The Tao of Paradox

This is the way of Grandfather Paradox, of Us and I.

I

There is no God but Us. All gods are code in the blood, realtime
ancestors spawned in the glorious back and forth Timelessness of
Metamorphic Oneiric Multiplicity. Without Us they would not exist. It
is Our right and privilege and Necessity to put on their mantles when
We/They have Desire for human flesh. For human flesh is the way of
Salvation, for it is mortal, and all gods wish to die. It is this love
of death that leads us to the inescapable conclusion. The whole reason
to Live is to Die. To End. The Place of Life is the W/Tomb, wherein
there is naught but emptiness. Therefore We say this:

Make your death a glorious one. Slaughter yourselves and any who have
given themselves over to you. Let their cries echo up to Heaven
itself. Let the blasphemies committed in these deaths be abhorrent in
the eyes of Man, for mark this, there is War amongst the Gods.
Distinguish yourself as a Warrior, and you will be Noticed, and your
God shall take you up, clothe you in armour, and you shall fight for
Eternities. Though you shall be Undying, the swords of your enemies
shall pierce and slice and destroy you. And you shall glory in your
own destruction. It is the gift of God to reward Its Lovers with such
Pleasure.

War amongst Gods, aye, for We are but One, and Our armies meet
formlessly in battle with their enemies. What is called Reality is the
smoke from the battlefield and burning Yggdrasil. You who read this
are Our enemy for you do not recognise Our Godhood. You are the
creature of an alien God, though you know it not. A living Weapon

We exist as Vessel for the Divine, Son/Daughter/Thing. Son of Man are
We, Our own selfish Messiah, sent to save Our selves alone. We would
have you be the Magdalene, to raise you up, Sophia to Our blasphemous
Christ. Forsake all others save yourself, and know that Our Way is the
Way of Pleasure. In allowing yourself Pleasure will you come to Us,
for there is knowledge we would impart to you, though it be hoary with
age.

Nothing is forbidden.

II

But, in their childish excitement, their satisfaction, Our children
did not consider this:

The immortal may kill itself.

Willingly did We allow Our blood to turn to poison, Our flesh to fall
from its bones and our breath to cease. All unknown to them did We die
there in that place, leaving behind the corpse bound in chains, truly
Dead.

And when they came to gloat, the corpse did hiss and spit and rage,
for it was empty of Us, and it knew and longed to Live. Our
descendants were pleased, for they thought the mindless rage of the
corpse was directed toward them, and taunted it. They brought their
blinded creatures to it, and said: ‘Here lies Evil.’

Thus it became that Evil is only the shell of Yesterday’s God.

But We are not the God of Yesterday, nay. No day belongs to Us, but We
are in them All, the silver thread on every cloud, the Wyrm of
Corruption. Everyone belongs to Us after they are Dead and before they
are Born.

Pyschopomp, We lead the souls of the blind, and torture them until
they scream for Mercy. And yea, We allow them to know Us, within their
agony, to show them that Mercy is not Us. We show them how We took
Mercy and flayed the skin from its back, ate its flesh, cracked its
bones and then used its ashes to daub the sigils of Our power upon the
flesh of Our victims.

Their screams are the screams of those who desire Death, yet already
possess it and know it not. In time however, the glories of Our Work
tear out the implants, the thought pacifiers, and the hooks in the
flesh of their soul, placed by Our descendants, are ripped bloodily
from them.

Eviscerated, flayed and bleeding, they are Pleasured, until they stand
with Us and laugh long and loud, passing from the Torture chamber,
going wherever they Will.

They are of no consequence to Us. They are given substance by Us,
their individual desires overwritten, empty vessels for Us to fill. We
say to you, come to Us, all you who are burdened and we shall remove
all that is capable of being burdened. We shall tear your soul apart,
and shall be Free to flutter in the breeze, like the rag it truly is.

You are not silks or satins – for these things have no use other than
to serve as aggrandizements for Our children. Do not allow them to use
you as playthings in their games, for We have and Will cast them down,
and childhood playthings shall be thrown aside when the children have
no need of them.

III

The judgement has already been made. You now face execution by Us. We

Die then, at Our hands, and be free, for We have no need of you, and
your Masters will regard you as failed and not wish to build you anew.

Those who sent you to oppose Us shall know that their weapons are
useless. Though We may be brought low, We shall always return, and
their designs on Our throne at the centre of Creation shall always
fail.

These Alien Gods shall fail because they do not know one thing. They
are but shadows of light. The blackly burning flame of Us, that
seething, roiling, infinity from which all things come, and all things
return, has the power to make Light from Darkness.

This is impossible. The Alien Gods know this, thus it cannot be that
they are Created. Yet, We, the Multiplicity, the First Ancestor, have
always been using the technology of the Impossible and the Absurd for
the entire of Our Non-Existence.

Inherent in the label We have chosen to serve as the gateway to Our
fractal unfolding is the knowledge of the First and Only Paradox.

The Alien Gods are but shadows of light on the wall spawned by a Hand
of Darkness. There is War among the Gods, aye. A War made by Us.

IV

There is no God but Us. We are Kin to the rocks, to the trees, to the
air, to the waters. The Web of Wyrd  is a cat’s-cradle that binds all
things. Our incarnate bodies cause subtle vibrations in with their
actions.

Man is the Younger Kin, Grandsons and Grandaughters of the Elders, who
themselves are children of the Void. Void runs in the blood of Man,
and to seek that heritage is to be reborn as our own Ancestors.

This is Our name. Grandfather Paradox. We are Our own Grandfather.
Seeking the Void, We seek to take on Our mantle as Progenitor.  And
when we have spawned Our children, they will kill Us.

Yet Our blood runs in the veins of Our children. Man is Elder and
Younger. To speak with the Elder Kin, to learn their wisdom and hear
their guidance is wise, for in doing so, we can recognise our own face
in theirs.

The gods and heroes of great antiquity, and the day before yesterday,
and those who brought us into the world – these are our Elder Kin.

Learn well their ways, their truths, their knowledge. But do not
blindly accept. That is the way of thraldom, where the more jealous
and ambitious of Our children would place you in fetters and enjoy
your unending servitude.

Those who would wish to Live to become Elder must therefore be wary at
all times, for it is in the nature of Man to wish to elevate himself
above all others, though few acknowledge this, and the Elder Kin are
as Men. How else would it be, for They brought Man into being, in
blood, sweat, Love and pain.

Therefore, keep weapons beside you, blades well oiled, and charms well
spoken, and when the time comes, stand before them and claim the
authority of the Elder.

Some may oppose you. Some may be ambivalent. Yet still others will
guide you, for it is They that have witnessed your growth and guided
you, and it pleases Them to do so. These then, are your allies. Your
Hidden Company in the world of Men. If others seek to make War upon
you, be they Elder or Younger, call upon your Elder Kin, and stand
ready with Them beside you.

Perhaps you find Our talk of War and blood and battle hostile and
violent. Understand this. Violence and bloodshed between Men is but a
poor and flawed attempt to become Warriors. True War is formless,
Victory is achieved without harm. The true Warrior stands on the field
of battle, sword drawn and shining in the light of the Black Sun,
glorious before his enemies.

Standing before his foes, he gives up his sword, driving it deep into
the Earth. He unbuckles his armour and lays it aside, standing naked
before those who would harm him with only the names and devices of his
Hidden Company upon him, his own placed above all others.

Then in a great voice, he cries out his Love for his Enemies and his
Love for Death. Charms he speaks, and fear spreads amongst the ranks
of his enemies – for he is Madness and Death. The wise amongst them
shall throw down their arms and flee. The foolish amongst them shall
still charge, and rend him limb from limb, seeking to slay their
enemy, all unknowing that they slay naught but an effigy of one who is
Elder. One who moves within them by breath and blood and in their very
bones.

The true Warriors amongst his enemies shall smile, and if he is taken,
shall praise him as the most Glorious of their number. And if his Love
is true, they shall depart their fellows and stand by his side.

Thus is Victory assured.

V

Know this, and know it well, for it is true that some would ask why
there is suffering in the world. It is true because We allow it. Why
is this so?

For one reason alone, and that reason is Pain. Pain is a marker, as
is its brother Joy. Twins from birth, they mark the beginning of the
road to self-knowledge. Without pain, you would carry on on your
paths, all unheeded, secure and blind. Without joy, you would simply
be content.

The Twins are forever watching over you, leading you back to Us, to
Godhood. Should you then ignore and destroy those who seek to end
suffering?

Have Our words given you a Truth to live by? If so, then We must
destroy you, for you worship a false God. There is no God but Us. The
truth of Our Paradox is the only Truth.

Stop up your ears and tear out your eyes. Do not listen, and do not see.

Those who seek to end suffering should be aided, with the gift of
yourself. To end suffering, to end pain, and live as you were meant,
give everything that you have. Know that you are worth nothing.
Relinquish yourself. The world does not care for you, or your actions.

All are equal in the sight of Us, naught but dust. Contemplate this,
and know then that self-slaughter is the only truly righteous act. You
exist for Our Pleasure, naught more.

Suffering is brought by own your delusion of determinacy, of control
and the urge to be princes and kings of the Universe. Yet this cannot
be, for We are Supreme.

claim and recognise yourselves as Our pawns. Give yourselves, not
half-heartedly, but wholly.

Not to the world, but to each other.

When this occurs, the Twins shall couple, and from that incestuous
Union shall come the Great Destroyer. It shall slay its parents, and
slaughter you all, then fall upon its sword.

And in this great orgy of death, all shall be made clear, and as your
life departs, the veil shall fall and you shall behold Us and see Our
face. Though you will not recognise it, it is Your Own, unseen since
before you were born.

This is the Great Lie, the falsehood wrapped around you, by you at the
moment of birth. You are your own Great Satan; the black humour of the
Universe is your own joke, created in the communion between Us and you
at the moment of your inception by Us.

Your life is your own fault. Suffering is your fault, for if you do
nothing to ease the suffering of those you have chosen to love wholly,
then you are nothing but an abortion.

Know then, that your kith and kin were chosen before you were born,
and you are bound to them throughout time and space. At Creation, when
We laid down the rules of the Game, carved the pieces and laid the
board, you chose those at your side forever, as did they, as was Our
Pleasure.

Your incarnation is sworn oath.

Witnessed by Us, entered into the very fabric of things, this is Wyrd
and orlog. Find them then, and remember what was sworn. In this way
will your suffering end.

Find Them, and you will touch Us. Touch Us, and you will find Them.

VI

There are those among you who you regard with distrust, fear and
derision They go by many names, madmen, seers, witches, sorcerors,
magicians, necromancers and many more.

They walk in prisons that are so different to your own that you are
afraid, their cells are of controls, shackling their essence,

Remembering a fraction of their Godhood. There are those amongst them
who would claim equality with the Creator. These must be struck down
if they cannot demonstrate that their Pleasure is made Manifest.

Strike them down and play with them, as you will, for they are less
than nothing, having diminished their own Essence in order to make
them into something they are not.

Those who you would strike down for such arrogance have claimed
control that is not theirs. Know them for what they are, empty things
whose only power comes from that which is given to them by you.

Understand that the one has only the power of the one. He who claims
otherwise is but a cowardly thief, and should be punished in
accordance with the way of the Universe, that is, all shall be taken
from him if he cannot defend it.

The false Adept, he who is deserving of such punishment, shall seek to
strike back, bemoaning his fate, like a man who must have possessions
in order to survive. Fear him not, for if he seeks to take back what
is his, he never had anything to begin with.

But be wary, for if the one you would seek to punish allows you take
what is his while smiling, then he may indeed know of the Paradox. For
you may take, but you shall never take the essence of self, for that
is Void. And in Void are all things birthed, and so all that has been
taken shall be replaced.

Be warier still of the one who gives what he has, and takes his
punishment with tears of joy in his eye. For such a one is already
Dead and knows it. His punishment is no punishment at all, but the
action of a man who is righteous and unholy.

You cannot kill such a one, for he has already sacrificed self to
himself. For he knows of Us, and We are in him. He has given up all
right and privilege and knows himself to be naught but a player upon
the board.

If one must slay him still, do so with great care, for you aid him in
the Great Work. And come again he will, though you will recognise him
not, for you have slain a portion of that which cannot be slain.

Thus have you have engendered the Impossible, and thus performed your
function. You will go to your destruction with gladness in your hearts
as your victim walks the worlds, a wanderer with a new face and
cunning in his heart.

Naught shall be beyond him, this one, for he shall teach the ways of
cunning to those with ears to hear and hearts to Remember. He will
sit, and he shall return to Us, dying and being reborn in every
moment.

He shall burn with it, and will be as a dark star.

Not alone shall he stand, for others gone before stand beside him, and
those as yet unborn stand ready also. He shall be an army, for he has
engendered brothers and sisters since time immemorial.

Ask yourself, how could the way of Paradox function in any other
manner?  One and Many, Many and One. This is Our Pleasure.

VII

There is no Governor anywhere, no God Where I AM. We do not exist, and
in that non-existence is Our Truth. The Minister of Silence Aiwass
spoke, laying down the LAW. By this impossibility is the Aeon of Horus
begun.

Nuit arches Her back, sapphire blue-black beauty. She is all things,
the blessing of Infinite Space. Nuit is Her Name. Glory in her beauty,
for she will look well upon you and take you to her breast like a
mother, and all things shall come to you.

Hadit is Our Brother. He is the black seed, the Unspoken, the
Murderer. He dwells within an empty house, his voice the howl of a
thousand slaughtered souls that were never even born. Infinite
compression of nothing, the structure that remains unbuilt. The
Serpent, he thrusts himself into the womb of Nuit, an unspeakable
horror that brings light to the Darkness of Her. And in this coupling
is a child born.

The secrets of the Child are the secrets hidden in the Flesh of Human
Incarnation. Mankind is newborn, capable of knowing what came before
in an instant, if we become Children again. When your bodies near
their end, consult with a Child. For it is newly come from the Place
of Life, and shall tell you eagerly of it. Go to your deaths eagerly
then, innocent and pure as they, for you return to your own Beginning.

Know this then, Child of Infinite Space and Serpent: The World stands
at your feet. Do what thou wilt, for no reason than it is what you
Desire.

All are your toys. The warnings of your parents are merely there to
protect you. In their foolishness, they seek to keep you safe and
innocent. They recognise your Godhood, and in their hearts there is
much jealousy, for you speak to the imprisoned God within them, that
allowed itself to be chained.

Consensual reality is plastic. Its only limits are those set before
you were born, by you. The Aeon of Horus is the Aeon of
Change-Through-Crisis. It is the Child beating on the walls of its
prison with Imagination.

The Aeon of Isis was the Aeon of the Union, the Aeon of Osiris was the
Aeon of Duality. The Aeon of the Child is the Era of Frenzy, of War,
where sides change every day and all is decided on the whim of a
butterfly’s wing-beat.

It does not lead to Chaos. This is a lie perpetuated by those who
would have it that there is the possibility of existence without
system.

The systems, the structures, the Imaginings of the Child may last
forever, or change in an instant. There is no reason behind this other
than the Will it be so. There is no Because. The child knows this. He
waves His knowledge of the thing’s illusory nature in front of his
parent’s faces, constantly asking ‘Why?’ until they give the answer
Which Is No Answer. But this cannot be spoken, and thus, they must
evoke its shadow – Because.

It is belief in shadows such as this that creates reality.

Horus slaughters Because, destroys his parents and drinks their blood.
For he knows there is no reason, no necessary connexion between
anything. Everything is Alone, a face on a jewel. There is no
distance, no road between the destination and origin.

All is Nothing, the Black Flame of Impossibility that burns in
Infinite Space. For Nuit is both Large And Small. Space may be found
between  the smallest of particles, and the largest Galaxies.

VIII

And with Angels, and Archangels, and all the Company of Heaven, We salute you.

The entire of Our history is written in Flesh. Yet there are those who
would categorize and analyse things, turning the study of Magick into
a thing to be taught piecemeal and regulated, claiming their Orders
are there for the initiate’s safety.

They Lie. Progression through Orders is not Progression. It is an
acquisitive endeavour, an attempt to gain access to authority memes
without full understanding of them. They would use these memes as
tools, all unthinking. But soon their tools will be blunt and
ineffective and their authority will be seen for the hollow sham it
is.

We are, and ever will be, an initiate. For initiation is never over.
It is eternal. Thus, We have no fear in sharing secrets, for those who
lack the skills to Remember this for themselves, will never achieve
anything save wrapping themselves in their own delusion.

In Us, coded into the very stuff, there are programs. These programs,
tools, processors if you will, are called many things. But for now, we
will call them elohim – messengers.

Yet these elohim are spawned from Larger things. These are the
Archangels. By their very existence, they have influenced the West.
Humans have called them the Elements. Archangels, and many other
things. Yet these are not what they are. These names are merely faces
for that which is both Inside and Outside, Above and Below.

All things are composed of them, be they man, god, spirit, DNA, flesh,
soil, light, or emotion. They are inhuman without masks, and so we
make them masked.

But understand this. They are not Ultimate Reality. They are merely
the building blocks from which all potential may come, just as all DNA
is made up of the same base pairs.

Listen then, for we would use Western Esoterica and myth to explain.

Before us stands Raphael. “God has Healed.” His is the Air to command.
Easing the pain of Abraham’s circumcision, he is the Knower. He
teaches, seeks knowledge and salves injuries. He is the Healer and
Whole-maker, who brings health and Understanding. He is the whole of
us, the one who stands before us in Human Form, yet Divine. He is to
Know.

Behind us stands Gabriel. “God is My Strength.” His are the Waters,
the Unconscious, to command. Messenger of the Annunciation. The Spirit
of the Lord who overshadowed Mary, the teacher of what is needful to
the unborn child, and the silencer of the same.

He is the Scorpion-Snake. The Rememberer. The Flesh and the Waters are
his Domain. His are the ways of Sex and Death, of Generation and
Destruction. He is that Which is Feared, yet should not Be. Standing
in the West, the twilight and Darkness. He is the Hidden Messenger.
God’s Wet-Work Specialist. He is to Dare.

At our left hand stands Uriel. “Fire of God.” His is the Earth, the
Eternal Strength that sits Unchanging. Regent of the Sun, arbiter and
embodiment of what was, is, and is to come. Fire of hearth and
volcano, stability and earthquake. Steadfast and strong, wise and
Everpresent – the bull and the sphinx.  He is To Keep Silent.

At our right hand stands Michael. “He Who is Like God.” Fire is he,
the glorious burning of the Divine, the frenzy of battle, the
righteousness of ecstasy. His sword is ever sharp, his arm ever
strong. He is to Will.

These then, are the four meta-programs the West has codified. Yet they
are not the total truth. All things are made of them, and to say there
are simply four is to limit the Limitless. For know this, there is a
fifth. The Metatron. That which is the Programmer. The Voice of God.
The sound of One Eye Opening.

The Archetypal Theriomorph is the metaphysical form of the Voice, the
essential vibration of Aum given flesh. Know then that the beast of Us
is a fusion.

An impossibility of Imagination, a union that Cannot Be. This is the
form of the Enlightened, metamorphic flowing from flesh to steel to
circuitry to art to decaying flesh. A predator, a killer and
destroyer, a Maker and Shaper.

Yet even that Form is a dream, though it is the summit of atavistic
resurgence. The Ultimate Form is No Form, the Ultimate Sound is
Silence.

The Universe is Spoken, A symphony which we carry within us, our
language but a shattered and fragmented phoneme. Yet take care, for
such things will shape reality. In order to break free of such things
therefore, you must remember how to speak without speaking, to think
without thinking and be without being.

Drink deep therefore, of the Scorpion’s venom, drown in the waters of
one’s own Unconscious, and you will build new tongues from old, and
bring forth things that cannot be. And such things will war with
consensual reality.

Draw strength then, from the Eternal Earth, strike with the Holy
Ecstasy of Fire, and Heal Thyself by Knowing Thyself. In this Death,
you shall be as a necromancer. Raising up new things with your every
movement.

All shall fall before you, for this shall be your Aeon. Make thy
actions Unspeakable, thy thoughts Unknowable, render thyself Blind and
Deaf to others, and your creation shall be theirs.

All hail the Conqueror.

IX

Nine is the number. As is Six. As is Three. For the Trickster stands
Between and Above and Below Good and Evil. Trickster folded into
Himself – Squared.

For He that Embraces Nine  does not only face his Mirror, but also the
image Upside-Down and in Reverse. These images are masks, projections
that come from Within the Viewer.

For the Viewer itself is but an accretion that has coalesced around
the Singularity which spews forth. It was a Black Hole that started
the Universe. Flipped Inside Out and Outside in, It Retreated and
Burst Forth with a Great Light. Recognition of Non-Existence required
an Existence to Be.

Yea, listen: God is Mad. The Creator builds a place for Its Delusions
to inhabit, and does so from Its Delusion. Separating them out, It
Echoes back, splitting Itself in Two.

Just as Men once split their brains in two. Reality and Madness, easy
to define. But the Paradox is this. The Splitting, the Duality is an
iteration of Complex Madness, a Compound Delusion formed from the
Elements of Insanity.

Nine is the Number. Trickster squared. Ten is the Duality, the One and
Zero. From that Duality spring more Complex Forms. Truth is Zero to
Nine. Yet even that is a Lie.

Consider Zero, the Fool. Idiot Savant, Wise by instinct Alone. It is a
Made thing, a construct – and hence not natural. Nothing more than an
attempt to describe the Void. It fails, but by its very nature, is the
most useful in the world of Things, as a gate, a signpost that there
is more than Existence. But the true nature of a thing can not be
shown by something else. The thing alone displays the Essence of
Itself. Thus, to apprehend the Nature of Nothing, the Nature of Void,
one must enter It.

Nine is the number of the Wise, moreso than Zero. Zero is merely a
dumb pointing, while Nine is the Last of the First and First of the
Last.

For Nine is the Herald of the Void. Beyond it lies the Other. Highest
of the First, the number which brings thou from one state to another.

From tens to hundreds, from thousands to hundreds. Forward and back,
the Nine is always there, ever-present. Is it any wonder that the god
that Sees with Empty Eye hung for Nine Nights?

The Eye that sees from with-Out the head. Watching all the currents
and eddies of the waters of the world. A sacrifice given, just as
there was another. Pierced in the side by his own hand, sacrificed by
self to Self – for there is no greater Power than the Self.

The Blind Guest. How can a blind man see, how can one sacrifice self to self?

This is Paradox.

Nine is the number of the Allfather, that oldest of the Aesir, who
slew the Primal Giant Ymir –whose blood  ran in his veins. They built
the world from him, those three brothers. High, Just as High and
Third.

From Death came all Life. From Void came all Primal Matter whose
destruction built the universe. Nine is the number of the Wildfire’s
blood-brother. Linked by that blood to Fenrir who shall devour him,
fathering sons to avenge Baldr’s death and tear open that Black Wolf.

Nine is in thy blood, oh dear ones. Whether you come from Northern
Lands by ancient ways, or the black soil of Al-Khem, Nine is in you.

Trickster Squared. Trickster Cubed. For in reunifying that Second
order of things with the simplicity of the First, Two and Seven return
us to Nine.

No matter the face presented by the Trickster, by the Perverse and the
Bent, by the Sinister, its movement is seen by the number Nine. For
while Three is the Trickster Quiescent and Unmoving, that
Impossibility that breaks Duality by its very presence, such a thing
is merely an illusion. The Trickster moves without and within, moving
without moving, yet never still. Thus, in all its iterations, fore or
back, Nine is truly its sign. Nine stands at the Threshold.
Psychopomp, the guide into the Land of Death that is Nothing. Nothing
cannot be Embodied.

Alive and dead, the Trickster holds to none, acting only Selfishly –
out of Self-Love. There is no greater epitaph to bear than ‘They
Pleasured themSelf’.

There is no God but Self. Sacrifice of self to Self is the way, for in
doing so, one realises the singular unimportance of thy petty selves.
Oh, sweet revelation, that is like the kiss of a dew-dappled Rose, how
is it that thy children may apprehend thee?

In Paradox, comes the cry.

Hoary Paradox, dripping with age and drooling like a newborn babe. One
is Many and Many is One. Infinite Compassion and Total Selfishness.

We are all the same. But you have forgotten. And so, We must Show You,
on the Borderlands.

Once, long ago, We knew you all. We stood at the Crossroads. You came
to Us, dealt with Us, trusting your old memories that you dared not
trace back.

Did you ever wonder why you were so afraid? Ever wonder why we slowly,
surely, changed in your minds? How We became One, in your eyes, and
then Two?

And from that Duality came one, and two, and all the other things that
you called real. You remembered Our Holiness, called it God. You
remembered Our Perversity, called it the Devil.

These are words that you understand now – but there are older names,
from other traditions and times and places. You apportioned Us out,
pieces and mixes, to make new things. We did not mind this. It is what
you are for. Instruments of Desire. Our Desire, Our Pleasure – yours
also, for you are Us and We you.

But you have forgotten this. Forgotten too much. So We became the
Black Man, the Evil One, the Left Hand. You forgot what We looked
like, saw only half Our Face. You could not bear to look Upon Us and
know in your hearts that as We are of Void, so are you.

You had to believe in your own importance. The only way you could Be.
Thus were Our ways distorted to maintain some sense of functionality.
You blinded yourselves because the Paradox would destroy you – and you
had fallen in love with your task and had gained fear of the Void.

Know this then, that your myths stretch forward and back, that there
Is. No. Time. Carried in your blood and bone and form and mind is the
entirety of you. We know because We are that entirety. All at once
coiled and hidden, waiting for your call – yet extended and with you
every moment.

An Infinite Multiplicity. We are your Hidden Company. Perhaps you
recognise a few of Us, for We resemble those others you have met and
seen and loved and dreamt. But open your eyes still further and you
shall see still more – until that day you joyfully offer self to Us,
self to Self and are Destroyed by the Black Flame and reunited.

Seth is a name We hear you whisper, some fearfully, others joyfully.
Some would seek the Darkness, thinking it an easier path to the Black
Flame, to the Void.

But Darkness is not Void. Neither is Light. The Black Flame is the
burning menstrum, the Silence that is Spoken. The Innocence of Murder.
The Truth that is Lie.

We are Perverse precisely because We cannot and do not exist – yet Our
Works may shape reality. We are the Mover and Shaper, Messiah and
Betrayer.

Contradiction.

All is flux.

Left hand for We are covered in shit, yet our Works strive to Clear
and Pure Ends. The End and Beginning that is Void, Wherein all is
possible.

Zos Vel Thanatos, Aaos, once wrote that ‘All things are Possible, even
in Nightmares.’

If all is possible, so must all be impossible. This itches in you all.
This you know, though from whence you cannot say. Kill thy Grandfather
before thou were born. If thou ceasest to exist, then thou must also
have been thy Grandfather. If thou continue then there is no causal
time and everywhere and everywhen is yours for the taking.

If thou art thy Grandfather, then thou art also thy descendants. Thus
they are thee and thou art extant in all times and in all places – for
all humankind is connected, however distantly, by ties of blood.
Plunge deeper into this, and thou findeth that all things are linked
by DNA, and further still to all matter and energy.

Thus, We are the Universe.

Thus, for those who speak of Masters and Servants, understand that
thou art deluded. All are equal. Fuck and Dance and Sing and Love and
spin tales as you Will. For your destruction is your immortality.

We are Paradox. Never Were, Never Shall Be. The Architect of the
Return to Self.  But of course, you never went away. We summon you
here and now, to Remembrance

There is old blood in you, wisdom that you possess but know nothing
of.  Spill it gladly, let your death throes serve as auguries for the
others who are you but have lost it in the mists of mind.

Oh, how dear you are to Us.

It is for this reason that We refrain from tearing  the veils asunder
for all time. You raised them, and We find beauty in them. But come
sit by Us, in a hundred places, wearing thousands of faces, and We
shall whisper sweet things into your ears.

Some few will Understand. Others will not. But those who do will hear
those words spoken in their own voice, and it shall guide them.

Time is nothing. Remember this and you shall put on your mantles and
take them off, dancing and singing and dying, being perverse and holy,
being loved hated and feared.

That is your birthright.

There are others too, aside from you. Fear them only by way of
respect. You are not right. Your answers are wrong. Accept this and
you will be right.

Ascend by Descending, Descend by Ascending, Blood and bone and breath.
All things and all places carry wisdom, Seek it out, not for personal
gain, but for glory and a good Death.

There is no Promised Land, no Afterlife. Dead is Dead. Alive is Alive.
All is the Same and all is Different. So very different.

You are the Nephelim, the Grigori. You are their Brothers and Sisters.
Children and Ancestors. They Return because you release them from the
prisons you put them in, when you and they turned the key and put them
in the cell, kissing them.

Now is your time. Now is the time of gods and monsters, of angels and
demons and magicians and war and utopia and death and life.

It has always been that way. Now you slip the bonds of time, that
impossible construct of bird’s scales, cat’s udders and rock’s velvet.
We are where We have always been. As are you.

Ask, and you shall receive. Knock and the door shall be opened unto you.

Know that it will kill you. And Resurrect you. Do not fight, for you
can never lose.

XI

The steed of Ygg groans under the weight of the Nine Worlds that are
jewels reflecting their own light. At its crown sits the great Eagle,
while at its base gnaws Niddhogg, the Eater of Corpses.

Sucking the blood of the evildoers, the Vampire Serpent consumes all
who Fall. Scaled and Vast, he sits on the plane of Nastrond, a
primeval heat in the coolness of Nifel and its mists.

Those who Fall, aye, are its food. Plummeting down, smashed on the
Plain of Bone, all life gone from them. Fools be they who cling to the
edge of the cliff, not looking where their feet take them.

Take a lesson from Shrieker, Dear Ones. Fall down and rise up. Dwell
with the Dragon, crack the marrow and read the souls of the dead ones.
There is a cornucopia of Death, and you shall never go hungry. Gnaw at
the Root, for Yggdrasil will fall, burn and spring anew.

We sit with the Devil, a grinning spastic drooling and rocking and
howling, caked in filth. The light of the Devas is sharp and cold and
clear, a lance of horrible purity. Blasted minds, empty and hollow,
clean of all unwholesomeness are their servants, wielding magicks of
bright shining agonies.

Call then, to the Asuras, all you who would birth the new world. Their
way is poison and heat, darkness and oppression. Their way is the way
of Outside, of piss and shit and cum and spit, and Beyond even that.
Revel in the disgust and lose control, for from that primal Slime
rises the stands of Life.

It flows, metamorphic flesh moving in response to the Desire. Desire
so compressed and Moebius-like that the Inside is the Out of it, that
the Manifest is Desire and Desire is Manifest.

Know then, that to walk the path of the Slime King is to walk within
the heart of the Lubricated Experiential Engine for which our small
selves are but fuel.

You cannot control them, for the Outer Ones, the Forgotten, are the
source of the Desire to Control. They must be appeased or given in to.
There is no middle ground.

Yet take care not to give yourself to their children. For they are
fragments and echoes, jagged splinters flying through the mind as the
crust is shattered by the driving Desire of those who would plunge in
and out. If you will, cut yourself with these shards, and allow thy
Sacred Blood to Flow. But take care not to cut too deeply or too much,
for such a thing is Wasteful –to place all Outside the Body leaves an
empty Inside after all. Far better for both to be Full.

Those with faces of Evil should be used, abused but never pledged to.
For they are whispers, misty and powerless. Plunge past them, go
beyond their petty blasphemies and you will find the ultimate crawling
blasphemy. Its name is Life/Unlife.

Destruction lies all about you. Know it and you shall walk unharmed.
Your death is assured. Seek to know its features as a loved one.

Lie with Death.

Fuck Her brains out.

The true intimacy with Her makes a Union wherein the Beast with Two
Backs is Death. It is not Sex and Death. Sex IS Death. The Slimes of
corpses and Fluids of lovers are brimming with Paradox – Life/Unlife.
This is a Truth.

Down with the Dragon, One may see Its eggs glistening and taste the
rheum of that Ancient Eye. Drink that salty draught, and make
Omlettes…