Monday, December 2, 2013. A Song Is Being Written. In the dark, there is no time for hesitation. A nightmare at my back closes in. A song is being written. There are voices coming from the shack, quick and precise. This room, only reachable by sympathetic vibrations seeping into the sleeping mind, is protected by a radiation field. Unnoticed in the middle of downtown San Francisco, a knife breaks the stillness of the ages. I may take a walk to the other side. What if I continue to hum the tune? .

Friday, June 3, 2011. We drove through the long dusty roads of El Salvador. Back then, I could only lay in the back of the car, hoping this would soon be over. Infinite and oppressive and inherently unknowable.

A continuing series of notes, thoughts and experiments that pertain to our own magickal work and may be of use to others in the same or similar path. Wednesday, May 18, 2016. The sun is setting in Paradise. As night comes, he might spend an hour out there, standing on the old cement bridge, without seeing a single pair of headlights cut through the darkness on the distant road. The Bohemian, with a red tie, he has a tattoo on his right hand, three dark-blue dots in a line near the wrist. I try to see the.

An exploration of the phenomenal world through the lens of ancient esoteric knowledge. Wednesday, August 20, 2014. The myth was a secret where we teetered on the edge with neon shapes and candlelight, marking the boundaries where the gods came and entered. Saturday, June 14, 2014. Questions For A Sunday Afternoon. There is a simple choice. One of gray, with fingers of red and black. There is a simple choice. The delicate noise of percussive vocalization.

The shamanic journey is often described as going from the everyday, ordinary world to higher realms of existence. The shaman is then seen as basically a human being with some extraordinary abilities. There is a basic problem with this approach. Throw a monkey into a museum, a library, a highly sophisticated computer room, a temezcal, etc. , and what does he do? He looks for a banana. What is the true identity of the Magus? .

Friday, September 19, 2014. The battle for her, for the thousands of infinitesimal parts which combined to make her, was in full swing. For several weeks she could feel it building, the pressurized energy mounting, doubling on itself in the course of thirty-six hours. The pulsing of her chest was like a metronome with spastic batteries. Did she want to? She was frightened most by that thought, the simple thought- did she want to make the effort to climb, to push herself upwards? .

Sunday, January 11, 2009. was it a striped balloon? And where were the lions? Posted by bleeding static deformity. Friday, September 28, 2007. Posted by bleeding static deformity. Thursday, September 20, 2007. The reality of my face is a distant murmur. On the center of my upper lip. To furrow, only digging the.