Archive for November, 2007
Austin Osman Spare was one of the great visionary artists of the twentieth century. He is largely unknown outside of the community of occultists. I have found that his art can be approached like you would a deck of tarot cards to open yourself to the possibilities of of countless worlds. Click on the page tab at the top of the page.
Or Click Here
After seeing the numerous offenses perpetrated against humanity for supposedly insulting Allah and Islam, Allah has this story for the egregious assholes caning, beating and bombing in his name. Take heed, Imams, blasphemers, idiots, who say you speak for me. Oh, and happy ass fucking!
These words are meant to uplift the souls of the elect. For verily I say unto thee not idle word nor idle untruth shall be issued from my lips. Allah has commissioned me to bring you tidings from your martyrs.
A great man known to thee has whispered to me his secrets from the garden of his heavenly delight. In between sips of cognac and bottles of beer he gave to me his tale. Muscular dark men attended his every desire, fanning his brow, kneading his body, attending to the acne on his back. I inquired as to why he hadn’t been attended to by seventy two voluptuous virgins and he explained that after his death he had visited the overseer of the temple of virgins, but due to a linguistic mix up his name had been translated as Sodom and he had been awarded seventy virgins of the same sex. This however proved to Imam that he had indeed been favored by Allah. For only Allah could’ve known his secret desires.
This is of great significance, the Imam explained, and then he went on to explain how the coming prophet will come into being. The Imam’s face contorted and his breath quickened as he watched one of the male attendants bend over to pick up a piece of cooked pork entrail that had fallen from his serving platter. The young man brought the platter over and began taking pieces of the cooked pork and skewering them, bringing a spasm of delight that tickled the Imam’s sphincter. The Imam excused himself and motioned for the attendant to follow him into a room off the veranda which was walled with luxurious carpeting, and from which stifling musky incense emanated.
After fifteen minutes the Imam returned wearing a fresh robe and aqua flip flops. Gathering up a piece of pork, he slumped onto a portapot that the attendants had duped him into believing once served in a Turkish prison. “The coming prophet has already come into being and is being taught the ways of the world which he will enter. His conception was a glorious event, a culmination of seventy two days following my martyrdom. I had blown up seventy two of those heathen Hebrews and was rewarded, as I have already said, by the overseer at the great temple. I was not able to see Mohammad as he was in conference with Ronald Reagan, Joseph Stalin and Chairman Mao. But I was assured of his greetings and salutations upon entering the glorious domain of his heavenly majesty.
“Anyway, I had been admiring my consorts’ athleticism and dexterity one day I had to go to the bathroom to relieve myself, and just as I entered the stall a consort was leaving; and I noticed a moaning sound. After a lengthy inspection I discovered the noise coming from the turds left by the consort in the drain. I began to spy on the consorts when they would relieve themselves and discovered that the same moans issued from each of the consorts’ bowel movements. The consorts would to a man double over with laughter as they coaxed the moans from the turds.
“I would continue to watch these lumps long after the consorts left the lavatory and found that the lumps would issue a shriek every fifteen seconds or so for up to five minutes and then the sounds would cease altogether. It just so happened that one day Mohammad had come to greet me in person and I had an opportunity to explained the phenomenon to him and ask what he thought. He was greatly amused and decided to stay and see for himself. So I ordered for my consorts a breakfast of bold coffee and prunes and Mohammad and I spent the interim amusing ourselves with stories of flatulence. When the coffee and prunes began having their effects on the consorts Mohammed and I took our positions outside the lavatory. I tell you that it took a great deal of strength for our great prophet to hold back the torrents of laughter that overcame him, but he was able to hear the shrieks of the little brown lumps. In between spasms of laughter he managed to tell me that it was a great sign that the coming prophet was to be born and he was already giving sermons. “
I came back to myself, put down the Koran, wiped my ass and flushed. Thus is brought to you the greetings and salutations of our martyrs.
The original Principia Discordia with the intro from Robert Anton Wilson. Below is the intro. written by RAW.
Read/download the pdf file
Read/download the Word file
INTRODUCTION
You hold in your hands one of the Great Books of our century fnord.
Some Great Books are recognized at once with a fusillade of critical huzzahs and gonfolons, like Joyce’s Ulysses. Others appear almost furtively and are only discovered 50 years later, like Moby Dick or Mendel’s great essay on genetics. The Principia Discordia entered our space-time continuum almost as unobtrusively as a cat-burglar creeping over a windowsill.
In 1968, virtually nobody had heard of this wonderful book. In 1970, hundreds of people from coast to coast were talking about it and asking the identity of the mysterious author, Malaclypse the Younger. Rumors swept across the continent, from New York to Los Angeles, from Seattle to St. Joe. Malaclypse was actually Alan Watts, one heard. No, said another legend – the Principia was actually the work of the Sufi Order. A third, very intriguing myth held that Malaclypse was a pen-name for Richard M. Nixon, who had allegedly composed the Principia during a few moments of lucidity. I enjoyed each of these yarns and did my part to help spread them. I was also careful never to contradict the occasional rumors that I had actually written the whole thing myself during an acid trip.
The legendry, the mystery, the cult grew very slowly. By the mid-1970’s, thousands of people, some as far off as Hong Kong and Australia, were talking about the Principia, and since the original was out of print by then, xerox copies were beginning to circulate here and there.
When the Illuminatus trilogy appeared in 1975, my co-author, Bob Shea, and I both received hundreds of letters from people intrigued by the quotes from the Principia with which we had decorated the heads of several chapters. Many, who had already heard of the Principia or seen copies, asked if Shea and I had written it, or if we had copies available. Others wrote to ask if it were real, or just something we had invented the way H.P. Lovecraft invented the Necronomicon. We answered according to our moods, sometimes telling the truth, sometimes spreading the most Godawful lies and myths we could devise fnord.
Why not? We felt that this book was a true Classic (literatus immortalis) and, since the alleged intelligentsia had not yet discovered it, the best way to keep its legend alive was to encourage the mythology and the controversy about it. Increasingly, people wrote to ask me if Timothy Leary had written it, and I almost always told them he had, except on Fridays when I am more whimsical, in which case I told them it had been transmitted by a canine intelligence – vast, cool and unsympathetic – from the Dog Star, Sirius.
Now, at last, the truth can be told.
Actually, the Principia is the work of a time-traveling anthropologist from the 23rd Century. He is currently passing among us as a computer specialist, bon vivant and philosopher named Gregory Hill. He has also translated several volumes of Etruscan erotic poetry, under another pen-name, and in the 18th Century was the mysterious Man in Black who gave Jefferson the design for the Great Seal of the United States.
I have it on good authority that he is one of the most accomplished time-travelers in the galaxy and has visited Earth many times in the past, using such cover-identities as Zeno of Elias, Emperor Norton, Count Cagliostro, Guillaume of Aquitaine, etc. Whenever I question him about this, he grows very evasive and attempts to persuade me that he is actually just another 20th Century Earthman and that all my ideas about his Extraterrestrial and extratemporal origin are delusions. Hah! I am not that easily deceived. After all, a time-traveling anthropologist would say just that, so that he could observe us without his presence causing culture-shock.
I understand that he has consented to write an Afterward to this edition. He’ll probably contradict everything I’ve told you, but don’t believe a word he says fnord. He is a master of the deadpan put-on, the plausible satire, the philosophical leg-pull and all branches of guerilla ontology.
For full benefit to the Head, this book should be read in conjunction with The Illuminoids by Neal Wilgus (Sun Press, Albuquerque, New Mexico) and Zen Without Zen Masters by Camden Benares (And/Or Press, Berkeley, California). “We are operating on many levels here”, as Ken Kesey used to say.
In conclusion, there is no conclusion. Things will go on as they always have, getting weirder all the time.
Hail Eris. All hail Discordia. Fnord?
-Robert Anton Wilson
International Arms and Hashish Inc.
Darra Bazar, Kohat
The text is provided gratis by 23 Apples of Eris
Robert Anton Wilson, one of America’s most original thinkers and authors died on January 11, 2007. He left a legacy which individuals from all stations of life can draw upon. He once said, “My goal is to try to get people into a state of generalized agnosticism, not agnosticism about God alone, but agnosticism about everything.” And, “Is”, “is.” “is” — the idiocy of the word haunts me. If it were abolished, human thought might begin to make sense. I don’t know what anything “is”; I only know how it seems to me at this moment.
RAW, as he was known, is perhaps best known for such works as The Illuminatus! Trilogy, Cosmic Trigger, and Maybe Logic. The Sex Magicians is an out of print work whose publisher has gone out of business. I found this online through the 23 Apples of Eris - Discordian Chaos Website
Click the image to read/download the entire novella in pdf form. Click here for the Word file
Half a century after Virchow, entomologist William Morton Wheeler was observing the lives of ants. No ant is an island. Wheeler saw the tiny beasts maintaining constant contact, greeting each other as they passed on their walkways, swapping bits of regurgitated food, adopting social roles that ranged from warrior or royal handmaiden to garbage handler and file clerk. (Yes, at the heart of many ant colonies is a room to which all incoming workers bring their discoveries. Seated at the chamber’s center is a staff of insect bureaucrats who examine the new find, determine where it is needed in the colony, and send it off to the queen’s chamber if it is a prized morsel, to the nursery if it is ordinary nourishment, to the construction crews if it would make good mortar, or to the garbage heap kept just outside the nest.)
Viewed from the human perspective, the activities of the individual ants seemed to matter far less than the behavior of the colony as a whole. In fact, the colony acted as if it were an independent creature, feeding itself, expelling its wastes, defending itself, and looking out for its future. Wheeler was the man who dubbed a group of individuals collectively acting like one beast a superorganism.
Click here to read entire article
A central rule of large-scale organization goes like this: the greater the spryness of a massive enterprise, the more internal communication it takes to support the teamwork of the parts. For example, in all but the simplest plants and animals only 5% of DNA is dedicated to DNA’s “real job,” manufacturing proteins. The remaining 95% is preoccupied with organization and administration, supervising the maintenance of bodily procedures, or even merely interpreting the corporate rule book “printed” in a string of genes.
In an effective learning machine, the connections between internal elements far outnumber windows to the outside world. Take the cerebral cortex, roughly 80% of whose nerves connect with each other, not with sensory input from the eyes or ears. No wonder in human society individuals spend most of their time communicating with each other, not exploring beasts and plants which could make an untraditional dish. This cabling for “bureaucratic maintenance” has a far greater impact on what we “see” and “hear” than most psychological researchers suspect. For it puts us in the hands of a conformity enforcer whose power and subtlety are almost beyond belief.
Click here to read the entire article first published by Howard Bloom in 1997
Here is an exhaustive fable outlining the practices, delusions, insanity, abuse of the “religion” of Scientology and why it is nothing other than a cult. Included is an explanation why so many celebrities have been drawn to this cult.
Scientology’s obsession with secrecy has developed for a purpose. It has been deliberately designed to hide its abuses, casualties and its real purposes and nature.
Less that 2% of the individuals within Scientology have ever seen the inner secret initiations and information of this story. Significant parts of this story have never been seen before in any form. Scientology members who have been exposed to Hubbard’s secret writings are required to sign nondisclosure agreements for the rest of their lives. To attempt to enforce secrecy Scientology has even registered Hubbard’s secrets as its “trade secrets”.
This story is the result of decades years of research from the work of many different researchers and sources. Often in unexpected ways, the style and structure of this story will seem to suddenly twist and turn as it tries to unveil the convoluted secret Scientology and the layers of deception and misinformation used to hide it secrets from uninitiated outside eyes and ears. In discovering the secret Scientology for yourself keep in mind that the overall context of Scientology and its actual actions IS as important as specific initiation details.
Read the entire article here
Kenneth Grant and the
Typhonian Ordo Templi Orientis
by P.R. Koenig
Edited and with annotations by James M. Martin
Attention: this was written in 1991 and therefore does not include the recently discovered document and pertinent discussions: Aleister Crowley appointing Kenneth Grant as his “successor as Outer Head of the Order of the Templi Orientis” in 1947.
I happen to believe that Kenneth Grant, Outer Head of the Order of the so-called “Typhonian O.T.O.”, has as much authority as anyone to make that claim. In order to demonstrate the truth of this assertion, I must provide you, the reader, with a short history lesson, which follows, set forth in more or less chronological order. Our story begins in 1942, March the 14th to be exact, when Crowley wrote to Karl Germer: “I shall appoint you my successor as O.H.O. but on special terms. It is quite clear to me that a complete change in the structure of the Order, and in its methods is necessary. The Secret is the basis, and you must select the proper people.” (1*) Crowley called Kenneth Grant “a definite gift from the Gods” and on wrote in his diary in March 1946: “Value of Grant: if I die or go to U.S.A., there must be a trained man to take care of the English O.T.O.”.
From whence did Crowley’s authority derive?
In April, 1912, he was chartered Grandmaster (X°). Until 1914 and the outbreak of the War, only two lodges were operative in the United Kingdom: Crowley’s and another headed by G.M Cowie who, like an L. Ron Hubbard, would later run off with the order’s treasury. There can be no doubt, then, that Crowley remained supreme authority over the O.T.O. in England for the next several decades (although he was expelled from the O.T.O. by Theodor Reuss in 1921). Around 1945, Gerald Gardner, “our beloved Scire,” the leader of many British witches, allegedly was chartered “to constitute a camp of the Ordo Templi Orientis, in the degree of Minerval,” which document seemingly was signed by Crowley. (2*) Gardner, however, never found the time to run the camp, and it is said that this alone led to Germer’s decision to allow Grant to work the first three degrees.
Click Here to Read the Full Article
It was a triumph of galactic proportions: Science fiction writer L. Ron Hubbard had discarded the body that bound him to the physical universe and was off to the next phase of his spiritual exploration — “on a planet a galaxy away.”"Hip, hip, hurray!” thousands of Scientologists thundered inside the Hollywood Palladium, where they had just been told of this remarkable feat.
“Hip, hip, hurray! Hip, hip, hurray!” they continued to chant, gazing at a large photograph of Hubbard, creator of their religion and author of the best-selling “Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health.”
Earlier that day, the Church of Scientology had summoned the faithful throughout Los Angeles to a “big and exciting event” at the Palladium. They were told nothing more, just to be there.
As evening fell, thousands arrived, most decked out in the spit-and-polish mockNavy uniforms that are symbolic of the organization’s paramilitary structure.
The excited assemblage was about to learn that their beloved leader, a man who dubbed himself “The Commodore,” had died. Yet, death was never mentioned.
Instead, the Scientologists were told that Hubbard had finished his spiritual research on this planet, charting a precise path for man to achieve immortality. And now it was on to bigger challenges somewhere beyond the stars.
His body had “become an impediment to the work he now must do outside of its confines,” the awe-struck crowd was informed. “The fact that he … willingly discarded the body after it was no longer useful to him signifies his ultimate success: the conquest of life that he embarked upon half a century ago.”
The death certificate would show that Lafayette Ronald Hubbard, 74, who had not been seen publicly for nearly six years, died on Jan. 24, 1986, of a stroke on his ranch outside San Luis Obispo.
But to Scientologists, the man they affectionately called “Ron” had ascended.
The glorification of L. Ron Hubbard that brisk January night wasnot surprising. Over more than three decades he had skillfully transformed himself from a writer of pulp fiction to a writer of “sacred scriptures.” Along the way, he made a fortune and achieved his dream of fame.
This is the full series articles that appeared in the LA Times in 1990. Click here to read them.
Here is an excellent review of the Jack Parsons biography “Sex and Rockets: the Occult World of Jack Parsons” which details his association with L. Ron Hubbard and their attempt to communicate with the “Whore of Babylon.”
It’s been nearly three decades since Thomas Pynchon pondered the psychic connections between sex, rockets and the Kabala in his convoluted novel “Gravity’s Rainbow.” But even that was 30 years after Jack Parsons embraced that oddly compelling trinity — as a self-taught chemist and co-founder of Pasadena’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL), who devoted much of his life to magic and following the occult mage.
Parsons is the captivating subject of a new biography called “Sex and Rockets: The Occult World of Jack Parsons,” published by quirky Feral House, which bills itself as the “publisher that refuses to be domesticated.” (The author is listed as John Carter, although Feral says Carter is the pseudonym of a writer who has withheld his name so as not to jeopardize his job.) It’s not the most artfully written book, but the story is so fascinating it transcends the author’s rather pedestrian style. And, unlike the many accounts of Parsons’ life you can find online, “Sex and Rockets” provides a fairly objective telling of the story that seems to have intrigued many an occultist writer.
Click Here to Read Full Review
|
Bookstore Specializing in Occult Sciences and Philosophy
Subscribe to RSS
