To the alchemists, of course, the symbol and its very meaning had far more esoteric connotations. To them, poison represented an agent of transformation, a vehicle for the reconciliation of opposites. And there is an alchemical myth about a poison which for most men is extremely deadly, while for the elect it confers mastership and absolute power. Boyd Rice- Vessel of God
At a certain point in the work, you may come to a place where a lot of heavier, darker emotions come to the fore. It may feel like your life and mind are dissolving into chaos.
I wouldn’t want to tell you that it’s a ‘good’ thing, but it is neccisary and you might as well embrace it.
It may be that in the augoeides work, you will find that the projection of idealised self images helps draw out some of the repressed material in your psyche. By definition, accentuating all the things you want to be, can only mean repressing the things you don’t want to be. You may add all kinds of Jungian blather about the id and shadow at this point. Nevertheless it is true.
It’s also a manifestation of unresolved contradictions that may take on life of thier own because of the energy your concentration practice is feeding them.
But that split is never a clean one. There are always things left on the other side of that wall, that you need. Maybe you left your clarity in the basement when you threw your rage out. Maybe you took the edge off your confidence when you decided to be stop bullying people.
In ancient alchemy this is known as the nigredo, the darkening, the putrefaction, the descent into chaos. The immersion into the shit and poison you’ve been incubating in your head for so long. The crisis that precedes re-integration.
It goes round and round like this and sometimes you need to wallow in the sickness to find the pieces you’ve lost. The alternative is madness, or worse.
It can be seductive. To see yourself without remorse, or restraint, without compromise. It’s easy to rationalise a little bit more, to be a little less compassionate, to feel more self rightious than you deserve. If it never comes, it never comes, but I’d be remiss in not mentioning it. Pretending I didn’t have a little eruption of it the other night. It’s part of the work.
So for those of you waiting for me to ‘flip my shit’ again like I did in part IV, here is my shadow, off the leash and out for a run, like I anticipated in part VIII, in the safe realms of fiction land.
Don’t speak. Don’t bother calling for help. Anyone who tried to come between you and me is dead. And you’ll be dead too, soon. Everything you stand for is systematically being reduced to rubble and ashes as we speak, and in a few minutes I’m going to snap your fucking neck with my bare hands.
But not yet.
First I want you to understand why I’m here. I’m not here because you and people like you have raped the earth, violated children, twisted and perverted everything that walks crawls or flies to line your pockets.
I’m not here because of that.
The sword has been sitting in the corner for several years. I don’t pick it up very often. It’s real. real steel. Real edge. For some reason I kept it in the corner of my eye for so long. And now I know why.
I pack the few things I care about in a small bag. And then I pick up the sword. I leave this place, forever. There is nothing for me here anymore. I have nothing in common with these people, these words, these platitudes.
People may think I’m dead by now. I ‘ve been in the woods for almost a year. I have to rip free of all that old garbage. It’ll make me weak and slow and it will kill me before I do what needs to be done. I squeeze my mind until it’s like a perfect diamond. I’ve always known it would be this way in the end. Why did it take me so long to face what I really am?
No more. I walk back to the city. It’s time to give them something to fear.
The posters are simple. Vague ideas, vague promises. Classes on awakening, I say.
Once they’re in the door I start to condition them. Some are only useful for money, or influence. But enough of them are able to carry guns. Most are cannon fodder, but a few can be turned into perfect killing machines. It’s easier when you’ve done it yourself.
I don’t need many. It’s so easy. Too bad the only people who do it are pathetic hedonists and manipulative narcissists.
In another life I might have cared about the irony.
I start small. My soldiers need to taste some blood. An executive or two. Some hits to cut a piece of the drug trade. Short term money.
There’s so much built up resentment in society. Everyone wants to lash out at these scum but no one had the intelligence or the guts to make it happen.
That’s the sad thing. This robot factory is so fragile and yet we work so hard to keep it going. Even the ‘revolutionaries’ just secretly want to be in charge. Fuck them and fuck their merry go round. I’ll feed them their own hearts.
It amazing how easily some folks see what they want to see. It didn’t take long at all to convince all the usual lowlives I was just another decadent cult leader with a gang of fanatics, ready to do some business on wall street.
My first meeting on ‘investing’ my drug profits and all I can think of is how badly I want to kill them all. But I don’t want a thimble full of rats blood.
I want a river. And I want the fattest pigs in the barn. And the little parasites will all burn in the end, too.
I’d feel a little worse about dealing heroin if I t weren’t being primarily consumed by my rank and file cultists, who I cherry pick from all the biggest investment banks, brokerage houses and wall street legal firms. They already thought they were on a mission from god. I’m just a sub contractor for god. I’m clarifying their mission statement.
Someone said once that there are no heroin or cocaine cults. That’s partly true. Can you call wall street a cult?
The first day of the big push makes 9-11 look like the fourth of July. How much easier is it to wreck the system when you’re practically running what’s left of it, after years of neglect and disfunction? I practically advertised I was going to do it, but they didn’t take it seriously. Cowards always think deep down that everyone else must be a coward too.
Marshall Mcluhan said once that the people who own society have no belief in it. “why is it still here, then?” someone asked him.
Because no one can be bothered to clean it up and get rid of it, he said.
It’s amazing what you can buy off the back of a truck in the former soviet union. It’s even more amazing no one ever used one.
I shook his hand once at some dinner. As I looked into his eyes I imagined punching my hand through his chest. He blinked and smiled awkwardly.
I told him one day I would come thank him, and all of his friends, for everything they’d done.
And here I am.
I’m killing them all right now. It took years but I found out all their names, all their hiding places, and where they would run when it all came crashing down. You guys knew the system was coming apart anyway right? You dragged it out a lot longer than I expected. Got a little more blood from this stone we call earth.
I knew you’d all try to run. And I was waiting for you. The paedophiles, the rapists, the blackmailers, the liars and thieves. I have all your names, and I’ve spent many many years training men and women whose sole joy is the idea of tearing people like you apart. Most people would give anything to have such a clear sense of happiness.
So put them out of your mind. Because if they’re not already gone, they soon will be. You guys did such a good job of hollowing out the military and police force that they won’t be able to fight for you. Nor do they care to. I’ll be the one teaching them to grow food in a few years.
And you’ll be nothing but a memory.
So I’ll tell you why I’m here, at last. I’m here because one day a long time ago I was looking at you on tv. This is when you were still officially in power, you see. And you gave the camera one of those smirks.
I’m sure you know what I mean. Those smirks where you’re just broadcasting to everyone how untouchable you are. How you can take what you want and play everyone for fools and make a mockery of every honorable and compassionate thing in this world. You pissed on it. You and everyone like you, and you thought no one would ever call you to account for it. We’re all too weak and stupid and complacent to fight you. That’s what your little rapist’s religion tells you, right? Well I guess you were wrong. Yours won’t be the first stupid religion to join the ashpile of history.
I wonder… how many children died, and the last thing they ever saw was that fucking smirk on your face? How many?
If you can remember even one of their names, I promise I’ll make it quick and clean.
No? That’s too bad.
My first name is from the bible. It’s etymology is “god remembers”.
I used to wonder what that might mean. Now I know. So we know who you are, and we know who I am, and we know our business together.
Have you ever wondered what a thousand rich child molesters crucified on the front lawn might look like? With their severed cocks stitched up inside mouths that have had all their teeth kicked out? The world is about to see what that looks like. I always wanted to be an artist, you know.
That’s why I’m here. This may end up being the purpose of my life. And if so, then I can accept that. As long as you die knowing that there is justice in this universe and no one escapes it.
Not now. Not ever.
It took me a long time to understand it, but we all have a place in nature. This is ours. The world makes us and unmakes us. How many lives have you unmade? You had to know someone would come for you eventually. It might as well be me.
Don’t worry. I’ve had a long time to think about this, and I guarantee it won’t hurt any more or less than you deserve.
Smile for the camera.