Only the sexiest caterpillars become dryocampa rubicunda.
Dear friends, beautiful and happy people,
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
I’ve just received, from Soror K., an injunction to publish only in English from now on, and I am outraged!
But what can I do about it?… — No matter how much I protest non-stop: “Come on, Sis!… The British!… Their English chic is ridiculous, their royal family grotesque, they’re all gay, whereas we French invented literature!”, she won’t budge…
A Californian by origin, Soror K. says she “can’t take it anymore” deciphering my “aristocrat-on-acid” prose and argues that, anyway, “English is the liturgical language of Thelema,” while the French I practice is “at best, a language as dead as Pictish!”
She may have a point, though…
So I’ll publish in English until further notice, and since Soror K. also has Armenian roots, I think I’m getting off lightly — especially since you can always read this post as if it’s speaking English with a French accent, which is super sexy.
Dear friends, the Holy Reading for this Tuesday, the 1086th day of our Exile, is Liber LXV : Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente sub figurâ אדני, chapter 3, verses 63 to 65, and chapter 4, verse 1,
63. They that ever desired Thee shall obtain Thee, even at the End of their Desire.
Commentary : I can’t get used to the “radiant future,” “tomorrow will sing,” almost communist tone of this verse…
I mean: it’s with a “The Hare and the Tortoise” philosophy like this that the plebs have been reduced to slavery for centuries…
And, in fact, it’s precisely because of this mass psychology that I hate the people, the peoples: they have no other way of expressing themselves than by banding together because they have no soul, no spirit, no feeling — they only have a collective soul, and they need collective amusements, collective hatreds — of class or nation.
I believe, — since we’re talking ex-communism, — that to hate the people, all you need is to have traveled in Eastern Europe and seen how much their current rock festivals resemble their harvest festivals from the ‘50s: those people only have fun when there are ten thousand of them in a field.
64. Glorious, glorious, glorious art Thou, O my lover supernal, O Self of myself.
Commentary : I deeply love the Sacred Eroticism that emanates from this verse.
Don’t forget that my Damascus road in this life was the word of Sir Aleister Crowley: make your self-indulgence your religion — by the power of which, my joyfully orgiastic lifestyle as a womanizing, drinking, gourmet, gambling dandy, — a friend of voluptuous pleasures in general against a backdrop of outrageous luxury, — became a religious duty.
65. For I have found Thee alike in the Me and the Thee; there is no difference, O my beautiful, my desirable One! In the One and the Many have I found Thee; yea, I have found Thee.
Commentary : Back when the priest of the princes, Ankh-af-na-khonsu (blessing and worship to him), lived on Earth, the priests of Egypt called GOD “the One who became millions.”
Indeed, the only true heresy is to make a difference between monotheism, polytheism, and pantheism.
Chapter 4
1. O crystal heart! I the Serpent clasp Thee; I drive home mine head into the central core of Thee, O God my beloved.
Commentary : I always feel a slight melancholy — a Japanese mono-no-aware tinged with autumnal nostalgia — whenever a Chapter of the Holy Books ends and another begins.
It’s my crystal heart side — not to mention that this verse is downright unsettling…
So, if you had drawn it in a bibliomantic context and asked old Chioa Khan for an interpretation, I would have answered with this fundamental shumulism:
The crucial moments of existence are like pit bulls: they can sense it if you’re afraid.
So, meditating on this, go forth, dear friends, under the protection of that spiritual sphere whose center is everywhere and circumference nowhere, which we call GOD.
Warm kisses from the Bahamas.
Love is the law, love under will.
- ☉︎ in 5° ♈︎ : ☽︎ in 10° ♒︎ : ♂︎ : Ⅴⅹⅰ.
