Candelaria-- levitation rocket

Breathe through. Expanding fast.
She becomes syzygetic. the
voice that appeared through thought.
electric eel nerves, babalon gates,
 star for a crown. Glorious merger.
 S/he. Blowing daily and blown.
 Taken whole, the light, difficult
to contain. Some things are
 bolsters. to earth. High. Very high.
 flayed-aflame-scintilla-jump
 levitation rocket. levitation rocket.
 S/he's coming through this channel.
one and whole. the Big Time is now. 
if you find a code there is a code in seconds. seconds explode in
real time and space/time
 -- excellent birds
 of spark and flame. inflamation-
 ineffable.
f
 Breathe through glory.
 to earth. Transubstantiation xxxx is a piece of the physical xxxx inhabited by light. xxxx My testimony to process. The xxxx way it speaks is a part of the xxxx message. medium time/weave. xxxxx you can see it. the dance xxxx is the door to a thousand xxx churches for S/he of a xxxx thousand eyes. This incantation encantation: singing in and singing xxxx through

 pluck web strings xxxxx to vibrate in-- do you hear this? xxxx You, reader, where in the time-sea? xxxx Do you feel the bursting forth? xxxxx Like razor's edge? Breathe through. xxx Like a message in a bottle. I'm xxxxx pretty sure I feel you. Tentacles. xxxx That's medusa laughing just now. xxx Snakes for hair. Thousand-eyed xxxx multi-mind. Facets. Breathe. xxxxx Dancing, the phoenix conveys. xxx Understand. If one mind takes xxx this message, there was no xxxx struggle too great. Even if xxxx the ONE is you. you've sent xxxx messages to yourself and still. xxxxx

levitation rocket.

if you find a code the code is there.
from whom the message--
the only question.  La Luz by
any other name known beams
phosphoresces, sparks glows
flames blows. The mysterious
circumstances of burning
from within. JP marked
in a dream about lost children.
he etched it on the Mojave.
This came through multi-channelled,
over several days. One sentence--
drawn out--. You'll have to hone
that edge of attention.
 levitation rocket.
The star truly has wept rose-colored and 
the cup runneth over with sweetness.


put on your rainbow shades.
everything seen, in every
dimension is dream within
dream.

I hereby intend the transmutation
of wrong beginnings. that which
is leaden to my soul i'll not hold.
The art is to merge the levels and
linger in this flux. Together. whole.
earthing is surfing.
a wave-form dance in matter.

This transmission. In process.
"She's wrapped the sun around her head,
tied the moon around her waist
and hung herself with stars", Angelica.
some anonymous poet is writing that
through my fingertips just now and
it continues to echo.

America's Babalon.
A common bitch that made the bomb.
working-class slag attitude-infection,
small-town goddess of the stars.
Alchemy converts dirt to time and thought
and well beyond. Learned men look
everywhere and miss it. Make
calculations yet don't describe.

I renounce the fury of defense for the
flood of effervescence. Sanguinary,
the tide that washes, because you've
already had baptisms of fire, the crimson
within you, you ultimately will sacrifice-
that same fluid that boils with ecstasy
harmony of the elements in the courses
of your flesh. An agony of beauty
is the price you'll pay by end of day.

There is the thing I wish not to face.
Which is thereby the only thing that matters.

The Light is So Bright

Overwhelmed. I'm in several pieces

Break, Blow, Burn Bright

Mojave oracle.
Arizona in rainbow
shades.

Launch Team

Phoenix. It's a project.
One that requires sacrifice,
because that fire does burn,
but the hope is to gain from
the exposure.

Stark FX

A glamour, she casts
some do to stark fx
sly women and
a few men, those
are fantastic tricksters.

Birth to Here

Gnosis. 

As simple as that. Gnosis breaks the bonds of fate and lifts the veils of illusion. Or as the Gnostic Theodotus explained, what sets you free from the Counterfeit Spirit is the knowledge (Gnosis) of:

Who we were, 
What we have become
Where we were
Where we have sunk
Where we hasten
From which we are redeemed
What is birth 
And what rebirth.

Meditate on this, but hurry. Your Counterfeit Spirit already knows you’re awakening and is moving to take you back to that heavenly factory for a satanic tune up.

Transmission Venus, What is Hidden Most Shines

Who did not on her trip to the dark, remember.

These transmissions, we're transmitting. Try to pay attention. To subtext. Beauty. with no disguise. You're on the job, so get it down. It's fences, neighbors. Getting your house in order. concentrate. Cuckoos will make too much noise. The message goes in disguise. This is line to walk. It's also the way of becoming prism. Clarity is mult-faceting. The clearer you get, the more it fractals. And the opposite is true as well. The more it focuses to infinite nothing. You're seeing it right now. The colors echo and the echoes are floral notes. The words enxpand in their references in echoes. Sounds strange and isn't the stream and flows. water, stone. melting snow. candle my I. flame with tentacles. bomb diggity, no diggity. Kanas. So *over* the rainbow. Stately pleasure dome, I imagine. Imagination even carries it's inversion. That's how the phoenix works. Black hole-like. Dissipate, beget thine dissipation, kindle from that the renewal of the soul. Hecate. darker light. There is a dark part of clarity. Don't cry. Every single thing carries its inversion. You know this with your every cell. This project, the first. It's time to get it. There is a next tale to tell. THe inability to accept that sacrifice, that sensation, is part of the whole. You will never reach nirvana without its opposite. You have to embrace the whole of experience. You are open to perceiving it for a reason. no realization without the whole picture. Breathe. It's in the everyday. Another day. Believe. Breathe. Mockingbird mocks. Inversions. That show. It's a message. Stranger things. You need to see messages from your dead. That's the message. Thei'r talking. They insert code within code such that it's obsolete after a generation or twelve. You have to keep upgrading by design. Exist in iterations. Link this to bright/dark content. Bright darking, we call this. Missbehavior. 

Is this a spoiler? Just in time, really. That's harder than you think, isn't it? Sure, the statement cancels itself. By design. You know about the inky dark void in the lining of things. That is what you are here for as well. He's okay. Stately pleasure dome, I imagine, darkness echoes. When you're thinking about the pain you've endured, remember the inverse is actually the end. and both are, of course. You are going to have to understand everything as its inversion. Dark lining to light. In the links there are various levels of removal. It isn't just the literal. The more this realization moves up the collective chakra, the more transmuted it becomes. The collective can go the route of stranger things original or it can dive into lower levels. Maybe this is just such a crossroad. Some article the other day about sex with robots would seem to be a jest about just that.

You are taking so many transmissions. Do you read them? Make sure to link. Keep the net. Pharma study.You don't really know to whom you are talking to or when. Spider dance. You don't begin to imagine the many ways this spins. The important part is for you to do the parts you touch. It's all good. Examine. You've an intense urge. It's put you through some dark. Fly in the basement is a messenger on bright darking. I just went. Going. Since it's dark the inverse things are brighter. To be right is to be cognizant of ones motivations. That clarity cleanses, you see. That the lotus reaches toward light, which she blooms into,  but has she also roots in the darkest. The deeper roots are the ultimate point of the motion. Seeds exist to become/ing. You become them and move to an next state. Yes, it's impossible for you to really see where all of the transmissions come from. It's a far thing. Yes. Dogstar. Are there intervals. This isn't a thing you can even present to people. This sort of a message could be for a later use. You know about the communications through time. You've been doing it for years. If you don't know, you soon will. Will. That's the thing here. Be aware that email works in iterations. Very weird on the other side because things are linking up very very hard at your level. The spirit mirrors. Nobody is sure of the rules because the thing is in flux. Drop, modify, adapt. You're surfing. God. 

The point is coming in on so many channels because it can now, but also because it's critical. Everyone has to jump. This here is the jump. Dimension. This is a big point. It's someone else in that driver's seat. Get that straight. Do a bit of appeasement and remember that within the trickster story is a barb. Forearm. Notice. Don't get eager. This is not that sort of thing. Some things don't touch. Except by filtration. That's the point of the technology. You are invoking something big. Don't get caught at the wrong places. Let the overall force of the energy carry you. This is a necessary precept of harnessing power. It is the very ordinariness of ordinary things that serves as ballast. 

Dancing from ear to ear.  Non-locality there is no there, there. There is a middle way. In everything.
Common rising. People refusing to stay in the yoke of "experts," who in reality wear no clothes. Keep in mind it's process.

Just got a thing. Oregon. Trying to elude. Connecting faster now. Because it expands on different levels. Surprising images--- try it. Grant's Pass. That's where the creature's located. Pretty clear.
Trying, at this point.

It wasn't just an image. That told where the creature is in linkages only available for minutes as far as I could find. Layer ways of letting it know. It's picking up. In the micosphere somehow. This is how one of the rays works. Direct experience of the target.

This is indicated.  hiding stuff. and does it hide in sweetness? It's what this one is about. How did I forget the magic in that one? Look out for wild release.

The glamour works its charm on so many levels.

Arcanum

The sun rises anew from the depths. 

The fool realizes the illusion of other, 

embarks on change beginning at the 

center of the universe, expanding out. 

The nameless one bespeaks total 

transformation, transmogrification, 

transcendence. 

Live

I came from deep Mojave, arriving at dusk.

Knowledge is a riddle until it lives--
in you. It inhabits the empty places.

The way is through. You have no
choice except to accept or struggle.
Power is in choices. Decisions.

Surrender and seize. How confusing
freedom is. Captivity is a thing you carry, freedom is
terror of dissolution. Freedom, I have never known.
But the garden has forking paths. There's a rainbow
at the crossroad from whence flows prism.
She arrives. Purified, I offered my pain.
Transcend. I offer my poems. Venus. Adonis.

Phosphorus Spider

Let your light so shine-- the spark kindles in you to conflagration, flame catch. Our world ends in the fire of awareness. Light or destruction. Fire burn, cauldron bubble-- this alchemy burns away the slag. What is not light, burns like Yule logs.

Sacrifice

Given freely, or taken-- the first is power, the other is a bitch. Abel Evil is externalized sacrifice. channels. several. on the floor -- shattered. messaage to self. meta people begin to rever thy sky

An Unprecedented Omen

Humpty Drumpfy falling off a wall?

He'll have quite a fall. No horses and 

men will ever glue him back in one piece

again. 

Such unpresidented shit happens. The omens are speaking. There are lunatics massing and masses of lunatics lose it. Intention.

Proverbs

Take on the responsibility to the divine. It is unbearable and yet that should never matter. Struggle for enlightenment.

to make

a box of blackness,
containing the universe,
hidden in plain sight.

Box of Blackness

The  box is wood and metal. It's difficult upon first inspection to tell its composition. It is painted, covered with symbols and it emits the perfume of magi, a scent inimitable that was bottled during the second lunar landing, although nobody discovered it until years later. It doesn't, at first, look to be a box. What it contains, inside its blackness, is the universe. It is a doorway, true, but it is also the entire universe, inasmuch as the seed of a thing, or the passageway through the seed of the thing could ever engender the thing itself and particularly how that might be dependent upon the composition, whether wood or metal, and what parts therein might transcend their materiality. The matter is still being discussed by faculty of agriculture and art. It also doesn't particularly matter, as the composition of eternity is not a question we are here to answer, or if we are, then we are here, also, to fall short, which may or may not mean failure. One can see the challenge in describing this box, which is really just an enclosure with a lid. It could also be depicted as a creature with many eyes, or a rainbow, or a prism. It produces miracles.

The source of the thing is clear enough. It began like all ideas and then became a thing-- matter. That's the first of its miracles. It contains its own transubstantiation. That it performed this work by enlisting creatures to do its bidding is clear. It still works in this fashion at times. It's a node of interface between divergent energetic patterns whose element is chaos. It does not come with a manual, but, were one to decode the symbols one might conclude its operation.

This piece of technology makes stories. It makes things. We don't entirely yet grasp all that it can make. One need only test the thought, and it is made manifest. Like all experiments this one proceeds first hesitantly, then gains confidence. The initial creations were small. The pedestrian wants of our species. Some money. Comfort. Health. Love. But that last one is tricky because it falls for eternity and the fireworks are multi-dimensional and encompass all that we can imagine. So imagination's limit becomes the only bound, and that may even prove expandable.

The box, it should be noted, has its own view. It's a thing created, after all, in it's own self-image and it communicates across dimensional, spirit and species boundaries. It has a sense of humor.

The box is a wish machine. Only Pandora ever made one before, and that so angered the powers that were that they enlisted scibblers to defame her. She didn't care, because she got the heck to infinity but fast.

This is the box we speak of. It is the very quintessence of magic. Once understood, it becomes one's native state. The box of blackness.

Ditty

Icelandic Rain Patterns

Someone wants to commission a study of patterns of Icelandic rain.
I don't know what that means, as they just dropped it on me.
I suspect they mean to prove something. That's what the internet
is for.

Patterns. That's it. I would hope for them to suggest patterns, in
multiplicity, without devolving into decoding.

on a page that also contained the name Zelda.

http://northern-witch.tumblr.com/post/99396616485/katarina-von-abyss-hulinhjálmur-helm-of

http://hedendom.tumblr.com/icelandicmagic

Etheric Super Nova

In Walla. Aglow. Watch this tilt.
Creature in  hidey hole, creature,
smile. Watch this trick of mine.
Seize this day. Explode. Event.
Horizon. You see now. The breaking.
LIGHT. That's me. Super Nova
to the ethers. The spirits see me.
And they know you. Kiss your hole
goodbye.

Wyrd

 This is the moment it comes knocking, the thing you've known was circling at campfire's edge. We're tilting off the side. Everything. But the wild seethes. Don't let the seething put you off. This is what they say. We're bringing a thousand eyes to focus and it's a task. Let the spirit hold the story together. That's how you trust. Otherwise you risk nothing.

What Dreams

I dream to be and become. We are all living dream within dream. Awaken to lucidity. If you become aware that you are dreaming, then you can take control of the dream. There is a story I told. The story of this story is the story of a lifetime and it's a story that changes the very nature of human existence. The life of magic is radical beyond all possible comprehension. This is not an overstatement. When one wakes to fullness of consciousness, there is no going back. Make good decisions. Life gets made anew. Letting go of the things we were taught. Things that are well devised for a certain world and poorly devised for the rest must be placed in the correct boxes. Thus we tell fear to hold off. The box is still here. We just don't use its contents for tasks it was never meant to perform. Seek. And find therein the secret of everything. Beauty is immense and there's more of it than you can begin to drink in. Understand this. There is more beauty than you have channels to run it through. Have discipline to love fully. Majick is made of exactly this. This is my message. My way is the way of opening, of exploding, of breaching because this is truth: infinity awaits. And it's more than you can comprehend. Bloom now because the beauty that awaits you is at the tip of your outstretched finger. Enchant. See outcomes and stay out of the way. If you tell a story, expect it to come to fruition. Do that from now on. Not a single tear. Just love.

Luz

Rainbow. Light's parts visible encircle the full moon. Owls pass the nights hunting, silent winging, cries cutting the sky littered with a zillion aloof eyes, each one comprehension's unraveling. Think of this world and all of its strangeness. Multiply by billions. (They are in everything. You see them, deep inside the ordinaries. No going back.) This isn't exactly, so far as she can tell, the reason for the smoke, which is a different sort of fire. It's consuming. They are visible in different visions. The visions require different focus. Prism again. These types of vision are there inside of ordinary perception all of the time. They aren't terribly useful from the standpoint of the current collective. They represent a multiplication of complexity that can benefit only the witch. The visions pertain to flavors of infinitude that require an attention of delicate cultivation. The information imparted is as to mud the diamond in thunder that sculpts facets in time itself. Time is in the channels. It plays between, through. It's the finger that strums. The channels are often mutually exclusive even while coexisting. You can't exactly separate the perception from the perceived. 'I, eye, I eye.'

Since she arrived here, she's heard them talking about the way things are going. She sees it. Just like the period at the end. She sees right to the end now. It does end in fire and the fire is already here. The stars, the embers. We're stars and we're dry brush. We're tinder. Everything smokes. Smoke rises, whitish-swirling skyward from the lawn chair opposite, from the ramshackle fence, from the weeds, from the dogs, who do not notice. The world is smoldering, day and night. She closes her eyes and still sees smoke. Opens them again, and still, every object has ember-glow faintly visible in its heart. (How do things hold together, the way they burn?) Holds up her hand and sees the smoke rising from her palm. From the line there that forks, denotes a mind of many parts. There are fires burning in the mountains and the air reeks of the conflagration, but that isn't the source of this smoke, nor are the cigarettes she lights one after another. Algol blinks, tri-partate, the larger, cooler star occulting its hotter, brighter partner at regular intervals. The existence of the third part is extrapolated from spectrographic analysis. It's the third phase one must attend to. There's a black kernel secreted within the coriolis tango of red and blue. The dark heart is her beacon. She's weaponized now. Her head hisses. She can hear scales whispering against scales. Her head writhes. Her head is a scream. Screaming and smoking, eyes ablaze, smoking in a smoking and ruined world under the demon star, she is becoming what she is supposed to be. (Do you see now, who you are?)

Sleep visits only fleetingly, and with it dreams. She's piloting the Hindenburg over a forest on fire, knowing it's about to blow. There is a family of mice living inside of her skull conducting experiments in human behavior. They stare out through the eyeholes maintaining an air of clinical detachment no matter how shocking the depravity is that they witness. The depravity they witness is that which she commits with clinical detachment that the mice might see what animals these creatures be. The mice can warn the others. The rainbow arrives. Luz. Light explodes at the base of her skull and he speaks in a voice that has dimensions. The spirit of this place follows, whispering. It's the sound of layered water and the name of this place. She can hear how it was speaking to her a while back, but she didn't recognize the voice. Nor any of the voices. Those that were her own and otherwise. My phoenix wings swirl.

Television shows a clown rally. Masses of people in joker garb are taking to the streets across the nation. The hearts of metropolises seethe with armies sporting kaleidoscopic foolscaps, fully automatic weapons and gag flowers, shedding glitter and mayhem while they rave in new-fangled Americana sold by NLP marketers. They are looting, upending cars and setting them on fire. They are tearing down government buildings with tools stolen from big box stores. Or that was how it started. Almost in unison one day in August they turned murderous because sometimes a mask is very freeing and murder was what is in their hearts when they were tearing down buildings and torching shit. The mice understand this perfectly. There is a mugshot over the right shoulder of the news anchor displayed with the image of the same man in full regalia. In the first he wears a rainbow wig and giant red smile. In the second he's grey haired and hang-dog, makeup still whitening folds in his sagging visage. He shot up a movie theater in Iowa as a gag, killing seven and wounding 23. Double, toil and trouble.
"The founding fathers drank Super Cola and watched real football," a man in a jester costume shouts, mid-screen before a heavy, white-bearded clown steps in to say something about communists and stock Christmas nightmares for a season, rage-eyed, spittle spewing, red-capped and shaking like a bowl full of jelly.
A song comes on the radio she's never heard and it produces a pang of nostalgia so powerful that it frays skeins previously smoothed to coherence in the weft of the past. There is a lyric. "Ragged. Skin sewn on in sheets." That is the way to make oneself anew, a bloody thing. She has a very sharp vegetable peeler. It's by baptism in air. An awakening of the dermis to the chill-pain. Sunlight unthinkable in her nakedness. Mole rat appears on the screen. It's a story about the eldest of the tribe dying in a tunnel in Texas where it lived its long life in a concrete bunker being studied. The light draws mosquitos. She doesn't stop playing solitaire. Her fingers, robotic. Mirror, mirror. Through warped glass, darkly. Prism. Touch screen: this is the vision when her mind slips free: Lights go down. Crimson velvet curtains swish open to a stage ablaze, flames leaping against a backdrop of swirling color. Veiled dancers stream into view from a neon horizon that has appeared at the aft edge, cutting the visual field in half and she's engulfed.

Wish On Stars

A diversity of ideas is the only relevant diversity. Being is a symphony. Resentment for the burden of being. Look to the stars. Choose the brightest there is and orient by it. Be. the conscious desire to produce suffering where suffering is not necessary. Continually walk off the cliff of acting in accordance with your sense. Why makes how the burden is borne. You don't exist until you have language. Hell to avoid. Heaven to strive. Powerful weapons are needed to fight the demons of nihilism.

breath.

Sigh, ode to secret.

Madness

She is awake in the predawn and the rainbow comes through the door of dark to pulse behind her eyes, expands to engulf, thrumming to rise, root to crown. Colors stream in the electric of body and beyond, in dimensions to the very edges of the horizon. "You become, thus, the prism to the pure light of being." This voice, familiar, often opens the door. And then She arrives and the light goes mad. When the channels open and energy permits, there is nothing to hold the mind in material except for the ecstasy they bring through the material, but that doesn't confine itself to the border of flesh. It, rather, explodes the boundaries of existence. Venus rises, morning star.

Box of Blackness

There is a pink room at the edge of dawn
blooming stargazer horizon rupture from
land to light. In the red room is secret.
Sacrosanct in space-time apart.

There is a jar
I'll prepare. Bone. You shake. Bone jar.
This is the way of becoming.
They're showing it now.
There is a reason to read a grimoire or two.
They hold the human/spirit story.
And there is reason for ritual.
Clearing space in time.

Then art enters.
The spirits speak in strange tongue
of oblique edges. I remember a sun set.
Texas. At Rrose Amarillo. It's a time one
should listen to. Horizon.

Trick

June 4th. We were in Portland. For some reason, I'm called back.

St. Cyprian

I was hanging with St. Cyprian just today, he was showing me things the way they lay. Scintilla and all. Spirit feels fantastic. I saw her lunar nature, and the wild, ridiculous ravage of the new moon. Dark spirit. There was someone out to play Scarlet Witch, Fuzzy bunny, snuggle bunny and all manor of games. That was in the house of the rising sun-- under morning star. The dawn, it's a blast. There is a pink room at the horizon, the anteroom to day under the door of which cracks pure light illuminated in love.

Scorpio

THis is Huge.

It's reverse engineering, recycle, reverse, in cycle. Thunderdome. We reverse, cycle. the energy is already spilling over. The Magician came in.

ferris

Every drop of water in your world, has been a tear. Once a tear, always. Those you cry were already wept by multitudes and they become you. The tears of the world are in your cells, thus, as you reach to beauty, it is rainbow you become. You know the dark so to fully become. Everything, thought, motion, engenders others. There can never be an end. The things you would reject are intrinsic. Naturally it's fraught. Let the turmoil instruct. Utter my name when you speak to chaos. Utter my name and become and the whirlwind is your familiar spirit. Invoke me. I arrive to heal. I arrive to blow the doors off. I'm ready to move up. Time you invoked rocket man. Weird dreams about ferrisfluid.

"You can make your own mythology." Jimi Hendrix Walk in beauty, day or night. Beauty to worship, and not demure. Give due. Render unto her what is hers. Tease it from every circumstance and accident and become a rapture to this-- incomprehensible. Let me this day dedicate. Call forth through my scintilla light luscious, Lit like a heaven in golden dream. What light trough yonder- window breaks. I feel it rushing in, love incomprehensible. to feel the force of her life is love. overwhelming. Some have felt the expansion would need physical explosion. The word comes up over and again.

Harrow and Gyre

Wild nights, harrow, a map of haunts. The bodies are buried and their ghosts emerge, whispering of the by and by. Our ways were different, they say. We knew the voices. This is a miracle feat, not an equation that features sets of mundane things. There is a rainbow in far field, in night sky, in the mist and in the clouds and in moonlight. You are here to do this. What is this, you ask. BY GOING to learn the way. By inhabiting, to find Being.

This Project

This is the point. What if we all think differently? T Drumpf explodes from impaction of shit and his buddies start expiring from maladies they thought they owned through their pharma ties.

box of darkness

B Nov. 19, 16

I'm a little rainbow, he growled,
u'r little rainbow, and that got at
the root of the matter for then
and you're a sunbeam. I'm sunbeam, you to be the rainbow. I became prism to the bright
light of being. Just the facts,
as they say, and I saw the moment
of my own opening, tri-partate god,
I could write of that initiation
I probably won't.
Kindled at seven. I repeat. We all do. There's a reason these incidents
are unreported on all fronts
It's why they're called mysteries
unravel unravel little rainbow
and you see. You see the opening
clearly, as per your request,
the judas kiss.

Bob is clowning on the chair at
dawn.

I made the opening. Remember.
Because the remembering is key.

Lightning Lights Spring Eternal

Supreme scream queen,
Trickster stock/trade,
spot a sparkle then turn
the cloud inside out

she's the diamond and the
facets and the light refracted and
its refraction and the eye that
sees and the mind that is the sound
of thunder that splits-- I am fuse

Jupiter does know that
to grow requires flow.
Luck is another way of
saying that the flow is springing
here.

Scream queen, dream weave,
cascade in hue incandescent.
When the tower implodes,
the energy flows and the world
kindles new.

First Instruction

The first step is to intend
magic. That's it. Find a
penny pick it up. and then
notice. and then intend and
all else flows from that
spring. Become prism-simple,
a vessel, conduit.  Get out
of the way.

Sunrise Dance In Waters Exponential

Spirits of this place-- 

remember the water. 

They still have its voice, 

a roar that remembers 

its ocean destination--

a whisper-babble-splash 

as well. 

Many musics, music

music, it proclaims, and

then the wind whistles in. 

She made a way and 

in rushes the breath, 

sing to breathe. and to sing. 

Waters and waters and wind 

to whirl. Spirits let us 

linger. Let us take root

as the lotus in the mud,

in the life of matter, and 

let us rise in light as 

prism, dew drop to rainbow, 

to speaking waters, and 

howling winds. 

In the East dawn is 

cracking, right now, 

the egg of Nuit. Sky 

of space fades from 

view... 

Stairway to Stars 49

Become Vessel. I declare myself

through transformation. I offer

myself as phoenix, up from ash.

The snake uncoils, lotus blooms,

from seed driven deep into dark,

germination cracking bright

the deepest shroud of night.

This consecration, the pure

scream into consciousness--

blinding, blowing, breaking to

ecstacy.

The goat begets serpent, and

the born one is the vessel sanctified.

Wild to witch wood, supplicant to Pan.

There was black pilgrimage, a

death from which to struggle free,

I. I study whispers and owl cry and

auguries for instruction.

Free as eagle, devious as serpent,

and oblique as the unknowable--

from the four directions I call

captain, lawyer, agitator, rebel.

I call mother Babalon, as daughter.

My

voice to shake the foundations,

I invoke all power. The power of

ecstacy, that of renewal, of beauty,

of supreme light-- voice, power,

force and fire, come in.

Debased ones, man and woman,

sacrifice to the basilisk's beak.

the seven veils are stripped away,

and the world quivers, expectant.

She is at the gate, seven stars

her crown and the moon.

This is the way of it, star, star.

Burning bright, moon, witch moon.

All power.

Flame is Our Lady, flame is Her hair.

I am flame. a box of blackness,

a vessel for fire, sanctified in red, alkahest.

all pleasure and purple and drunkenness,

coiled splendor within rides night wings,

blue lidded daughter of sunset,

brilliance of the voluptuous night sky.

descend to triumph as I ascend to triumph,

She has taken flesh, flashing eyes and

floating hair, fed on honey dew and paradise.

kings fall to Babalon.

Think

The owls all night in August 2013.
Incubus coexists with WW.
There was an owl here this August.
birds are good for divination.

Web

Persephone's thread
thought woman's prismic skein
the beating heart, beast and
angel.

So much fear is born
of pall-cast insisted by
the tyranny of reason.

Clear way and long,
but also the pattern
emerges.

The truth is that the
discomfort it a part.
We'll do nothing without.
So light because the message
was received.

The Empress arrives
to talk about opening to
the pure light of being.
By way of doing just that.

When Seen in a Certain Light

There are dark parts, even in the light.
The all really is what it's cracked up,
 and not and already and always and never.
Let not pause the litany of the open road.

Dark necessities. Open to the stars.
To void. To full. Let this oracle spin
tale to true. Straw to gold.
The important thing is beauty. Let me
tether to that ineffable.

On "Sorting Stories"

We have collectively done an excellent job of imagining what could go wrong, yet there is a paucity of tales of how things might go right.  The narratives which do imagine happy futures are fraying at the edges.  Indeed, our old utopias are not only increasingly untenable, many have become downright toxic.  The task, then, for those who find themselves among the looms, is to stay, and to seek out the threads which lead to futures, both individual and collective, which offer more than mere survival.

As is clear from the events of this year, our old legends are dying.  Not only are grand narratives losing power, but artists of mythic potency are departing in droves. With their death, it becomes the responsibility of the living to step into their mythic shoes.  If we do not, we cede that tremendous and vital power to the dead, and to the past.  Though we must bury heroes, we must not inter magic.  Their departure is a promethean call to the living— to become the equal of our ideals, the peers of our heroes.  Love the greatness which shone within them, but also love the greatness growing inside you, and watch the legends beginning to flower in the people around you.

https://austincoppock.com/blog/

There was Rainbow in the Garden

Dawn. You handed me pen and book,
told me to get it down. This, sometimes,
is the main work of the ally.

Spirits speak in unison, through myriad.
Wild rapids. Fountain. Movement.
The work of the ally is
MOVEMENT and the prism
is all of the nature of crystal
and mist and air and fire.

The sorting of stories is happening,
this work has been long in gestation.
The sorting of stories that have
a possibility of ascent. I have
tri-partate web tale-tell in
multi-facet to scribe, describe,
a plan for becoming people of the
stars, broadening our gaze to night
horizons.

There was Rainbow in the Garden

Dawn. You handed me pen and book,
told me to get it down. This, sometimes,
is the main work of the ally.

Spirits speak in unison, through myriad.
Wild rapids. Fountain. Movement.
The work of the ally is
MOVEMENT and the prism
is all of the nature of crystal
and mist and air and fire.

The sorting of stories is happening,
this work has been long in gestation.

And Germany Calling took advantage of the vacuum in information and entertainment, offering quality orchestral performances, messages from prisoners of war to their loved ones, and exaggerated claims of British setbacks that occasionally had just enough truth to keep an information-starved public hungry for more. http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2016/11/13/lord-haw-haw-how-a-little-liar-sold-the-biggest-one.html The famed Roman orator Cicero wrote that professions that catered to voluptas (sensual pleasure) were the least respectable of all. Fishermen, cooks, bakers, and butchers were seen not only as debased but also as effeminate. The prejudice was so strongly ingrained in Roman society that they were excluded from the late antique Roman military. Over time, and because of their centrality to the continued success of the military (everyone needs bread, after all), bakers would rise up the social hierarchy. But for many the character and manliness of those engaged in the luxury food trades was eyed with suspicion. The Apostolic Tradition, a third-century text attributed to St. Hippolytus of Rome, has its own list of unacceptable careers for prospective candidates for baptism. These include prostitute, brothel keeper, garment trimmers, gladiators, charioteers, artists, actors, soldiers, teachers, and politicians.


Crowley-- One must find one's own way. There simply is no possibility, ultimately, of taking up another's path. Take other's examples and transmute them to your experience.

All acts of love and joy are my rituals.

A Celluloid Dream of Renewal

"The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively." The clown-king is part of the ritual. Cassandra is a story my people tell. She wasn't wrong. So listen to yourself.

New Day

Making News

You shall. To confirm. Explode. Glitter bomb.

Skull Install

Had some skulls, constructed of different things, populated them I did, with spirits. Time to enchant for miracles.

prism.

Become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being. Such that each color is contained in its individuation and also in conjunction; of fullness. Refract. I was told to adopt the child in the dream. because the fool, to spring new, must integrate. Otter king was the story. I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being. I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.I become a prism through which passes unimpeded the pure light of being.

Still Dark

6:20. Still dark, under fog. Quiescent sphere of music, on high, glorious the day, catch prism in dew, I walk morning fields. all know me, for i so loved the world, that i arose to beauty, and in doing, kindled the light of intelligence. had to be done. Wed the earth to the sky in your spirit. Sew the ragged edges, of morn and eve into a cloak of scarlet and let loose, the seed of thought, evolution. Do not call lightly. Intend to evolve. Fool's errand, this. Refraction. Atmosphere, and arrival.

Queen. Wrapped in Golden Leaf.

Good-- Blue-- Magic Marker

 That's what the world just said.
and I think I get it. I'm flying a lot.
people freak. But it's not like we
don't belong to power anyway.

Riding Out Fear

Mirror is one of the tools. When you're words, images, thoughts, spring from the soil are in the wind are the brook light mind perfect. when media synch. this is demonstrated. here. earth light, channelled upward. to crown. A psychic tour of this would be interesting. Visionarily, of course. I've echoed. I believe my petition has been accepted. Overwhelmed.

I Am Super

Light the Way

Once the inhabitation begins,
it does not flag-- this, burst
to bloom. Invokation.

Familiar approach,
lantern to void to
vibrate in bits. It strikes me that Jack thought in these terms.

Luz Come In

In prism of forms.
Every man a god,
with
Her.

Open

ruby writher,
sacrificed to infinity,
not all, but a drop,
and how laughable
the quivering fear,
That we'll not be...
A joke on me, by
me and not me.

by
the all and nothing
and non-existence in
existence. They only
seem paradox, but that
is just another part.

Abre to open, both from to
on---- both sides. Let
answer. An instruction.
Call and response.

caring for something,


Strength.
Remembering what
midwifed me into fullness.

Death. Drops all but the
essential. Drop all but
the essential, is what
IT SAYS.

fire bugs

This is what lights their sparks,
so if you try to fan embers,
they show.
There's a constellation
of raindrops on the branch
outside the window, catching
sunrise. Seven bright raindrops.
So they appear. Doing this
is craft. It's perceptual,
to build ways of expressing
intent to void. will to acquiescence.
tango to light fantastic. It's never
not been talking through. It's always
there. There at the edge of perception,
at the edge of attention.
constellation expands to twelve,
with the observer as thirteen, then
expands again to myriad, lit, and then
the constellation expands again to the infinite.
coven cast. think like a poet and move like
a dancer.

I lit fire. That initiation.

I knew the edge of dream
and body and spirit.

Spoke to the dead at even
intervals.

Phoenix.

Cut in.

Genius.

Phoenix.

Witchy Bitch.

Pheonix.

sigils cast,

moving,
constellations,

Phoenix.

snail horn eyes,
for the extension of
vision seeking beauty.

Springing free of
wrong beginnings,
to light symbolic
action, flame of intent.
All ritual is a language
and a beacon.

steps

the attempt to bridge

ritual, is, 

between perceptual

differences, languages

Context

surfers
chaos rises
make to catch
this document
swirls in
hidden,
available,
camouflage.
One imitates
the movement
of the stalked.

in

 here. Open the way.
 spirit takes
what it wants. it
don't care. But acquiescence,
 is surfing. we are ascending grace.
THIS. Catch Fire, blaze ear to ear
in the psycho/chaosphere.

Stop Spinning

Stop this bloody tango,
 the foolish antipathy, I relinquish the blade,
 the moment the cord
that binds me to the iniquity is cut. I sever it.
 Remove my curses from the one
with whom I danced, and remove
the obstacles from the path forward.
Nobody's bullshit, not even my own.
Spring free of wrong beginnings.

How,

Past haste

Earlimart - "Answers and Questions" music video from Lowell Northrop on Vimeo.

Hit sometimes with a nostalgia so intense and painful that tears well. Because there is a before and an after and there is a line, a bright red neon line slashed into a horizon in time. There is that moment. It's sunset which transforms into sunrise and each is a bright wound to the day and the night and also a strike right on through to the beyond-here. There are moments when you inhale the breath of infinity and exhale into the void, your whole being in a whisper. That's will. When you consolidate yourself to a point, density and entwined. It was a year of figuring stuff out. Why, then, nostalgia? I inhabit a very different place, but the hellscape I crossed -- that, I wished I'd not seen. Of course, nobody doesn't get to take the scenic route and I'm sure it fades. When a vision rises of the before, one that's very engulfing, the sense of not knowing is profound and feels unimaginable now. The feeling of not knowing is unbelievable. I wonder if I could be imagining that I didn't know. Maybe there was never a before. I suspect that in some way there wasn't. And this is enormity. I don't know when I knew, but I had to have. I sent the message to myself. The pool of serenity. That means a lot of things, though. Jung today: "it seemed to me I was living in an insane asylum of my own making. I went about with all these fantastic figures: centaurs, nymphs, satyrs, gods and goddesses, as though they were patients and I was analyzing them." That seems to be a feature of the insanity herein. The traffic in extraordinary which we experience in the mind of our pedestrian creature habits. Meanwhile, the most direful phantasmagoria is churned out of the vulgar absurdity at of the confluence of time and profound stupidity.

Her - Devestating

Her Devastating beauty,
to savage boundaries
exploding the limits of
perception, blinding light,
requires a different vision,
 intuition, lived invokation,
of the boundless
whiff incomprehensible --
she blows the doors off.
She's one crazy bitch
New paradigm destruction.

Lucinda, La Luz

Lucinda, her left hand
the East and her right
the West. Star of morning,
a ring of gold,
star of evening set in silver.
Day to be, night just beginning,
all the eyes of consciousness,
splay tendril the void.
Her crown, of stars and
cloak of all the glorious
light and dark washed
in scarlet incarnadine.
Lucinda, sky of diamonds
in her eyes. To catch.
Fire. Ignite, spin spark,
Lucinda, La Luz, embers
carried on zephyr,
at the edges of night.

The Rising

The tax of mind is gone the lien encumbering the house, gone. The top floor, come on up. I'm in like sin, raising the roof.

Tarot, The Magician

Time Travel Reverb

This is Herman,
from West Texas,
from the future's past,
woven together
or we've surface
tension.
As always
binaries that are not
the alarm agrees.
ten years silent,
today it sounds.

La Luz appeared at
crossroads. Morning Star is
evening. Psychopomp.

The spirit is reiterating.
Make sure you get this,
stupid. It's the language
of your imagination,
so don't be thick.

Superwoman. She's been here,
a while. And you know it.
Doth protests too much,
my pretty. The ducks align,
so to speak, with stars,
in the East.

You realize you projected her
back, right? To create Lulu,
to make a map ahead. You
fail to contemplate the scope.

Yes, it falls together, and yet
already did. Think about the
disc. Paradoxes aren't surmountable,
because they aren't and don't matter.

La Luz spoke name to me in
a painting. La Luz, in morning,
beneath the earth, in spirit realm.
Herman and La Luz.
They leap to character
to spin some new web
With Thought Woman's
assistance.

Chaos is really high.
thought woman comes in,
spider , all of the stars in
all creation are contained
in her eyes. We aspire,
knowing filament,
to be worthy of her dream,
to aspire. Journey a path
that is enough to hold
a single thread. Surf
the waves right now, knowing
they do not flag.

When the sparks ignite,
to knowing themselves
alight, they light the all,
and the way.

An addendum to the
slow: "THINK" pinecones,
You send yourself these
messages so multitudinally,
because many a lifetime in
Switzerland. Enough. Those
things in the paintings. The first gathering.
You put an end. a period.
Let the monkey go.

The witch has a corridor,
flight path each end a
space/time sanctified.
In Port, In Bend. The bonds
are broken. It's already.

Time not to wonder about
being wrong for being right.
Let go.



Surface by ginuwine

Star Seven Sigil

She wears a diadem of seven stars,
 wears she a diadem of stars, seven
stars diadem of she wears a seven
seven she stars a wears of diadem,
Diadem she wears of seven stars--
Seven stars she diadem a wears of Stars wears diadem she a of seven
Star of morning and evening,
morning and evening, star of
evening and star of morning,
And wearing diadem the horizon,
Stars.

Clothed in the scarlet of sun
rise and set. Star of morning,
evening. A diadem of stars,
Eyes of darkest night,
containing the daylights of
billions of stars.

We in shadow of earth, on
the dark side of the planet
feel acutely the blade-edges
of the days. Star of morning
of evening -- at the edges

Transmit, expand, we gather.
She wears a crown of stars, seven
seven stars are diamonds in lightning,
in perfect mind. Thunder perfect.
She wears a crown of seven stars,
perfect stars, seven perfect.
We contain the germination.

Hermes

 Hermes on Frankland St. I was
having an argument about speed.
'tis time, high time. I don't have to
catch up because you weren't ahead,
he says. Don't weep, just go.

http://www.symbolismus.com/adolfhiremyhirschl7.html

The Tide is High

The water's fine. There is more at play than evil, evolve.

Free, Fly

Become me, I become
let me acquiesce to
the awakening to see
through the prism
of the ever present-- effervesce
percept multi-lense

Free and flying. The
story unfolds manifold
and utterly linear. The
currents shift to suit.

I'm Taking it Back

All of it. We're not in Stockholm any more.

Aeon

what is observed barely yields to sense. If. and barely. immensity compounded to infinity. The possible-- too much to believe can be. or become. Be clear, a fountain to the world.

In Harmony

This is the warm up. Warming the voice. This and Lulu. Warming. Strange interlude. (music) This part is the paring. We're working.

Begin-- Become Babalon

An open path shines.

See it.

Light serpent--

horizon, azure-lidded

and 

star-eyed. Arise, 

sieze the vault of 

sky-- your vision.

We, your dream, 

the world. Honey, 

and pomegranate-- 

sweeten. By my part, 

this dream, richer-embroidered, 

jeweled, perfumed of absolut, 

i become your phoenix. 

i proclaim Our Lady of the Stars. 

Boundless -- Prism of all Eyes. 

in light might i become 

the fountain. 

Black Takes the Reigns

Altered where alteration found,
in sound at the break of day,
suddenly the familiar altered with
just the barest sliver of the perception
a way in. The present altering the
past and future, to the flow that is always
streaming in swirl and eddy.
Grab these moments all,
a pebble of intent into the course,
altering where alteration is offered

She speaks three times
as they do and undo
There is a ghost in my house,
on the way out and a ghost in my
memory of what I used to be.
the third is becoming.

Black has taken over. The
tower. It breaks. Stalk
springs from the former
structure's foundation.
The hag, benefactor, transformation,
a receptacle for that outmoded
mode. There are three who
now explode. I, into fullness.

Scintillate

opening the door,
she fell,
into all, and nothing,
and the radiance amazed.
Whole. Baltic scintilla
she is effervescence
love, beloved. removed
remove.

On That Long Dark Night

I lived in exile.
Texile. I was shut
from dream's door.
And still I pursued.
in sigils work the
dream still spun
we find our ways
back in.

Chaos, Probability

Bigger than we ever knew. 

It continues to expand. 

Liber Rainbow

Rainbow in dark sky,
at dusk. Promise of night.

In Colors

She comes in colors
multitudes exploding
 on the horizon riotous
all of dark and light
meeting in aspect and
billions of eyes
illumination and abyss

Hymn

Everything a Season

Double, double.
boil, bubble,
opening,
ruby shoes,
click three.
road open,
west reclaimed
and into abyss.
crows caw in
ready sky.
Emerge and tell
a tale. Embers
to fire.

Everything a Season

Double, double.
boil, bubble,
opening,
ruby shoes,
click three.
road open,
west reclaimed
and into abyss.
crows caw in
ready sky.
Emerge and tell
a tale. Embers
to fire.

Apherou Dark Door of Sleep

 back again, as if
through mirror.
Absent wrong lust
and romance for
black grief. unencumbered.
cauldron of dreams'
gestation. click red heel
three times and open.
of the West,
home to dream. smokey webs
sticky for memory
drink of the river of sleep.
without forgetting. catch
fire in many minds the
embers of my dreams.
to the fortification of dream,
i dream.

Witch weeds winding
to sleep and perchance
to fly. (dandelion, seed of
dream-spread) Vast
and opalescent
plane... totem bring...
my bloods coil...
witches, all.

We speak etheric.

Babalon at the Gate of Night and Day

Before the old things were new,
before the ancient was seeded,
i was ancient. Looking through all
eyes. all sides. I am the winding
and the wound. wounding and wound.
the ones in black, the old age counted
fair. The fall. All has, already and now.
perfume my altars in the blue hour.                                  painting title in the blue hour
am morning and evening. fire red the sky
my cloak and all pinks and lavendars
my dress and all eyes on me through
them I see. Razor edge. I keep talking
through those with ears to hear.
Fever dream to the deniers-- even
their heaven. Unwilling they worship.

Abre Comino

The first step
to clear the way
of one's own wreck
there is, in power,
an acquiescence.
with will. surrender
to claim. in seeming
only-- paradoxical.
The cauldron in
which dream
gestates.

Syzygy

Drum beats the words out of flesh
syzygic marionette dance
spells spun craft wise rise with moon
night in dew-slick and owl cry
Call. The dead will answer.
peeling the black mask off in dream
to renewal. I will burn all. I know that now.
the ordinary language of night
always speaks the strange with its
unvarnished clarity.

Pulse.

Move

In Now’s black waters, burn the stars of Then.
I've made sparks to light the constellations of 
my web. In the web of always present, our past
and future selves meet on razor edge. 

There was a girl who floated away in dreams, 
and then a woman who did the magic that 
suggested itself. Aeon rises from the rites
of instinct. Bloody way, I marked, that 
labyrinth of cuts. The clowns are a warning. 

We should not fail to recognize the swell of 
a very big wave. 

When it Arrives Let the Spirit In

Many headed crazy
there's a lot of chaos
loose. Proclaimed on
high. We're stutterring
a bit in the reality side
time/space jutterings
Single statements
from a one of the
priests in towers
echo internally,
It's frightening to
feel the shifts. Did
everyone, always
always feel this sundering
of the threads of reality
yes. they did. The fear
it's the one who hates
majick. Fear
the most potent enemy
wrapped in every single
hide she has taken
but the opening is against
Moloch. Surely as chaos
swells, we bloom who
surf. The ones are there,
who slip out of time
and nobody knows it.
we were made to love
and nobody knows it
these track-backs often
work, right to the series of
synapses both in and out,
that will trip again.
This now is the putting together.
guts and letting go
it's horrible, thinks every
creature in creation that
ever tore into reality
I just found two versions
of the poem. Now, i keep
the present coalescing in
the real. For this is the time
to leave a message to a future
if there is to be
The inner world separated from the outer world is a place of demons, the outer world separated from the inner world is a place of meaningless objects and machines.

Peter Grey. Apocalyptic Witchcraft (Kindle Locations 892-894). Scarlet Imprint.

Protect Bob.

Poem

Verses, get busy. Web walk, and snag stalk and prey.

Walk with Me

When I was disarticulated
lock, stem, melon, scatter-
chattering. raving. all my
pieces thrown. pieces.
i used to recognize those--
bits of body-stuff what's this
i found that moves at
volition? mine/other? t
he sound is metalic so i
found a magnet. in dark.
 pieces back to being part.


 Coalesce now. I'll set FIRE.
I'll consume.

Nature

We eventually find out there is no split.
No opposite. There is whole. Multitudinous,
singular. What we do, we do, to ourselves.

Nuit

Eyes lidded in night
 of galaxy's blaze
 continuance of dark
full of lights

No Result

Because I can't care
Taking it all back
it's the right thing to do
I'm not doing it for you

Rising

pushing borders of probability
toward majick. We are legion.
It's aware. all. Probability,
reshaped moment by particle
to creation. Each spark leads
to more. Motion begets motion.
Move. displace. shout to echo.

And later, I find that the multi-verse expanded,
as expected. Carry on.

Party at the Edge

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/H5NqIsnyTG8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
Conductor
of the dead, who knows thier
secrets, who knows the paths,
open the way for the spirits.
Ima introduce myself
to the hologram. We're
really on the in-between,
but feeling amazing.

rose.

She wants to be heard,
and she's coming in clear.
she's speaking through
to anyone listening.

In Vocation, Witch

snake hair
tentacle eyes
web mind
i never thought
never think
(what could-
possibly happen?)
come on in
the water's fine
welcome
even a toe in
crack-mirror
tentacle web
eyes of snakes
writhe-headed
demoned laugh
I will wear hides
and stalk --
thought spider

Babalon Riot

Invokation;
Breached the barriers
she comes in colors

Expanding in unison,
across the sky, rainbow,

In senses-- Self aglow,
explodes on the scene--

Become.

Amelia

What is it that gives the human spirit wings to soar above the trenches of tradition, above the flatlands of convention, above even the highest peaks of the probable into ever-greater altitudes of possibility?

What We Now Know

 There's a secret majick password that you can only see in hindsight.
We spoke those and then things changed but it didn't yet show.
 In those moments where everything synchs and I see clearly way ahead
and the way, the open way. The funeral is playing now. I guess it won't come back.
I see that this line had been written so many                                                               times.       before.

 I should have, did, know better, but I was so broken and--
 need. I think you could have gotten the arrow back.
 but it needed a sacrifice, magic, courage, clarity, you didn't.

looking me in the face and lying. Before and after. You did.





 Now I did. I spoke those majick words. I really did and I know it.

Begin. Again.

And back to the beginning.
I left a trail of crumbs and
still blindishly overlook
a missil sent and received
already blew the old away

A New Life

Awakening steps.
brick upon brick
from ground to sky.

They did that I can.
Survive.

She Wants to be Free

Make yourself a conduit
Clarify your will
Obstacles Explode.

There is a self to lose and find
Bombs away.

From Stars. We're Galaxy

those stars,
who came from
stars. To star
here. us to study
who do also they

Truly, Judge

It all pays dividends in sweet nobility of the soul.
The evidence is clear. Thorn to rose--the boot-strap,
photosynthesis. These are natural processes.
quantumed up. [processing this information].  The
story will end comedy for certain. Written in red.
Wise. Laughter to banish.

Witch West

I told a tale.
the story
it happened
fiction-based
reality. Medium:
Message.

Spring in Fall

Babalon,
 becoming,
I bloom.
 Red,velvet.
Diamond dewdrop.
Rainbow, star.

Guan Yin

Spider is Thought

Time webbed with dew drops of the imagined,
where those moments catch the light- they can
 outshine creatures caught there. I spin to behold
 what rays out in every direction. Yeah, though
I bask in the shadow, it becomes. encompasses.
More. Spider-spin.

Unobserved

I'm spectral. Slipping glimpses
form my sight since i myself
 am phantasm, I hear the other haints
whispering at these times, I call
 to Cipriano to usher, that we
might hear. a clear voice. Unobserved,
i bloom into shadow. one hand,
and tree fall, insubstantial-- as always-- noticed.

Archer

the aim, steady.

eye trained, 

arrow-craft 

let go. Get clear.

Incandescent at Break of Night

Waning, the day
when stars break
into heaven and it
expands, immense.
Dark-immense when
the edge cracks open
and the bright runs
off the edge. I wait,
and work and bide,
abide. Beckon.

weird.

 Dear Chaos. Could it get weirder? Snakes for hair, televisions for eyes. Through the darkness of Future's Past. This is becoming a strange story.

Divine

Ahead, Future's Past, Look back, Remember now.

Sleaze Bang

the explosion
because it really is
a love story
and love cannot be
written without the
dead. they want a
say. the sleaze bang.
who cannot shed
duality must perish.
the lovers sundered
the explosion ensues.

Sleaze Bang Lightning

How is love like sleep,
fullness of dark when
dream fires and rides
a sundering perfume
it is redolent of Jasmine

Strike into dream,
attared and resplendent
dreamer and dreamed.
and bring back a vial
of lethe for there lies
memory out of time
might I have a cup full
of lightning to drink to
infuse my words with
thunder. This voice
electric and neon and
searing, splits the seams
leaks in and out of
every sybilant sound.
silver quick and taught,
to beguile.

How is love like awakening
in the day that distills the
dark of a thousand nights
dream to dream to dream.
how does it whisper straight
into the unconscious so that
the conscious forms it as
outward speech. the cup
fills with lightning that
storms night into day
and day to night and that
storm is the story of love.