Funk It and Throw a Party : An Epistle to Frater Y

Dear friends, beautiful and happy people, 

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. 

It’s official! Frater Y. is popping the question this weekend in Sèvres, over the Sunday roast, and he’s absolutely terrified! 

(I’d be scared too, mind you, if I had to spend a Sunday in Sèvres…)  

I keep repeating to him the fundamental Shumulism: The crucial moments of existence are like pitbulls — they can sense fear — But he won’t listen. 

Y. accuses me of “talking from a position of ease” (since, as everyone knows, my wife Chloé is so cool and badass that SHE was the one who, at the age of eighteen, very solemnly and gravely asked my parents for my hand in marriage). 

He probably doesn’t know that I myself, many years ago, had to perform a similar manoeuvre to the one awaiting him this Sunday — and in my case, I must admit, it ended in complete fiasco… 

One August evening in the South of France, after seventy-two hours of particularly heated orgies without sleep, my friend Fix and I were cooling off, slumped on a bench.  

From there we had a view into a garden where a charming family was just starting dinner: a very patriarchal patriarch, two young girls dressed in Cyrillus, a mother straight out of Little House on the Prairie, all of them eating melon with port. 

The scene moved us deeply. 

The kindly simplicity of their ways, the peace, the quiet happiness of these people — all of it awakened violent nostalgia in the hearts of us inveterate party animals. 

I remember feeling something like a tear trembling at the corner of my beautiful eyelashes. 

Fix was in the same state. 

“Listen,” I said to him, “we’re idiots to be lamenting like this. All we have to do is ask for the two girls’ hands in marriage, and that’s it…”  

No sooner said than done. 

We took a while to find the gate, and even longer to find the doorbell. 

The father eventually came to open the door. 

I introduced myself and declared that I had the honour of asking, for myself and my friend François-Xavier, the hand of each of his daughters. 

The worthy man must have misunderstood our intentions, because he answered us with a flood of invectives in which the words “drunks,” “hooligans,” and “wankers” came up with painful frequency. 

“Your refusal, sir, would lose nothing by being expressed in less vulgar terms,” I articulated as best I could while we withdrew. 

Ah, those were the days :) 

Frater Y., for his part, reminded me earlier that the akashic reminiscences of the Prophet recorded in Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente include the moment when, newly married and on his way to the wedding night, he found the demon Choronzon waiting for him on the threshold of the nuptial suite… 

Do you remember the verse? 

On the threshold stood the fulminant figure of Evil, the Horror of emptiness, with his ghastly eyes like poisonous wells. He stood, and the chamber was corrupt; the air stank. He was an old and gnarled fish more hideous than the shells of Abaddon. — Liber Cordis, 4:34. 

I. Snow Leopard in the Seabed  

Obviously, coming face to face with Cthulhu as a prelude to the wedding night is a bit of a boner-killer, and most people see this episode as an ultra-stressful horror-movie scene or a convoluted bad trip. 

Not me: I chant this Holy Verse every time a guard appears at the door of my cell, or when I catch sight, through the window, of a particularly ugly inmate (I know this one guy who, when he smiles, matches the description in the verse perfectly. Just add a baseball cap and it’s spot on! Incredible…).  

After which I recite “We have nothing with the outcast and the unfit: let them die in their misery” (AL II, 21) as an Exorcism — given that the “prison population” is almost exclusively made up of outcasts (the inmates) and of unfit people (the prison staff) — which gives a Thelemite in captivity the constant sensation of being a snow leopard who has wandered into a marine documentary. It’s very exotic. 

II. Me And Choronzon Blues  

Speaking of exorcisms, inmates and prison guards — that is to say, of demonology — what am I saying? Of goetia!… What exactly is the demon Choronzon who tried to ruin the wedding night of a guilgul of the priest of the princes Ankh-af-na-khonsu (blessing & worship to him)? 

During the blessed hours of our dear Abbey of Thelema (August 2019 – April 2022), one morning I received the following unexpected question: 

“From GH the Zenist to Sir Shumule the Thelemite, greetings!

Happiness and gallant success! 

I cannot manage, Master, to understand exactly what the demon CHORONZON — described by John Dee and Sir Edward Kelly, who has become the ‘devil’ in Thelemic philosophy — actually represents. 

May I solicit your High Lights on this point? 

Nine prostrations.” 

I had replied: 

My dear Zen friend, 

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. 

You are a seductive mystery destined for a sublime fate who, like every one of us, has a dark side. 

A part of your psyche growls, salivates and bares its teeth: it is unconscious — it is irrational — it feeds exclusively on ill will, perverse passions and instinctive fears. 

It is the piece of the sickness-of-the-world that has landed on your plate. 

Choronzon is the name we give to this mess of repressed desires, ego bruises, and silly self-delusions that you deliberately ignore because it is unflattering and differs, in painful proportions, from what you would like to believe you are. 

Carl Gustav Jung calls it “the Shadow”; Christians call it the Evil One; Jews call it the Yetzer Hara; Hindus call it Apasmārapuruṣa; Buddhists call it Māra; the ancient Egyptians called it Seth — You can call it your evil twin, your Mephisto, your inner Cancer native. 

Consequently, Choronzon is also what the Alchemists transform into gold: not something intrinsically “evil,” but a subordinate who — like all stalkers, all affection-starved bunny-boilers, and all dismissed lackeys — becomes hysterical through overcompensation because he is ignored. 

Thus man compulsively turns caricaturally low-rent in order to stop suffering. If you neglect to “stamp down the wretched & the weak” (AL II, 21), the wretched & the weak will bite you in the calf: they will systematically sabotage your efforts, unless you make the effort to aggressively identify them and alchemically transmute them: “Refuse none but thou shalt know & destroy the traitors” (AL III, 42) — Isn’t it well known that complaining about the shortcomings of others is to betray one’s own failings? 

If you disinherit an aspect of your character, it will suddenly materialise at the edge of the wood, in more or less human form, when you least expect it… 

Like the One Ring of Sauron, it wants to be found: hence the Freudian slips, the pseudo-accidents, the stupid inhibitions — the dangerously repressed libidinous kinks, 

Me and Choronzon were walking side by side, 

I’m gonna beat my woman until I get satisfied … 

the “terrible adventures” of which Saint Friedrich Nietzsche, of blessed memory, tells us that they eventually make us suspect that the person to whom they happen is himself someone terrible. 

See, dear Zen friend! The dwarf who refuses to admit he is a dwarf will be thrown (or rather launched, since he is a dwarf) onto a basketball court in front of millions of viewers: whoever denies what he doesn’t like in himself will have his nose rubbed in it. 

So be an Alchemist rather than a mediocre hoarder! Visita Interiora Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem: “Until you have made the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate,” Carl Jung also said — or, in my tireless formula: what you flee is your Salvation. 

Love is the law, love under will. 

— Sir Shumule 

III. Joyful Noises Only (Exorcism by Voluptuousness) 

Speaking of horror films, the only word whose capital letter seems incongruous in our verse is precisely “Horror,” whose gematria is 681, the same as that of TRVOH: “joyful noises,” “rallying cries,” “blaring music,” etc. 

From which we deduce that anything carrying the idea of PARTY puts Choronzon to flight.  

A Thelemic dwelling, being both a Palace and a Temple, must constantly resound with joyful sounds — and on all Three Planes, since 681 = 217 × 3 and 217 is the gematria of BIRH (“palace” or “temple”). 

Therefore, recommendations to Frater Y. and to anyone about to found a home as he is: 

. On the religious plane: rituals “performed with joy & beauty” (AL II, 21). 

. On the social plane: party all day in the salons. 

. On the physical plane: cries of voluptuousness constantly rising from the bedrooms. 

Such is the triple antidote to Choronzon — therefore, very logically, the sine qua non condition of Happiness — and the Supreme Exorcism. 

IV. The Way of the Beḥedit (Funk It and Throw a Party) 

That is why the word “feast” is so recurrent — so mantrically recurrent — in the Discourse of the Old Serpent of the City of Edfu, Hadit our Master, who is the Exorcist par excellence (AL II, 7) and constantly enjoins us to feast — that is, to feast without cease.  

The famous Bootsy Collins Theorem — “When the bailiff knocks on the door and you don’t have the money to pay, say ‘funk it’ and throw a party!” — is not a punchline, but an Arcane of Operative Magick. 

Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD. 

Warm kisses from the Bahamas.  

Love is the law, love under will. 

 — ☉︎ in 27° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 20° ♈︎ : ♃︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ. 

𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌

The Sleeves of the Beast

To Soror Hypatia 

Dear friends, beautiful and happy people,

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Frater Sicariōn has — so writes Frater Alcide Nikopol (coolest Magical Name ever!) in a rather funny letter that has just been brought to me — a very pretty formula to describe the attitude of a Brother (let us call him NNN) who tends to use the fact that he helps me a great deal and that his specific task is to watch over, from afar, the material conditions of my Exile and Captivity, in order to claim for himself all sorts of prerogatives and special privileges within our Sect — Sicariōn says of NNN: “He hides in the sleeves of the Beast.”

(I keep an amused memory of my first exchange with Brother Alcide Nikopol: he had confessed to me that throughout his life he had “always behaved like a complete idiot…” to which I replied: “Ben Affleck divorced Jennifer Garner and you think you’re an idiot?!?”)

Otherwise, he recommends that I “do some sport.”

What sport? 

Apart from golf (but no judge is going to grant me a day-release to play a round — these people couldn’t care less if I lose my swing!), I have only ever competed in two sports: modern pentathlon (but the mere idea of guns and foils tends to make the guards nervous) and polo (the parcel officer, I know him, will never let a horse through) — As a fan and supporter, I am only passionate about two sports that are never broadcast on the television channels this prison has access to: sumō (no great regret — I have been an orphan since Asashoryu retired anyway) and roller-derby (no great regret — I have been an orphan since Cash Pistache retired anyway).

So: sport, no sport, as Churchill used to say.

My remarks on the Epstein Affair have also violently upset Alcide, and he would like me to continue the Study of Liber LXV where they left us…

It is a good reaction — Hermeneutics, at least, is a sport! I’m on it! (As soon as the Rihanna concert at the O2, currently airing on France 4, is over, of course… To interrupt RiRi is to interrupt Nuit — we would incur the august wrath of the Goddess).

***

There we go! #Navy

We therefore read:

41. (The scribe was wroth thereat. He spake: O Adonai and my master, I have borne the inkhorn and the pen without pay, in order that I might search this river of Amrit, and sail thereon as one of ye. This I demand for my fee, that I partake of the echo of your kisses.)  

42. (And immediately it was granted unto him.) 

43. (Nay; but not therewith was he content. By an infinite abasement unto shame did he strive. Then a voice:) 

44. Thou strivest ever; even in thy yielding thou strivest to yield — and lo! thou yieldest not. 

I. Context : Oddly enough, the Prophet took offence at his Holy Guardian Angel’s last remark (an apparent surge of snobbery, the Angel having been surprised that the Prophet took the emotional states of the little people so much to heart)…

In anger (by way of overcompensation), the Prophet declares that, having freely exercised the sacred function of Scribe (in the hope, after all, that life would henceforth be nothing but a sumptuous cruise on a sacred river toward a paradisiacal island where the orgy is continuous), he demands, as payment, something he describes in a rather roundabout way, but which seems very much to be a Samadhi — and he is instantly granted it.

But (classic backlash) the Prophet then falls into a down phase and begins to heap reproaches upon himself and beat his breast with vehemence.

His Angel then explains the origin of all his problems: the Prophet is trying too hard. 

He strives, the Angel tells him, constantly, in everything he does. 

Even when it comes to the essential practice of “yield,” the Prophet strives to yield — and therefore, inevitably, since yielding is the opposite of striving, he does not yield.

Personally, all these almost bipolar spiritual ups and downs that the Prophet goes through remind me of the ultra-strange switch that preceded the very first time I performed the Ritual of HVD.

(Until then, I only knew HVD in theory: Leptopoecile Sophiae had meticulously detailed its performance and explained the principle of this “direct application of AL I:61 in the form of a meditated Orison,” but the idea of actually practising it had never occurred to me — At the time I was entirely devoted to Liber Resh, the Nu-Sphere Ritual, and Liber V.)

I was spending an absolutely frenetic night in a very high-end escort club where my friend Dilettantis and I (“Semper Ebrius, Semper Erectus, Semper Felix”) were throwing a fabulous party, a brilliant happening entirely inspired by the imagery of Army of Lovers (specifically the music video for Crucified and, above all, Israelism).

Reclining among the cushions, dazed by debauchery, with a super-hot girl on each knee, I was taking a break — when suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, I sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, eyes fixed, face deathly pale, left the club without a word, walked like an automaton to the nearest park, found a deserted spot, raised my (wan) face to the night sky as if avidly searching for an omen.

The sky contained every omen, since it contained all the stars.

I then said, in a blank and extremely solemn voice: “If you love me, O Nuit, and if the joys of your love must redeem us from all pain, then I beg you, do not abandon your Beloved whom the Darkness surrounds…”

And I performed HVD until dawn.

II. Indeed, man is caught in a sandwich between Nuit (Heaven) and Babalon (Earth) and constantly zaps from one to the other in this threesome, as it is written (Tzaddi 36–38).

We desire a life that is a luxurious cruise “on the deck of a zillionaire’s gigayacht, right hand in the champagne cooler, left hand on Rihanna’s arse (!),” heading toward Jeffrey Epstein’s island where Hugh Hefner, surrounded by the entire Playboy stable, celebrates his birthday — a cruise punctuated by sudden sporadic mystical crises that give meaning to a journey which, without them, would be rather hollow for the soul…

The only real obstacle to this project is the ego — personal hysteria — whose restrictions (pretension, anger, guilt) constantly disturb and interrupt our alternating games with the two Goddesses.

Note that anger is not, in itself, forbidden by the Law, provided — Hadit teaches — that it is directed against the “low men,” i.e. the Heathen (AL II:24).

All resentment toward the divine sphere sooner or later leads to an “infinite abasement unto shame.” 

The Gods must never be the object of our wrath: the Heathen are there for that.

III. Moreover, the word “yield” has a gematria of 59, which is that of GVIM, “Heathen,” because yield is the antidote to Old Grey Land.

Of course, one must work without “lust of result” — but is that not the very principle of yield?

I mean: the two Great Masters of yield among the Saints are Lao-Tzu, first among the Magi, and Saint Miguel de Molinos, of blessed memory, who knew (may their merits protect us) what yield cost them: one ended in exile, wandering and misunderstood; the other was condemned to perpetual detention.

IV. Now I, who find myself in exile and in detention, tell you this: 

There are only three Great Misses possible in this world:

— Failing in the duties that the codes of Fin’Amor impose upon us toward Nuit, or toward our wife, her representative on earth. 

— Failing, at the moment of decision, to observe the Precepts taught by Hadit. 

— Taking, on the temporal plane, the side of Old Grey Land against the radiant land of Thelema.

And all three are due to a failure in yield.

We are not given to know our fate in advance, but exile, captivity and error are never grounds for shame — the only shame is that which comes from cowardice.

Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD.

Warm kisses from the Bahamas.

Love is the law, love under will.

— ☉︎ in 26° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 6° ♈︎ : ☿︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ.

𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌

Laura Rode Me at the Crillon (While My Teen Date Watched)

Dear friends, beautiful and happy people,

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Last night — thanks to a fleeting little nod-off — I had the following Splendid Nightmare:

I dreamed I was in my beloved Bernstein Suite at the Hôtel de Crillon, sipping an ice-cold Dom Pérignon (wine that foams, of course — but authentically from Reims; that’s one of the advantages of being a French Thelemite), waiting for Anne-Aubépine de V., the youngest daughter of my dear old Taz. 

Without his knowledge, she and I had planned to have an enormous amount of sex — barely legal, by the way, since Anne-Au’ is 19…

She is the archetypal ultra-BCBG blonde from Divonne — really very beautiful, very fresh, very much the kind of girl I used to date when I was a boarder in Switzerland: big Colgate smile, the whole package.

Suddenly, furious shouts came from the corridor! — I rushed to check, flung open the door of my suite, and found Anne-Aubépine on the threshold, tearing into a hair-pulling fight with the prison wardress who gave me that memorable dressing-down on 18 December last (so memorable that I took it as a Christmas present — but I already told you that story).

The wardress (I have since learned her first name is Laura, which etymologically bodes well) informed me that she had to search my suite immediately!

Anne-Aubépine protested: “And our date?! What are we supposed to do now?!” — But, too overwhelmed by Laura’s aggressiveness, I slammed the door in my young friend’s face after letting the uniformed woman in.

I sensed an opportunity — and I was not wrong. 

We threw ourselves at each other and began frantically making love on the corner sofa to the right (the Pillar of Justice).

While Laura was on top of me, vigorously shifting my spine with the power of her hip thrusts, Anne-Au’ appeared behind the terrace window, nose pressed to the glass, hands cupped around her eyes like binoculars, peering inside. 

And Laura, without slowing her imperious gallop, raised her left hand (the Pillar of Mercy) and gave the poor rejected girl a majestic middle finger.

The rest of the dream was essentially athletic — I was unleashed! — I really gave it to my pretty jailer so hard that, from a strictly experimental point of view, I would be curious to know whether, in this reality, the wardress from Moulins-Yzeure Prison was physically able to sit down today.

Upon waking, still steeped in the afterglow of the dream, I decided to explore its meaning through bibliomancy. 

I drew the following verse from the Holy Books (Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente, 2:35):

Where is now the Master? cry the little crazy boys — He is dead! He is shamed! He is wedded! and their mockery shall ring round the world.

And after several hefty spliffs of Isla OG, I roughly concluded the following:

I. Heathens Only Believe in Magick When They’re Dying, Dumped, or Horny

It is true that the Heathen only manage a little Magical Thinking in these three cases…

The proximity of death makes them stammer vague prayers; public humiliation makes them badmouth Friday the 13th, black cats, or ladders; falling in love makes them eagerly consult their horoscope…

But, strangely, they immediately stop believing in the divine mandate of a Master as soon as he betrays his merely mortal nature, as soon as he is publicly pilloried by the media, or as soon as it turns out he has a taste for women…

This does not trouble me: I am an Anti-Tartuffe of Rasputin calibre, faithful to the motto of Saint Friedrich Nietzsche (may his merits protect us): “I would rather be a clown than a saint.”

II. Death Is a Pink Floyd Wall, Love Is Colombian Coffee (And Shakira Conquered the World)  

In fact, to the Totem Test question “What does a wall blocking your path evoke for you?” (supposed to make the subject unconsciously reveal their vision of Death), I had answered: “Pink Floyd, because The Wall.” 

Does this mean I see my demise as a great psychedelic happening and the Afterlife as a hardcore acid trip?…

Or that I have a rose-coloured-glasses reading of the Work of the Great Psychopomp Tahuti (assuming the flamingo is related to the ibis…?)

As for shame, my forehead no longer knows how to blush — I do not even hide my most burning embarrassments (cf. The Altar of Babalon) and I am rather in the style of the Marquis de Sade, whose reaction upon learning the verdict that condemned him to Public Dishonour is well known…

That said, Libertinism is a pixie — Love alone is a god — and to the Totem Test question “What does coffee evoke for you?” (supposed to reveal the subject’s vision of Love), I answered: “Like women and cocaine: fabulous when it comes from Colombia.”

Remember: Alexander and Napoleon had to deploy prodigies of energy and resort to monstrous carnage to make even a small impact on their corner of the planet — but one single hip movement from Shakira, and the whole world burns.

III. ZMN: Dead, Shamed, Wedded – The Threefold Samurai Protocol of Timing 

If we were to transpose this tarologically, we would assign “wedded” to Atu VI (for obvious reasons), “shamed” to Atu XII (idem), and “dead” to Atu XIII (idem).

This gives the sequence Zain, Mem, Nun, which forms the word ZMN, “appointed time.”

Jez pointed out that ZMN contains the Threefold Protocol: on the spiritual plane, “Nuit is my bride” (Zain); on the ethico-philosophical plane, obedience to Hadit perinde ac cadaver (Mem); on the practical plane, serving Ra-Hoor-Khuit “like a samurai serves his daimyo” — for, as Jocho says, “the Way of the samurai is death” (Nun).

In the Threefold Protocol, everything is a question of timing: the right hour for the Rituals, decision-making under pressure for the use of free will, putting the temporal at the service of the Promulgation. 

In other words, we return to our fundamentals: it is when your enemy is upon you that you must decide whether you curl up in the fetal position or explode him — neither before nor after (that is the meaning of “trodden serpent” — AL III, 42).

IV. Treat Death Like Your Favourite Pornstar – The Ultimate Thelemic Crush 

Hadit teaches that the optimal attitude toward death is to desire it — and to desire it intensely (AL II, 74).

Now, the verb he uses is the same one Ra-Hoor-Khuit uses in AL III, 14 (‘Scarlet Concubine of his desire’)— From this we deduce that the most perfectly Thelemic perspective on death is to consider it as one’s crush.

Try, then, to stop a man who sees Death as his official escort, his favourite pornstar, the side-chick/mad mistress who obsesses him, the celebrity crush who haunts his fantasies!

People consider the man who ruins himself for a gold-digger to be mad, and try to shame him — but he is a madman whom nothing could prevent from living as he pleases. He who has the same relationship with Death will receive the same comments — but nothing will prevent him from accomplishing his True Will.

As for “wedded,” given that “Be thou Hadit” is the first commandment of the Law (AL I, 6) and that Hadit calls Nuit “my bride,” I do not believe that a (male or female) celibate can be called a “conscious Thelemite.” — “GOD is Conjugal Harmony,” according to our formula (cf. Passionate Peace), which implies that conjugality must exist in the first place…

So what does this have to do with my dream? 

I don’t see it. 

My shrink could probably tell me, of course, but she intimidates me — Does anyone know a good orthodox-Freudian AI?

Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD.

Warm kisses from the Bahamas.

Love is the law, love under will.

— ☉︎ in 25° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 21° ♓︎ : ♂︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ. 

𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌

Epstein Died For You

Dear friends, beautiful and happy people,

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

This morning, the ultra-butch, scarletissime, supremely badass Soror K. asked me what one should conclude from the Epstein Affair — “Not,” she specified, “your opinion as a degenerate old inbred aristocrat obsessed with breasts (who, in other times, would not have gotten off with a mere five years in prison, but would have been broken on the wheel a hundred times over). Rather, the opinion of the ideal Thelemite as described by Rabelais in Gargantua — the kind of postulant worthy of the Abbey of Thélème presided over by Brother John of the Funnels.”

It is a good question: What would the ideal candidate for the Abbey of Brother Jean des Entomeurs think of Jeffrey Epstein?

Dear friends, we shall seek the answer in the Study of the Holy Books of the radiant land of Thelema — specifically in The Book of the Heart Girt with a Serpent, Chapter 1, verses 37 to 40.

Let us read:

37. So they will reproach thy servant, saying: Who hath set thee to save us? 

38. He will be sore distressed. 

39. All they understand not that thou and I are fashioning a boat of mother-of-pearl. We will sail down the river of Amrit even to the yew-groves of Yama, where we may rejoice exceedingly. 

40. The joy of men shall be our silver gleam, their woe our blue gleam—all in the mother-of-pearl.  

I. Pshat

First, let us lightly sketch the context of this pericope with a frivolous chisel:

The Prophet is planning a long and luxurious cruise, but one that will force him to sail through heathen lands.

His Holy Guardian Angel warns him that the natives will probably be hostile and will demand to know by what right he is cruising on their river waters. 

The Angel also detects in the Prophet a regrettable tendency to take such things too much to heart… So he comforts him: The heathens, he explains, simply cannot conceive that life could consist of a long and wonderful cruise aboard an unbelievably luxurious boat, sailing up a sacred river to a paradisiacal island where everything is delight and perpetual feasting! 

Their primitive brains simply cannot process such information! 

Therefore, why worry about it? 

Whether the indigenous tribes are pleased or displeased, happy or unhappy, rich or poor, is, for the star guests of the cruise, from the deck of the gigayacht, at most a nuance in the panorama…

Indeed, I remember driving through a rather working-class neighbourhood, sprawled on the back seat of a purple Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud, and receiving from the bystanders crowded on the pavements looks that clearly said “head of the Princess de Lamballe on a pike”…

But hey! What is the point of being in a Rolls if not to piss off the poor? —Especially since I did not share the Prophet’s scruples and systematically flipped the bird to anyone who shot me hateful glances…

It is also true that, alas, I was not on my way to Jeffrey Epstein’s island — and that our pericope sheds light on the unhealthy jubilation of the heathens at the announcement of his death…

In the same vein, the martyrdom of Harvey Weinstein — the Grand Pontiff of the enchanted isle of La-La-Land — only became possible thanks to this phenomenon of troglodyte resentment.

The Prophet’s extreme psycho-emotional sensitivity to “the conspiracy of the unwelcome against the one who goes his way with a light heart” is somewhat surprising… 

He, better than anyone, should know that the people are evil — The people are the Devil — The people are luciphobic like a wagonload of Cancer natives! What can one expect from them except hatred of Happiness in all its forms?!

II. Remez

The Great Paradox, of course, is that the Mephistophelian formula of the aptly named sign of Cancer is represented in the Tarot by the very solar and triumphant Atu of The Chariot, whereas its antithesis, Atu XV, is called “The Devil”…

I mean: the other two cardinal points of the year are perfectly coherent. The Emperor of Atu IV is, in body language and morphopsychology, a classic Aries type — and Atu VIII literally contains a pair of scales (in addition to the goddess Ma’at — inseparable from the idea of Fatal Balance — whom the Coffin Texts teach us is in reality Tefnut, the own mother of our august Queen Nuit, and consequently the wife of Shu, god of Twilight: one cannot get more radically Autumn Equinox than the Atu VIII of the Tarot!)

Why this “symbolic inversion” of the Solstices?

(There is admittedly a goat on Atu XV and a crab on Atu VII, but the thematic content of these two arcana seems precisely reversed — We call “Devil” the Triumphal Arcana of Accomplished Ambitions and the Procession of the Great Pan — and “Chariot of Triumph” the one depicting the assassination of the Sun and the blood of martyrs poured into the Holy Grail…)

It is because the feasts of the December Solstice may well contain Christmas itself, yet Winter remains cold and has a bad reputation… 

Consider two emblematic Capricorns such as Saint Frederick of Hohenstaufen (may his merits protect us) and Saint Roderic Borgia, Pope Alexander VI (may his merits protect us)… Were there ever more perfect examples of Nietzschean Supermen? Well! The first was excommunicated twice and nicknamed “the Antichrist” — while the Marquis de Sade (a fellow not easily impressed) wrote of the second that “it suffices to name him to arouse against him the indignation and horror of all who have any idea of his history”…

Conversely: Selena Gomez and Sofia Vergara — typical Cancer natives — could turn out to be the most unbearable bitches in the entire universe, yet one could not help but love them anyway… 

This is the Arcana illustrated by one of my exes who philosophically replied to every reproach I made: “Whatever… I have boobs.”

III. Derash

The opinion of the common people is therefore, as we see, a sort of “South compass” — Why should the Thelemite be moved or “sore distressed” by the reproaches of people whose very reproaches are compliments?!

A curious fact: avidly scrutinizing our pericope, I noticed that the first letters of each verse together form the acronym S.H.A.T., which can be counted as Sh(300) + A(1) + T(9) = 310.

Now, 310 is the gematria of DVSh, which means “to trample on” and “to conquer” — literally the attitude that the High Lord Ra-Hoor-Khuit commands us to adopt toward the heathens, as it is written: “Trample down the Heathen” and “I forbid argument: Conquer! That is enough” (AL III, 11).

It is as if the Holy Books were sending an encrypted message, in the form of an ultra-coded acrostic, to soothe our reticence regarding our relations with the Trogs, by reminding us of the august injunctions of the Lord of the Aeon concerning these people.

In accordance with the principle that every question of Law must be decided by reference to the writings of Ankh-af-na-khonsu (blessing & worship to him), Liber AL is explained and clarified by the other twelve Holy Books — and it is in Liber Tzaddi that Ra-Hoor-Khuit defines in great detail the attitude of a Thelemite in heathen lands: “My disciples are proud and beautiful; they are strong and swift; they rule their way like mighty conquerors” (Tzaddi, 24).

IV. Sod

The Book of Lapis Lazuli teaches us that no one can know the Secret Sense of the Holy Books unless he applies the verses of those Books to himself and to his precise situation in the world (LLL 6, 14).

Everyone agrees that it is being proud, beautiful, strong and swift that earned me Exile and Captivity.

I am therefore in a position to certify that nothing hurts Old Grey Land more than someone who sees life as a cruise aboard a gigayacht, with no contribution whatsoever to heathen society — a society he regards as a picturesque curiosity, vaguely glimpsed during his Quest for the Earthly Paradise.

I have been treated more harshly by what passes for potentates among these apes than a terrorist or a serial killer — and ultimately it is these persecutions, striking at my aristocratic pride and my dandy aesthetic, that have galvanized my legendary moral strength, my old duellist’s reactivity, and my impregnable arrogance — confirming me, strengthening me, radicalizing me forever in my True Will. 

From lover of Nuit I have become Majnun of the Goddess; from pupil of Hadit I have become Disciple of the Old Serpent; from faithful of Ra-Hoor-Khuit I have become Vassal of the Hawk-Headed Mystical Lord — And, by virtue of the principle of “Exceed,” the heart of the Behédite Philosophy (AL II, 71), I hope to accentuate this tendency every day a little more — to become every day more desperate in my love for Nuit, to strive every day to be a little more Hadit, to make myself every day a little more fanatical in my service to Ra-Hoor-Khuit.

Thus, Jeffrey Epstein will not have died in vain.

Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD.

Warm kisses from the Bahamas.

Love is the law, love under will.

— ☉︎ in 23° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 0° ♓︎ : ☽︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ.

𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌

House of the Beloved : How Babalon Crashed My Cousin’s Wedding

Dear friends, beautiful and happy people, 

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law 

Some time ago, Frater Sicariōn asked me about verses 30 to 33 of Chapter 4 of The Book of the Heart Girt with a Serpent — These verses completely freak him out in relation to his soon-to-be-celebrated marriage, but I believe he’s mostly looking for excuses…

My word! I may well be “a mixture of Hannibal Lecter, Rasputin, and Dracula” (as graciously declared in 2023 by Judge Vignon, President of the Court of Appeal of Riom), but I am a mixture of Hannibal Lecter, Rasputin, and Dracula who does NOT leave his students moaning in doubt and suspense — So I read:

30. I came to the house of the Beloved, and the wine was like fire that flieth with green wings through the world of waters. 

31. I felt the red lips of nature and the black lips of perfection. Like sisters they fondled me their little brother; they decked me out as a bride; they mounted me for Thy bridal chamber. 

32. They fled away at Thy coming; I was alone before Thee. 

33. I trembled at Thy coming, O my God, for Thy messenger was more terrible than the Death-star. 

I. Pshat

This reminds me of the following: the context of this pericope once suggested to me — on a day in August 1995 when I had to go to Bordeaux to attend a grand ultra-traditionalist wedding — the idea of taking verses 30 and 31 as a mantra for the entire journey, so that the day would not be completely wasted on the mystical plane.

I had chanted them non-stop throughout the trip, much to the dismay of my immediate entourage — And it was precisely at that wedding that the groom — my unfortunate cousin H. (a Saint-Cyrien, perhaps a tad psychorigid) — was shamefully betrayed, deceived, and mocked by his young wife (the now very dignified matriarch A-M) : Right after the religious ceremony in Latin, she got herself thoroughly fucked by her ex (who had the physique of a late-90s boy-band member) in a sacristy corridor, without even taking off her dress!...

Note that H., noticing his wife’s sudden disappearance at the time of the photos on the church steps, had sent us out looking for her in all directions — And it was I who found her, getting properly railed against a typical Romanesque dressed-stone wall.

Of course, I should have energetically interrupted the adulterous lovebirds — but alas! I was very young, the scene was really hot, and I preferred to watch discreetly from a distance while furiously masturbating, then go back outside and tell H. that I hadn’t seen anyone, all while laughing up my sleeve (he never suspected a thing about the affair, despite our heavy, mocking insinuations) — Those were the good times — But really: after that, how could anyone doubt the Magical Power of the Holy Verses!

II. Remez

The more I think back on this incident — which an astrologer would call a collision between the 5th House and the 7th House — the more I find a profound meaning in this Erotic Rite where the Leo emerging from the past ruins the Work of Libra with great thrusts of the Sacred Phallus. 

This meaning is, of course, also found in the flamboyant epistle powerfully sprung from the fevered pen of Sir Shumule addressed to Judge Aurélie Mahé, and it constitutes a Universal Symbolism: that old, super-strong desire that the great summer holidays (St-Tropez, the sea, the girls, etc.) should never give way to the start of the school year…

May Babalon ride the Lion, but may Maat (whom the Coffin Texts teach us is, in reality, Tefnut) never again become an irascible lioness in the eastern desert of Nubia!

May our summer loves know no September!

May no Karma punish our dear Days of Carefreeness: on the contrary, may our dear Days of Carefreeness punish Karma! (This desire was doubtless unconsciously expressed by the permutation of Atu VIII and XI in the old Golden Dawn system.)

III. Derash

It is the Mystery expressed by the confrontation of “Beloved” and “Death-star”, the two words each bearing an incongruous capital letter at either end of our pericope.

I take this very personally, since David literally means “Beloved” — and David (Beloved in Hebrew) has a gematria of 14, which is 1+4 = 5 = 1+2+2 = 122 = B(2)+e(5)+l(30)+o(70)+v(6)+e(5)+d(4) = Beloved.

And since “Death-star” has a gematria of 294, which is ChVRP, “autumnal”, we once again have the bizarre meeting of the 5th and 7th Houses, of Leo and Libra, through that of David, the Lion of Judah, and the September Equinox.

Now, since Leo is Teth (9) and Libra is Lamed (30), this bizarre meeting is 39, the proclamation of Divine Unity (IHVH AChD) and a temurah of 93 — i.e., the mirror reflection of THELEMA — so true is it that the only man who is “the image and likeness of GOD” is the Thelemite. 

This brings us back to the immortal words of Marcello Ramos Motta (of blessed memory): “We have not come to save men. We are the men. Outside of us there are only apes and the Blind Creature of the Mire.”

IV. Sod

The magical verses therefore provoke the union of impossible lovers beyond any logical or moral consideration: the reconciliation of the Carefreeness of the 5th House (loves, childhood, games…) and the Karmic Rigor of the 7th House (Legality), in spite of the 6th House (Discipline) that stands in the way.

The qabalistic exegesis reveals, as we have seen, that this scandalous union manifests Divine Unity (39), of which the Thelemite is the image on Earth (93). 

GOD is therefore the ultra-passionate union of two Thelemite soul-mates, as it is written: “there is no other God than me, and my lord Hadit” (AL I, 21).

Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD.

Warm kisses from the Bahamas.

Love is the law, love under will.

— ☉︎ in 23° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 0° ♓︎ : ☽︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ.

𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌

Holy Season Is Over : Camouflage Your Rolls as a Hearse

« At the top of the mountain we are all snow leopards. » — Hunter S. Thompson

Dear friends, beautiful and happy people,

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Today marks the ninety-fifth anniversary of the death of Dame Mary d’Este Sturges, the flamboyant, ultra-mundane founder of Desti Beauty Products — She was the best friend of Isadora Duncan and became the second Scarlet Woman of Thelema: Soror Virakam the Seer, who orchestrated the Abuldiz Working and, consequently, the writing of Liber ABA — and nobody knows what “Virakam” actually means!!!

Dear friends, this Sunday’s Holy Reading is Liber LXV: Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente sub figurâ אדני, Chapter 4, verses 54 to 57.

54. This heart of mine is girt about with the serpent that devoureth his own coils.

Commentary: Strangely, the Prophet (blessing & worship to him), commenting on this verse, does not see in this serpent the simple green Ouroboros that encircles the sensible world and separates it from chaos — Instead, he sees the principle of perpetual descent and progressive Restriction that governs the phenomenal universe.

Marcello Ramos Motta (of blessèd memory) sees in it the image of Death.

As for me — who considers my incarnation within the human species in the same way Stanley regarded his expeditions among the primitives, and who is tempted, whenever I detect noble qualities (eclecticism, dignity, talent, excellent education, etc.) in my interlocutor, to say to him: “Doctor Livingstone, I presume...” — I find, by merging these two readings, the essential Precept concealed in the arcane of the “garment as he will” (AL 2:58), which I have too often neglected in this world: among the Troglodytes, disguise your Rolls-Royce as a hearse.

55. When shall there be an end, O my darling, O when shall the Universe and the Lord thereof be utterly swallowed up?

Commentary: The Prophet (blessing & worship to him) says of this verse: “[The Adept] extends his aspiration from the personal problem of his own sorrow to the contemplation of the Universal Sorrow.”

Indeed, every annoyance is sent to you by the gods only to educate you about the user manual of this planet.

The problem is that the empirical method advocated by Saint Francis Bacon, Lord Verulam (may his merits protect us), requires five coincidences to verify a hypothesis.

Result: while you have always instinctively known that an individual born under a sign called “Cancer” (sic!) was not good news and should under no circumstances be integrated into your system, you have to endure at least five of these nuisances on your path before you can confirm what astrology — a science as old as the world — has always taught: yes, Cancer natives are quite literally incarnate excrement that must be deported, stuffed with mRNA vaccine, and finished off with Baygon.

But: never take any mishap personally. The gods put insects on the stage of your microscope so that you may study them, not so that you develop a morbid entomophobia.

56. Nay! who shall devour the Infinite? who shall undo the Wrong of the Beginning?

Commentary: Of this verse, the Prophet (blessing & worship to him) says: “[the Adept] has now understood the doctrine that the beginning (Berashith) is necessarily of the nature of error. Any separateness, any sense of finitude represents imperfection. It is a matter of plain logic that it should be so.”

Speaking of Berashith, I have long wondered why Mosheh the Magus, in his Genesis, says “He saw that it was very good” only after man and woman were created — despite the fact that man, perpetually at the crossroads, has a soul “of God and beast,” as it is written (AL 3:34), meaning a good (royal) and a bad (servile) inclination — whereas in all other cases the biblical text says only “He saw that it was good.”

Does this mean that his “beast” side improves the human being?!

Indeed, if we observe the customs of Old Grey Land and the various little tribes classified there in the category “human,” we must conclude: without his bestial stupidity of a chest-thumping ape, no Heathen slave would be stupid enough to pursue a career, get married, and beget children — And in that case, how would we Thelemic gods incarnate in the terrestrial sphere? — This is what King Solomon says about the Trogs: “I observed that the labor of man and all his efforts to succeed are driven by the envy he harbors against his neighbor.” (Ecclesiastes 4:4).

57. Thou criest like a white cat upon the roof of the Universe; there is none to answer Thee.

Commentary: When I read “white cat upon the roof of the universe,” I think snow leopard on Mount Everest (but I have already sufficiently developed the meaning of my totemic attachment to this prodigious feline).

Why does the Holy Book speak of a white cat and not a Himalayan panther?

Because the white cat is superior in that, having chosen domestic life, it can be — at its pleasure — a superb predator without ever having poachers from the third world show up: among the Troglodytes, disguise your snow leopard as a silver chinchilla Persian.

Meditate upon this, dear friends, and go your gorgeous ways under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, and which we call GOD.

Warm kisses from the Bahamas.

Love is the law, love under will.

— ☉︎ in 22° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 17° ♒︎ : ☉︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰⅰ.

𓄿𓎛𓂧 𓇋𓈖𓏌