell. I should have jumped
Into the sea of love.

Jesus, Rodney.
Who the fuck are you kidding?
No one gives a shit about poetry, especially not the florid purple shit you write.
Might as well dig ditches or put up drywall.
You can open your veins and let your blood run out, but why can't you open something else and let your pain run out.
Why do I get the feeling that all I'm doing is scraping out a hole in the world. A hole in the world, I'm just going to pour my spirit into. Fuck. 

4 candles, (black) nail polish, (black) get some tangerines, ketchup,
love, affection, romance, ramen, lithium prescription, brass bowl.

It's been a whole month since she called me last.
Something is growing inside of me that is black and festering. I'm not surprised, I suppose, except by its violence.
I woke last night dreaming of fucking her and killing her at the same time. My hands around her throat. My power over her complete...I woke up afraid...ashamed.

I had enjoyed it. 

I am afraid now that if I see her again that this tide of ugliness will rise up in me again and destroy us both.
So. In a way, it's good that she hasn't called. And I don't think she will. 

 I saw the silver eyes. They saw me too.
I spoke to it. It spoke in my mind. It said it could feel my hungers from a long way off.
It asked me if I wanted turn my hunger into power . I said yes.

 These will be the last words I write. I found the missing piece of me. It was within all this time. I simply couldn't face it. Now I've been shown what I can do. My soul is sharp like a scalpel in a learned hand.
Epiphanies are a mixed blessing. And now that this sad little play is over, I'll step off the stage. 


Complete.

From the White Dharma (3)


The universe sings a song. 
The name of that song is "God". 
And, every heart that beats, Is a drum keeping time. 
Every wind that blows, Is a horn's cry. 
Every day that passes, Another phrase in the song of life.
Learn then the tune and steps. 
Know the beat and hear the harmonies. 
And the song will be a part of you.

The Demonic Dialogues(3)


"Why did the war start?"
"Well, I wasn't there at the start of it, as I said. I was a Djinn at that time. But, I suppose that I joined the Demonic Host because Djinn have traditionally always had contempt for the human race.
"Really? Why?"
(The subject smiles) "You don't fly. What sort of creatures are you, that you cannot taste the sky? We looked on you the same way you probably look at slugs and such."
"We can fly now." 
"I know. More's the pity."
"Are you dodging the question?"
(Subject rolls eyes) "In truth, I don't know. I can know many things, but there are things that are veiled from my sight. The inner mysteries of the mind of God, the Adversary, and other entities with portfolio fall under that purview. I can, however, speculate."
"Speculate?"
"Yes. I can speculate. I do, however, have to be clear that what I am speaking is speculation, but I am allowed to."
"Alright then, why do you THINK the war started?"
"Thank you. See, that wasn't so hard. You're doing very well you know." 
"Spare me. The War..." 
"Right. Well, I think the war started over Aesthetics." 
"Aesthetics?"
"Are you some sort of cleverly disguised parrot? I THINK the war began... because the Adversary wanted everything to be beautiful. He wanted sentient beings to be like unto God himself. He wanted existence to have internal logic and symmetry. He wanted the world to be a like a lamp lit by the Holy Spirit instead of the rude base matter it is. He didn't agree with the final direction of the plan. Simple as that, and since this "Passion Play" can only have one director..."
"But if everything was beautiful then nothing would be."
"Not entirely true...But, being saddled with ugliness in all its forms would be one Aesthetic we wouldn't have to deal with. I think the Adversary merely wanted things to be more...Pure. I mean look at you..."
"I'm sorry?"
"You certainly are. You are such crude models of what you could be. You can't even be counted on to pass the portion of beauty you have on to your progeny...and your bodies...Ugh! Most of the demons of my acquaintance feel in need of a shower in fire after dealings with your kind. Feces! Snot! Phlegm! Pus! Yuck! You are practically micturating machines, fluids from nearly every orifice you possess!" (The subject shudders uncomfortably, and then seems to re-assert his control) "I am sorry. I apologize. I try not to editorialize, especially since it's not your fault. The accident of your birth. I try...I actually try somewhat hard to be generous."
"I'm not sure I believe you." 
"I'm sure I don't care what you believe."
"In truth, a lot of the war was over you. His vision for you. And in truth, you are not without a beauty of your own. It's simply harder to get at. Perhaps more valuable as a result. You're certainly more complicated...I mean that in a good way."
"I'm sure."
"Oh now. Don't be like that. I am, and I believe I covered this, incapable of either sparing your feelings or shining you on. It works both ways, see?"
"I'm beginning to see why the other Demons avoid you." 
"C'est la Guerre."

Sunday, March 22, 2015

From the White Dharma(2)


The practice of magick is the practice of making a cup of clay. You must know its shape. You must use the proper materials. You must patiently craft it.
You must discard it, if it is not made correctly, and begin again. You must use water You must make it into what it will be. You must kindle fire and make it strong.

And then, when you have achieved all, you must pour into the vessel so that its space may know purpose.

In some men, this vessel holds fire. In others, it holds love. In others it holds a soul's worth of agony.

What will your vessel hold?

The Demonic Dialogues (3)


"There's just one more thing that you need to understand about the Angelic hosts. Hmm... God is like... a signal. Now you and the rest of your kind can pick up the signal, a bit like someone trying to tune in the "X" while driving through parts of Texas, or trying to pick up a television show with a pair of decrepit rabbit ears. You're blessed in that. You don't know how blessed. Some of you have better reception than others of course. The trouble with Angels is that, unlike you, they have a radar dish for picking up that signal. See, a world in which you don't know the will of the LORD is a world full of possibility. A world of free will. But, when you hear that clarion call of the Lord's will and know it for what it is, well, that's not a world where you are ever going to be free, is it? 

Now, the trouble with that is this: The word of the Lord is one to angels, whether it's "comfort a sick person" or "lead a lost child home to it's mother" or..."destroy an entire city". 
Ever seen an entire people wiped out? I have. Knew the Angel responsible in fact, and his face was a beatific smile as if his purpose in life was consummated...

 As if he were complete.

It's been noted in other places that when God wishes to destroy something, He
doesn't send us. He sends HIS children. He baptizes them in the blood of humanity...and they... They love him for it. 

And us? The opposition, as it were?
We get no signal at all.
Most of us try to forget what it felt like. Some of us even do. 

And I? Well, it is poetic I suppose to miss the Presence, and wish for a redemption that will never come.
Doesn't make it hurt any less."

Excerpt from the Occult Investigators Field Manual


Occult Investigation Field Manual (Excerpt):
1) Get good shoes. Steel toe, with a non-slip tread.

2) Get a good tool bag or doctor bag. Get one with a padded strap and plenty of pockets.

3) Keep Altoids and Altoids gum tins. They are too useful for carrying small things.

4) Never ever underestimate the power of extremely loud metal music in agitating ghosts. (Note: Screaming For Vengeance by Judas Priest is a good one, and will prevent you from falling asleep on long drives as well.)

5) Buy a digital movie camera. You may never end up using it, but it'll cut a LOT of ice with local police.

6) Flashlight AND matches.

7) Having it in your Phone is not a substitute for having it in your little notebook. Having it in your little notebook is not a substitute for having it in your head.

8) Learn the WHOLE Catholic rite of exorcism, not just the sexy Old Testament sounding bits.

9) For every useful book on the occult that you find, three will have no index. Four will have poor translations or be subtly wrong in other ways. Two will be incoherent because of poor editing. Three will be incoherent because of incipient insanity on the part of the author, and at least one will have a diagram upside down.

10) Good heavy gloves. Nitrile gardening gloves. 

11) Even if you're going to exorcise an apartment, TAKE THE COIL OF ROPE!

12) Take multivitamins. Cold snaps during a haunting can be a problem during flu season.

13) For the trunk: two breakdown shovels, cleaning supplies, and plastic sheeting.

14) If you do not know how already, learn to swim.

15) Do not be claustrophobic if you want to do this sort of work.

16) There are a few household chemicals that can be used to create improvised explosives. Get familiar with the locations of any big box supermarkets that are open all night.

17) Pistols are rarely useful. Shotguns, however, are another story.

18) Ask for a name. You probably won't get it, but it never hurts to ask.

19) If the warding glyph is at all useful, you might consider tattooing it on you.

20) Always...and I cannot stress this enough, ALWAYS carry a set of nail clippers on you.

21) Be prepared for the texts to be wrong. Never plan in such a way that you're betting your life on the translation.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

A book marked only "Journal"


I had the dream again. I saw her, almost. She was there under the pink sodium arc-lights of our back parking lot, the keys in her hands, the snow softly falling. I stood in the door, a world away. I could have walked five steps and stopped her but I might as well have been on the other side of the moon.

I often think of that night. Would I have given up my self-respect? Would I have stopped and promised her anything if she had stayed? I know that if I had it to do over again. I would.

The dream haunts me. Like an old ghost demanding some kind of action, but I don't know what it wants, and it just keeps getting more insistent.

I write the dreams here, trying to make some sense of it. Sometimes, the dreams come true, but usually I only remember in the middle of it happening when they do. The fog will clear off and I will remember, "I know what will happen next..." and then it does!

Dreams are often fragment of unresolved mental energy. So sometimes they appear as prophecy, other times notes from within. The way I look at it is this:
There are three levels of consciousness, The Super-Conscious, The Sub- Conscious, and the regular everyday Conscious mind.

The Super is like a general. He is in touch with God, or whatever. He is directly connected in a way that I can't even conceive of... He's me and yet not me. If there's something to that reincarnation stuff, he is me, and every life I've lived as an amalgam. The Super knows the battle from the grand strategic level. He's got the whole of the map in front of him. He knows the path to victory on a scale that is beyond my own. As such, he doesn't actually give a fuck about the fine details.

The Sub is like the Captain in the field. He doesn't know the whole of the plan, but he does have his orders and a lot of additional information that the Super doesn't know. He doesn't know the map on the strategic level, but the hills and fortifications in the immediate area, he knows down to the inch. He understands the tactics necessary to take these objectives.

The Conscious mind unfortunately is the poor dumb grunt on the line, trying not to get killed and unable to fix his half-broken radio.

So, I try to pay attention to the dreams, because as near as I know they are the only way of knowing what's really going on. I once dreamt that my parents had been eaten by a rhinoceros and woke up screaming in my bunk bed. So, I pay attention but I am also leery of the information. It's a hard thing to realize that you aren't safe from mortal terror even in the safety of your own mind, especially at that age.

I dream of her, I miss her. My poor be-knighted limbic system is still thinking she'll come back. It doesn't know what the rest of the mind knows.

But if she did come back...Would I be any better? Could I reach any higher? I have to wonder. She didn't see enough potential in me, and now, maybe I am realizing that I'm not seeing enough in me either.

I often think to myself of what I would say to her, to keep her from going that last time. It usually runs something like this. "Do you know what I see when I look into your eyes? I can see the future. I can see a woman who's heart opens like a blossom. I can see twin girls, pretty like their mother with minds as sharp as the winter wind. Woe to the hearts of boys who cannot catch their endless love...and I see a man. He lives each day as if it is a blessing and goes to bed each night thanking God that he has known a love so deep. That's the future I see each time I look in your eyes...and I am so hungry for it to come true that I will do anything to make it start right now."

"Anything."

Tonight, I think I will have the dream again. Tonight I hope I can say it to her. 

Tonight...I want her to hear it wherever she is.

If I have any Magick at all...An it harm none, so mote it be.

The Demonic Dialogues (2)


"Let me tell you about the Lord. You have no concept. In truth, I fear none of us do. Our minds simply don't have the necessary architecture to encompass the Presence. But having been in the Presence, having once been a part of it and forged in its undying fires, I can tell you a little about it. However, I fear it will be like a child trying to explain snow with no knowledge of meteorology or weather systems. There is only thing one that we can all agree on about Him. He is the force of creativity in all its multifarious aspects, pure unrestrained creation. 

In the third heaven there is an angel who would take five hundred of your lifetimes to climb and he possesses a ridiculous number of heads, some several thousand, and each head has a few thousand mouths and each mouth has a few thousand tongues, each speaking to praise his name. THAT, my friend, is creative boredom at work.

Many of us suspect that he created good and evil, selfishness and selflessness, head and heart, and other such juxtapositions to give his world, his creation, his ART some sort of dynamic tension. Artists!

The almighty LORD is on what some would call the Pure Creative Trip. Good and evil don't really enter into it. Just as he is the lord of light and order and justice, he also created insanity, thunderstorms, predators,Black holes, supernovas, embolisms,sharks,  and so on and so forth.

He created angels. More than you can possibly conceive of. Consider any singular thing in the world. It has an angel that looks after it, and as like as not, has twenty or more. Did you know there are over forty-five Angels devoted to the creation of Earwax? I couldn't make up something like that. I simply don't have a mind that decides the chemical processes that go on in rotting fruit need seventeen Angels to look after it.

This sort of begs a certain question. God is, strictly big picture. He works on the broad canvas of the cosmos. It's sort of cute, this whole attitude, that God's eye is on the sparrow. It's not. He's got a few hundred angels for that. God doesn't KNOW you, beyond what he created at your conception. And you should understand, it means that individual lives mean exactly nothing in the face of the grand plan. I'll say this though; it's not that God doesn't care. It's just that he doesn't know.  At least until he wants to.

Omniscience is an abstract idea, and an absolute at that. Like most things like that, it doesn't really exist in nature."

MOAR from Goodlow and Haversham


Dearest Maya:

I am sad to report that Trini Maldonado is longer with us. Apparently he was murdered a couple of night ago in a hotel in Cincinatti.

Why do we have such trouble in Ohio? I would really like to know. 
Strangely, it appears that none of the goods he was carrying were taken, nor were his notes disturbed. While Mr. Cumberland is already on site and conducting his own investigation, it also falls to me to handle the rest of the details of his shipment and inform his family.  As a result, I am sending you this and having you cover the sales event in Stockholm. If you have any further questions, you can, of course, always call or text.  
Love Always.
-Desmond.

Blank Soul
Article Description: squat brown ceramic jar with a purple rosary tied securely around it’s corked opening. The veves inscribed around the base are correct to my eye.
Provenance: Msr. Lafitte DeRossier. (Remind me to send him that cream for gout we acquired in Peru. His was bothering him something fierce last time I visited.)
Analysis of Research Team: As near as the sensitives were able to determine, this is a truly blank soul, without even the rudiments of a personality that a newborn possesses. Either Lafitte was able to completely steam-clean a soul, or he’s discovered a way to create a soul from scratch. Of course, he refused to tell me how he did it, smiling like a cat that had just eaten the proverbial canary...Which leads me to think he hadn’t actually done it himself.  I wouldn’t put it past the old faker.
Disposition: I am truly not sure how to handle this one. I suppose that it could be sold to anyone looking to find a way out from under a demonic contract, I suppose that it could also be used for “Patching” purposes, or could be used to give sentience to a magickal construct. I just don’t know enough about this branch of the magick to know for certain.  But I trust your judgement Maya. You have a nose for these things, and I know you’ll get me the best price.  The main question I suppose is whether or not Lafitte can get us a regular supply.

King Solomon’s Shovel
Article Description: A stout wooden shovel. The head has been replaced at least twice according to our understanding. It does not appear to have affected the magic of the item.
Provenance: Fence “G”
Analysis of Research Team: I’d heard about this one and even tried it out myself. According to legend, this shovel belonged to a man named King Solomon, who was a town drunk and watchman for the cemetery in the city of Lexington, Kentucky during the cholera epidemic of 1833.  Apparently, the man survived to bury a significant percentage of the city, by dint of the fact that he never drank water.  It is also apparent that something passed into him in those days because his shovel has become imbued with the ability to not only allow it’s user to see the shades of the recently dead...But one can actually damage them by swinging the shovel at them. One suspects that Mr. Solomon had many nocturnal battles with the recently deceased.
There is a strange downside to this remarkably useful artifact. The user is not affected by short duration contact with the item. but after a few minutes, the wielder begins to exhibit signs of being drunk... And it’s a bit like a shot of whiskey every few minutes or so. Nice and relaxed, then tiddly, then raucously happy or whatever...Then maudlin and telling everyone you love them...Then sleepy.  I don’t think you can actually “Drink yourself to death” like this, as there is no actual alcohol involved. But no one on the research team is keen to test the theory. Dropping the shovel does NOT create instant sobriety.  Gloves prevent the magick from working, but also prevents the ability to see the ghosts or affect them.
Disposition:  This one is a known quantity in necromantic circles. Fence “G”  assures me that it’s former owner won’t come looking for it. I’m not sure if I believe him. But this one ought to fetch a decent price.  

Twonky Coins
Article Description: Random collections of roman, greek, egyptian and various semitic forms of coinage found in pre-columbian caches all over southern North America. Most have been cleaned or polished, some to the detriment of their collectibility.
Provenance: Various
Analysis of Research Team: Most have no discernible enchantment at all and perhaps only faint traces of residual magick. Their antiquity makes them lovely focuses for talismanic magick of many sorts.
Disposition: Every few years or so, we clean out our collections of these things. They keep turning up in odd corners. No one seems to know why. Theories abound, each less credible than the last. 

Flatulin
Article Description: A re-purposed bottle of Visine which holds a liquid with a light blue tint, that disappears effortlessly into the taste of any beverage or food. We have a regular supply.
Provenance: Willhelm “Jester” Gunther. (Who is going to get himself killed one of these days.) 
Analysis of Research Team:  If a person is surreptitiously dosed with this material, it creates a MASSIVE gaseous reaction in the targets digestive tract. In addition to gastrointestinal distress and unstoppable belching, it creates some of the most unrelentingly toxic, lingering, normally-reserved-to-corpses, viscera-curdling farts it has ever been my displeasure to experience. 
Naturally, Jester thinks this is all very funny. But he DID at least convince me that there is a market for people who might want to socially assassinate someone without bloodshed and keep their own hands relatively clean. 
Disposition: Sell to customers with the following caveats: 1) DO NOT use more than a couple of drops. More than a couple of drops haven’t been tested. It may be fatal.  2) DO NOT use on a target with a colostomy bag.  Even Jester admits that one went too far. (Although he himself STILL could not stop laughing.)

Agony
Article Description: A reddish gum resin, possibly Myrrh as it’s base. The first batch I’ve received was packaged in baby food jars.
Provenance: Tegyrius. 
Analysis of Research Team: Once rubbed onto a object, this material makes using psychometry or retrocognition on the object impossible. Rather than effectively “Washing” the object, it gives the sensitive attempting to glean information from the object a few minutes of utter mental/physical/spiritual agony.  This is enough to hospitalize some. As it did Lara Adler, on our research staff. but creates no other ill effects, Although a sensitive of advanced age could conceivably die from it. 
Disposition: I suspect that unless the overhead required to mass produce this material is ruinous, Tegyrius will become a very rich man from this. It is a paranoid magi’s dream.

12 Bone Champaign Flutes
Article Description: Just what it says on the tin. I’ve noticed that the flutes show exactly no tool marks. Additionally, the flutes appear to have sculpted from the femurs of at least 6 children under the age of eight. A bit gruesome, and of questionable taste, if you ask me. Although, even I have to admit, the workmanship is exquisite.
Provenance: One of our undead friends in Charleston. I’m sure he’d just as soon we not use his name in official documents.
Analysis of Research Team: Trace amounts of magick, from their sculpting i’m sure, but the Research team seems to think that these were made for a specific magickal purpose that had not yet been imprinted on them. Lawrence says that these flutes seem primed to accept some enchantment. We’ve been looking at various rituals to see if we can determine what the ritual in question is supposed to be. But so far, we’ve come up dry. 
Disposition:If purchased by an undead client or necromantic practitioner, offer a price break if they are willing to tell us what they are for.  We’re all very curious.

The DEFINITIVE Mix
Article Description: a blank white cassette tape with a single piece of masking tape across it’s top that says, “DEFINITIVE” in magic marker.
Provenance:Robin Skouteris (Says he found it in a crate of music he bought second hand in Athens.)
Analysis of Research Team: Put it in your tape player and it apparently will create the perfect sound mix for whatever activity you happen to be doing. Great for parties and road trips. (Although I have noticed that every time i’ve had it on in the car, it plays the Proclaimers “500 miles” at least once.)  Sadly, we have not been able to figure out if the thing can be duplicated at all.
Disposition: I almost don’t want to sell this one. Oh, if only I could have a copy for my own.  Any person purchasing, ask them to see about how to do so. Perhaps we just don’t possess the audio technology acumen to go along with our magickal skills.

Smart Gum
Article Description: Bright yellow pack with friendly red letters. Strawberry flavored.  Each pack possesses 5 pieces. We now have a whole warehouse full.
Provenance: Bought from Roedecker (Yes, for the millionth time, THAT Roedecker.)
Analysis of Research Team:  Scientist have found that the act of chewing activates seven separate portions of a persons brain. This seems to cause a slight bump in cognitive efficiency and they’ve noticed in double blind testing that people chewing gum do measurably better on standardized tests.  3 years ago, a company attempted to capitalize on this phenomenon by creating and marketing a gum that could enhance this effect. 
As it happens, they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, and the FDA was forced to step in and shut them down. Once that happened, funding fell apart and the company went directly into receivership. Roedecker picked up their merchandise for a song.
The Gum works. creating a 20-30 point bump in IQ, for as long as you can chew it.  Although it should be pointed out that the chewer become mentally exhausted at a much higher rate and normally once you stop chewing, you want a nap. Extended chewing might lead to uncontrollable narcolepsy...which of course means gum in your hair. 
   The thing that caused some concern for the FDA was that the Gum might possess long term effects, may shorten life-span and/or create favorable conditions for neural stripping and inoperable brain cancers. Not only that, while Smart Gum is not physically addictive, it is certainly mentally addictive. Anyone who feels the rush of their mental processes kicking into a MUCH higher gear are going to want to experience that again and again.  In fact, now that I think on it, Roedecker wasn’t exactly in the peak of health when I saw him last.
Disposition: Sell it, but with the usual caveats.

Skunk Foot
Article Description: Appears to be the stuffed left paw of a skunk. it has been fitted so that it can be attached to key chain, just like the far more common rabbit’s feet.
Provenance: Morris Cullinane (Lost it to me in a card game.)
Analysis of Research Team: As long as you have this article on your person, you will completely unable to use your sense of smell. While in certain situations this can actually be dangerous, in certain other situations it is a positive boon. Your mileage may vary.  In fact, the research team begged me to keep this one in house for our personal use.  I’ll have to see if it can be duplicated.
Disposition: I have no idea if there is an actual demographic for this sort of article, but I suppose that there will be people who once they learn such a thing exists, will want to purchase it. Use your discretion.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

The Demonic Dialogues (1)


(Partial transcript begins)

"Let's begin at the beginning. Can we have, for the record your full name?"
 "Is that necessary?" 
"I'd assumed that you'd want to have people summon you, like most demons."
"Well...I have a different attitude toward that sort of thing. But if you insist... My name is Narath Szoy Malos. I am sometimes called the Demon Prince of Awful Truths."
"Why is that?" 
"I'll certainly answer, but will you allow me to come to back to that one?" 
"I guess. Are you comfortable?"
 "...Oh...Oh you mean the bindings..." 
"Yes." "I'm not actually constrained." 
"WHAT?"
"No. (Subject smiles) But you needn't fear. I'm not that sort of demon. You...(Points) You transposed two characters of the Hebrew in the binding circle. See right there. You really need to be more careful in that regard. A rookie mistake. Might get your face eaten."
"Ah...I see." 
"Just trying to help." 
"I...ah...I appreciate it." 
"No problem."
(Subject produces an Emory board and starts working on his nails.) 
"You're certainly not like any demon I've summoned previously." 
"Well, I didn't start out as a demon specifically. In a previous life, I was a Djinn. A prince of the Air. But, spirits of power are like anyone. You go where the work is. I wasn't involved in the original war in Heaven, but Hell is a bit of push-broom for old gods and creatures like me. We fetch up there because we aren't welcomed within the narrow view of Judeo-Christian cosmology. Sooner or later, you end up working where you find power."
"Interesting."
"Well, I think so. In any case, I assume you've summoned me because you have questions?"
"Well, how can I be assured that the answers to my questions will be answered truthfully?"
(Subject smiles.)"Oh come now; let's not be coy. You used the summoning in the Grimoire of Pope Honorius...I recognized the call."
"Yes."
"Well, it's fairly clear in that book that I am one of only seven demons that CANNOT tell a lie."
"You don't know what translation I was working from."
(Subject shrugs.) "Fair enough. I am the Demon Prince of Awful Truths. Most Demons flee from my approach actually."
"Why is that?"
"Well, the objective truth of reality is like most natural things. It favors neither good nor evil. Most Demons lie. It's simpler to them. Easier. It helps them get their work done. But, the Adversary decided that the Truth should not be something that Heaven should dominate completely. Some demons, myself included, were given dominion over Truth. The only difficulty is, that to be given dominion over the Truth, one must tell it."
"The whole truth?"
"Well... I am allowed to not tell the WHOLE truth. And, I am allowed not to answer something if it would harm me. But, I am prevented from telling any sort of outright lie."
"Why does the Adversary want dominion over truth? Doesn't the truth set you free?"
(Subject laughs) "Yes...You mustn't mistake that for a virtue." 
"I don't know what you mean."
"Oh dear...You really are asking for it. Magi are so YOUNG these days. Would you like me to show you?"
"I guess so."
(Subject looks off to the left, his eyes seeming to unfocus. and then he returns from whatever reverie he was in.)
"Are you sure you want to know?" 
"No, but go ahead and tell me."
"I'll give you points for bravery...Alright... 
She doesn't love you. She's never going to love you. There truthfully isn't anything you can do or say that will earn her love for you. It's best you know now so you can get on with your life. 


It's a hard thing to know about one's own mother. But there it is."
"You sonofa..." 
(Tape ends)