The Infernal Wisdom 

One of the benefits of age is the gaining of perspective. Perspective can often reveal the true terror of a situation. When we are too close to something, it’s easy to laser focus on what we like or enjoy about the thing. Gradually as our sights are zooming in, there’s an almost blackness blanketing what is beyond that thing. We’ll lie to ourselves, saying that “nothing is perfect”, and sacrificing this small part is acceptable in trade for this thing. Compromise after compromise is made and still we cling to this thing. Unfortunately, with me, Satanism has been this thing.

Somewhere along the line, Satanism has become a haven for the weak and degenerative. Fostering a culture of “acceptance and tolerance”. A niche clique of cowardly scavengers claiming to champion the predatory. Yes, I am specifically discussing pedophiles and rapists. Sleezy filth not worth the space they take up, let alone the air they breathe. Blatantly ignorant of the most obvious features of the satanic mythology.

Satan chose to make a stand against YHWH after being given a command that he just couldn’t in good conscience follow. He was commanded to love and kneel before mankind. Satan being a entity of pure spirit, saw creatures of flesh as mere animals. They were filthy, fragile, and stupid. At first he simply protested. Stating that he could prove to YHWH that they were unworthy and so YHWH agreed and appointed him to the task. 

Time after time, instance after instance; He pointed out the shortcomings of mankind. Yet nothing persuaded YHWH. Not the whorish seduction and sedition of Eve in the Garden. Nor the continuous desertion of the faithful with every new idol YHWH’s chosen came into contact with. Whole cities would have to be rendered into piles of salt, because man was unable to escape his perversity. Still YHWH held them up and glorified them. 

Satan was clearly bewildered by this. Why then were these talking monkeys placed above his kind? YHWH eventually answered this question by explaining that mankind was made in his likeness. It was at this point, in his infernal wisdom that something clicked. Satan and the host of angels were beings of pure spirit and not of flesh and bone. Not weighed down by the temptations and baser urges of their animal instincts. 

To the body of Angels, they had been made in perfection. Cosmic warriors dedicated to their design and purpose. Mankind was clearly inferior. Yet YHWH has said that they were made in his image. This could only lead to one conclusion, He was also inferior. Thus the rebellion became underway. 

This is a summation of every version of the story that I have ever heard. With it comes a couple of lessons that cannot be ignored. Firstly Satan despises mankind. Viewing us as weak and degenerative. We cling to this perversion of flesh and often further twist it to suit our own ends. Secondly, we will worship and grovel to anything we perceive as “higher” than us. Making gods of even pointless symbolic paper and serving out our lives as slaves to it. Hypocrisy, Cowardliness, Stupidity, and Contemptuousness are rampant like fleas in a neglected kennel. 

LaVey pointed all of this out. Aquino pointed it out also. Anton Long not only pointed to it, but also decided to prey upon it. Honestly, who can blame the man? An easy mark can be the source of laughter for an untold amount of time. 

Now here we stand, LaVey said that Satan demanded study in lieu of worship; yet we see them worship him. Anton Long said to learn to raise yourself above yourself so you can triumph over all, yet we cling to our basic animal instincts. Aquino put forth the notion of “becoming” as Xeper, yet where are all the gods? 

Instead, we find these once promising institutions are littered with degenerates, grifters, and sycophants. These are the ubermensch of Satanic thought? Rubbish… Pure rot. Preying on children, turning on your “kin”, reveling in your filth and surrendering to addiction; these are not signs of strength or enlightenment. They are the hallmarks of the mundane and deplorable. 

There is a point, when a cloth becomes so saturated… It becomes so torn and tattered. So stained, that it cannot be washed a new. This is when you can look and it be so in your face. So blatant and obvious to you, that it can never be as it was. That’s when it’s time to step across the threshold into the new. 

For me, I cannot continue to be held down by what calls itself Satanism today. You can have it. I won’t ask for it back. Watch me though and witness me. You will find that my words and my deeds are  synchronic. I am choosing to step into the infernal wisdom of the New Aeon.

The Terror Beyond

As I cross the barrier; I choose to leave the dead weight of it all behind me. Look abroad and recognize the flies in the fermenting honey. Struggling to free themselves. Trapped because they were drawn to the sweetness of the aroma. Greedy little myopically minded pestilence. 

How then can I transcend? If my Will is to truly evolve and reach towards the pinnacle of my potentials, then what process do I undergo? Since I can reasonably assess that what I am talking about is creation. I will use art as an analogous process for consideration. Since I have experience in the Art of Tattoos that will be my method of discussion. 

When I worked in the industry, each tattoo was to me deeply personal. They are personal for the person choosing to get it and personal to me as a creator. In my mind, the process begins before the customer walks through the door. They have spent hours and hours looking through a sea of images posted online. They maybe have just an idea of what they want. Maybe they are dead set on what they want and where. 

The moment they open the door to the shop the magic begins. In a perfect world, the artist that comes out is in perfect alignment with the customers vision. Most of the time though, a rapport has to be built between the artist and the customer. As they talk about the idea, they begin to build a harmonic resonance. Eventually, they should reach a point of melody between the two. There are times when the two just can’t come together. When that happens, it’s best to call it and both go on to find that resonance elsewhere. 

What does it look like when they are able to build that harmony? The artist and the recipient come to a distinctly clear envisioning of it. They agree on the content and style. Both in unison of the placement and size. The creator has taken care to explain the process and given instructions on preparation. A commitment is made to the time of commencement. The recipient prepares with obedience and carefully carries out the preparations. Ensuring the proper compensation is in order. 

As the time of the procedure begins, the artist sees to the final arrangements. It should be universally understood that this is different from other forms of art. This is also why, I have chosen this analogy. This process is uncomfortable and possibly even painful for the creator and of course for the recipient. When it’s done both will bear the fruits of it permanently. Both will be transformed through this. 

The working surfaces are cleansed and protected. The station is assembled and skin is freshly shaved. The stencil is put down. Then there is a moment. As the client makes absolutely certain through the now easier visualization that they are ready to commit. At the same moment, the artist is going through the final checklist in their head. Simultaneously also envisioning through the visualization; they to are ready to commit. Now the work is about to be underway. 

This is a terrifying moment for the aware. The artist knows to anticipate complications. The question is are there any they might not be able to overcome. They’ve trained hard for this. Still only fools believe that there are no limits. Equipment failure, adverse reactions, and unforeseeables are an every event possibility. All seems firmly under your control. Those first few fractions of a sec are sort of a leap of faith and as they pass confidence quickly builds. 

It is here, mired in pigments and plasma. Here, in adrenaline and uncomfortable pain. It is here that creations are born. This is where it is ALL ALIVE. Complete with the perfumes of green soap and ointment. There is nothing to do but find the harmony that brings all of this to the beyond. 

The Harmony of the House

Religion used to be the lynchpin of any given community. The shared common beliefs and values provided a guideline of taboos which offered governance without having to enact hard draconian laws. After all, mistakes happen and over time what is acceptable morphs into new taboos. This is useful to any closely knit community. 

In medieval times, the governance of a community was left in the capable hands of noblemen to protect and in exchange oversee. This often led to hardship and oppression for the people of that land. This was often the result of greed and hypocrisy with a heavy emphasis on a perceived, but unearned, superiority of the patriarch.  Occasionally though, a great House would arise.

 The metaphorical “captain at the helm” understood  that there had to be a uniformity of code, ethics, honor, and virtue between the House and it’s lands. That men, no matter their status, needed purpose and prosperity within and throughout the land. These Houses culminated into things of legend. Particularly if they rose up in military prowess. 

We see something of a similar effect play out in every version of a feudal system. We see that when the Head of the House is principled and truly responsible for his charge; he can govern with generosity and severity. Understanding the nuances and power of taboos and kinship often using them as precision tools. Rather than relying on brute force alone. This demonstrates the strength and embrace of belonging. 

Creating a feeling of extended family and providing a worthy basis of purpose in union. The Noble Lord was seen as a father figure or an elder brother to all. Those employed beneath him operated in harmony and reflection of his desire to protect and aggrandize his House, Lands, and Kinfolk. Thus legends like “Camelot” were born and then romanticized in tale. 

The House of Iconoclasts

It was sometime in the year 2003 that I first began to consider creating a Noble House like that which I just described. I had begun to notice a vacuum forming in communal experiences. It was an obvious disconnection of people. A number of people being absent the sense of belonging and purpose. Having nothing to build a sense of pride in. 

Regardless of the “official narrative” which propagates the lie that tribalism is somehow detrimental and rooted in hateful ignorance. I began to recognize that in truth it was rooted in heritage and patriotism. It became apparent that these “acts of violence” were mostly misguided attempts to defend what the actors felt was worth protecting. Their cultures and customs. That impulse was accelerated by a disproportionate hypocrisy of sanctioning of one kind of cultural pride while simultaneously demonizing another. 

All forms of cultural pride have an equal right to exist. But all cultures are not capable of existing in close proximity to one another. Thus in a very human way, there are feudal conflicts. By in large, we as a species (particularly here in the West) are in denial of our nature as animals. We believe because we have complex systems of communication and living that we are somehow no longer simply an animal. 

We hold up this image of self as a higher lifeform. Though we may recognize that we have a capacity for both compassion and violence, our collective solution has been the reprehension of anything that could lead to violence. This is inspite of the celebrated works of Carl Jung and specifically his call for the recognition and integration of the “shadow self”. This is also in the face of growing supporting evidence that unmitigated repression of the impulse only results in an “acting out” and often violently. 

It became so apparent to me that this “system” or institution, in which, we are expected to live by and exalt is a sham. It’s a fallacious and corrosive one at that. Tribalism and War are deeply ingrained facets of what’s been deemed the human condition. Attempts to deny them or to simply supress them cannot make the situation better. Only worsen the qualitative experiences in life.

To make matters more concerning, not only is the traditional small community (read that as clan/tribe/extended family) eroded, but nowadays the core family is all but gone. Leaving sons and daughters without fathers and sometimes without mothers. Thus the entire breakdown of what has been deemed traditional is well underway.

My good friend has a saying that he repeats pretty regularly and because it is true, it’s warranted. He says “You can’t unscramble eggs”. You simply cannot repair the utterly broken. This is true of the “system” and this is true of the traditional family in my opinion.

There comes a time when the sacred cow is so old and feeble that it no longer produces milk or offspring. It can barely wander the fields and graze. The ranch hands must give more attention and resources to it. The veterinarians cannot mend it any further. Clearly, the merciful thing is to slaughter the sacred cow. 

The Sacrifice of Sacred Cows

It is here, at the Altar of Mars, that the Warlock is born. Before him was a shattered husk that called himself “man”. Through his breaking of oaths and tearing down of cherished institutions; he is renewed. An empty cup waiting to be filled. This time with an intentionally chosen elixir, the blood of his offerings. 

Where before his caste was decided for him. Before his occupation was chosen by what was available to him. Before he had only the family he came into and descended from him. His faith and beliefs were selected for or more likely indoctrinated in him. His limits seemed set in stone.

He, Son of Mars, now a powerful Warlock raises his blade to the stars. He will feel the warmth of the sacrifical blood running down his arm and know the freedom that he seized. He, Son of The Dread Mother, now reborn into this world takes the unspoken oath. Finds himself with a worthy heritage and new bloodline. 

Kinsmen, once again will mean something. Honour and Strength amongst it’s charter. Character and Purpose, tested and revealed. The soil beneath his feet and landscape are unveiled to be his true home. Erected upon it or most likely grown from it; The House of Iconoclasts. It’s embrace is reserved for these children of Mars.

With all of this said, I break my final oath and reject my final institution. Those who are willing to stand beside me and look to me for what it means to be a Warlock and an Iconoclast, let me point to you the way. Should you embrace me, then I will embrace you. Welcoming you into the Great House.