That night, so long ago, he came to me. He’d dispensed with the usual horns of Christian myth. He wasn’t rude, nor was he threatening. Quite to the contrary, actually: he was rather sad, withdrawn and charming.

            Did I know who he was, back then? I don’t know really, but I suspect I did. You get a feeling for these things after so many years of practicing the deeper types of magick. Would I have rejected him, had I been sure of his identity, chased him away?  Certainly not! My mother taught me never to be rude to strangers (or anyone else for that matter), and I would in any case defer to both his age and his beauty.

            Every time I think back to that night, my mind dissolves into a sea of red velvet, blotting out words and thoughts, leaving me only with feelings: feelings of longing and regret, like drowning in a bottomless well of icy sorrow and loneliness. I think that was his message – not that he actually spoke. He’s very human in many ways, you see, and probably felt the urge to unburden himself – one damned soul to another, so to speak.

            Aha! I definitely piqued your interest with that little revelation, didn’t I? Me…? Damned…? Ooh!  Serves me right – right? Long spoons and all that. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid my idea of damnation is quite other than yours. You see, I gave up on God (with a capital G), an awfully long time ago. I think Robert Nye put it best in his rather fabulous version of Faust, where his anti-hero wants to test the devil, to see if he’s as evil as God (with a capital G). Personally, I think the poor old sod was more than a bit confused when he wrote that. Either that, or he was stuck into his character’s head a little too deeply. Or maybe it was the most brilliant illumination?

            Now you think I’m confused!

            The thing is, I’ve always harboured a soft spot for the darkness rather than the light. I love the shifting shadows between the trees at midnight, and the fatal susurration of the ocean after sunset. I love contemplating the death agonies of the day as the sun sinks in a sea of phantasmagorical, bloody putrescence, bruising the sky with streaks of livid agony. Now there’s an interpretation of sunset you’ve never heard before.

            Was it my idea? Or was it his? Do we see the world through the thoughts of the others who invaded our minds with their ideas in our formative years? That would certainly explain why you lot uniformly see sunset as something pretty from the Sound of Music. Me, I see the glory of death and the inevitable triumph of nothingness. You really f***ing irritate me, actually. I can actually hear you – yes, you, going on about salvation and sacrifice and your dear, sweet Lord. I see you, whimpering in self pity over some imagined sin you’ve committed by default – condemned and rescued in one miracle act by the one loving father who holds the fires of hell in one hand and an ocean of salvation in the other. Give me Jimmy Swaggart any day: at least the bastard was amusing.

            Anyway, as I was saying, I drift into these visions, you see…

To be continued...

Like shards of a shattered, etiolated rainbow, the diseased and dying leaves float downwards on the icy breath of this early winter morning, whispering secrets of death as they rustle around my naked feet. The curse of sunlight kisses the grey horizon, beckoning all wretched living creatures to stir, dissolving my beloved world of stealth and shadow in the vileness of light. The wind is chill, so chill that it cuts into my bones with intimations of universal quietude, of the final death of light’s dominion.

In other words, it’s been quite a night and I feel like a flock of starlings crapped down my throat and my prick’s been through a pencil sharpener. But don’t worry…he’s still in there, waiting patiently – as Carol once sang so sweetly, "All ya gotta do is call…".

I love weaving words. Especially at this time of the day, standing naked in my garden, directing a stream of steaming yellow piss onto the flowerbeds in the savage bleakness of winter.

For the adept, words have real power - I knew that even before he came to me. Now understand, it’s not the words in their own right. Any bloody fool who thinks he can recite a spell from a book and kill his enemy or compel a woman to his bed is just that – a bloody fool. But a magician! That’s quite a different thing. A man or woman who can resonate those words, filter and purify them with the power of the Sephiroth, hurl them out beyond time and space…. don’t worry, you’ll soon know what I mean…just read on a little more. After all, this is just a story, isn’t it? And words can’t hurt you, can they…? Read just a little further my friend, and contemplate with me the end of all things.

So where do you. think you’ll be when the curtain comes down– heaven? Ha! You bloody fool – hasn’t it yet dawned on you? When the last light goes out, God (with a capital G) will have finished with his cosmic firework show, and with you (yes, you!). Can’t you understand? Won’t you? Darkness is heaven. Death is the resurrection. He is the Lord of eternity, not the fireworks manager that sprinkled all these bloody stars all over the place like incandescent litter and then left for a long holiday.

Anyway, I’m going back into the house before my balls freeze solid, and before El Diablo in there finishes my bloody Glen Livet. (Yeah – he does start a little early, doesn’t he? I find that rather endearing.)

Shall I introduce you?

Are you sure…? Remember, words have power…

Still sure…?

Okay, then… come in…



To be continued...

It’s a little chilly in here, isn’t it? Sorry about that. I have little use for the normal creature comforts, I’m afraid. Not at home, anyway. Watch yourself there! Feel your way up the stairs carefully, my friend. Grip the banister. No – I can’t put the bloody light on. Just follow me – it’s not far. There – the door on the left – yes-yes, that one – into the yellow light. Don’t be frightened. Here, take my hand. I’ll introduce you. Would you like a drink? Here – you’re welcome. Just sit there and calm down for a moment. You look quite lovely in the shadow-light. Comfortable? Good.

Yes, he is beautiful, isn’t he? Not many people can accept or understand that. It’s one of his great sorrows. Did I mention that before? But he likes you a good deal. Go on – take his hand – and mine. We’re going on a journey…

* * *

The mist clears abruptly. We stand in the vastness of the first Hall of Shadows, bleak and wonderful. In here, beyond time and space, he assumes another aspect, discarding the illusion of mortality, dissipating, leaching his tenuous substance into wood and stone and shadow-flame. We see now not with our eyes but with the entirety of our being. Here, everything is wrought of the stuff of darkness. And all things emanate eternal night. Every nook and cranny and alcove, every resplendent pillar, every secreted alcove: all are of him. This, this is the promise of peace of which your prophets lied. Do you begin to see why we must love him, as he has ever loved us? For we too are of the dark. This is our beginning and our blessed end. This is our home beyond the torment and affliction of the light. This is the other side of light, the gentle kiss of the gift of death. Yes, Death. It was his gift to us, and the reason his brother despises him.. Satan, you see, bought us our freedom. Damn! I’m sinking into florid, verbal bullshit again – the old bugger has that effect on me.

What’s that you say…? His father…? No. Another lie I’m afraid, an invention of Church designed to mislead us. But as I was saying, death was his greatest gift. Without it we could never, ever have been free. Do you remember the story of Eden, of the first man and woman? How they were forbidden knowledge, forbidden self consciousness? That, my friend was HELL. We were created and treated like animals, created only for one purpose – to worship the supposedly almighty being that created us. Constrained to live in dumb wonder without any faculty to ask why, or how...less than human.

He saw this and took pity on us, led us to the Tree of Knowledge, of Good and Evil. He was so bloody disgusted at his brother’s megalomaniacal behaviour he stood up for us and started the greatest family feud in the history of creation. And what do we do in return? We condemn him as evil! Ironic isn’t it: without him, we wouldn’t know what evil is – we’d still have the mentality of farm animals.

So good ol’ Yahweh flew into a helpless tantrum fit and threw us out, playing into his brother’s rather clever hands. As soon as he did that, we were able to die, able to see beyond the light…and they’ve been bickering ever since.

Look over there…

To be continued...