Category: Alchemical

Turnskin by Ariadne and Kristos 513

513

‘Pharaoh is the Bull of the Sky,
who shatters at will,
who lives on the being of every god,
who eats their entrails,
even of those who come with their bodies
full of magic from the Island of Flame’

The Cannibal Hymns of Unas, Utterance 273

Predation upon other organisms for sustenance is not at all uncommon, a harmonious act of violence which facilitates evolution by weeding out those who are unfit to survive, while also ensuring the continued existence and reproduction of those specimens who, by practical demonstration of their ability, have earned the right to survive. The prey organism is typically of a different species, however, this is not always the case, and there are many naturally-occurring instances of cannibalism, such as with the genus of jumping spider known as Portia, which preys on both web-building spiders and its own males after copulation. Portia, despite its diminutive size, shows complex social behaviours and a sort of intelligence one might expect of much larger predators, using particularly devious tactics to lure its prey – other spiders typically several times its own size – into vulnerable positions. Preying on one’s own kind is far from exclusive to the delightfully sinister Portia, and the apes which we share common ancestry with have been observed to carry out very similar acts, albeit in very dissimilar contexts, such as the consumption of infants or, particularly in the case of chimpanzees, the eating of young snatched from other families in very deliberate acts of primal warfare – a precursor to the tribalism they will no doubt later develop.

Humans, for all their moral posturing and delusions of separation from the horrors of the natural world, are not exempt from the above, as both history and its psychic shadow of mythology are rife with instances of cannibalism – the subconscious traces of a ghoulish racial memory, one which is alive and well in the dark corners of the earth, and even within the boundaries of ‘civilised’ society, the forbidden act of consuming human flesh is not unheard of.

Early humans displayed cannibalistic tendencies for largely the same reasons as their ape cousins did – sheer practical need. A body no doubt lure predators to the rest of the tribe, and so it stands to reason that the best and most efficient way to dispose of the material was to eat it, which just so happened to address matters of nutrition as well. While a human body might not be the most ideal source of nutrition, it was remarkably accessible besides, as defending one’s area from invaders would no doubt result in a surplus of freshly killed meat lying about. Furthermore, hunting larger prey is dangerous if done by a group and near-suicidal if done alone, many animals taking quite a bit of abuse from primitive tools before going down, and not before injuring a member of the hunting party or two. A person, however, could be inncapacitied with comparatively little work – a rock in the temple, for example – and yield a sufficient return besides. This type of primitive efficiency is seen in the modern day as well, as various tribes of Papua New Guinea (including the infamous Asmat, who supposedly killed and ate Nelson Rockefeller), Africa, and throughout the Pacific islands.

As human societies grew more complex, evolving from the most rudimentary kinds of proto-culture to something more recognisable, the exact reasons for acts of cannibalism grew more abstract, as there was no longer as immediate a need to capitalise on any and all opportunities to eat, nor was there as much of a need to avoid luring predators with corpses. Many of the tribal cultures still practicing cannibalism do so for magical-religious reasons, such as to take on the power and attributes of a foe – the African warlord humourously known as ‘General Butt-Naked’ is said to have partaken in cannibalism for precisely these reasons! Another good example of post-primitive cannibalism for spiritual reasons more than practical is the practice of the Indian Aghori sect, a Shaivite tradition which has become infamous for its rather morbid rites, including eating the flesh of the recently deceased. However, unlike previously mentioned examples, they do not kill or harm anyone for their strange communion, and such practices are intended for them to truly know God – after all, how can one say they love and respect creation if they only accept the parts which are pleasing to the senses? Are not the deathly and grotesque also a part of nature, and the rot which feeds life? Furthermore, exposure to such unpleasant stimuli takes no small amount of willpower to override a feeling of revulsion towards the act, and it is through willingly taking part in difficult practices, such as eating the recently deceased, that they develop a state of absolute domination over the lesser parts of themselves which might feel fear or disgust.

Almost as if the practice of devouring one another is hard-coded into human nature, cannibalistic acts are not limited to the carnal and fleshy. Ideas are subject to being preyed upon in this way, the growth of mythos rarely, if ever, being a spontaneous phenomenon. As cultures interact with both each other and themselves, their various memes undergo changes to reflect the very real movement of people. Most immediately relatable in a broader Sinister context is the way in which folk European traditions were adapted as the region underwent its conversion to Nazarene practices. Instead of merely erasing the native ways and mythos of a given area, they were instead devoured by the Christian organism and thus, made part of it in such a way as to strengthen the organism and help it to adapt to its environment. This is seen in the transmutation of local deities and spirits from mostly benign entities to ghouls, devils, and evil things which snatch away children and livestock. For example, the Devil in modern popular culture is often shown with decidedly goat-like features in the form of cloven hooves and horns, while also possessing very carnal appetites and a certain mischievous inclination. Imagery of the Devil as an anthropomorphic goat-man is not canonical to any sect of Christianity, and is rather the product of demonising, quite literally, the ancient god Cernunnos, who was worshiped by the Celtic peoples, and similarly, the Fauns, Satyrs, and their lord Pan, who were part of the Hellenic cultures to the southeast. Both Cernunnos and Pan shared a similar horned man-beast appearance, as well as their considerable hunger for all manner of sensual gratification – quite possibly the most literal, archetypal depiction of that which is considered ‘Pagan’ – and so the deities previously revered by a people were ‘cannibalised’ as they transitioned from the old ways to their regional flavour of Christianity. Other folk deities across Europe underwent a similar process, such as the north’s Allfather Odin, who formed the basis for the modern archetypal witch, and also from the north, the underworld place of the dead known as Hel, whose later inclusion in Nazarene mythos is obvious. It was not an outside force that endeavoured to suppress old-world traditions in this way either, but elements within each of the cultures, those who swallowed up their own gods, regurgitating them as the politically necessary devils of a new religious form. As cultures shift into new paradigms, their old ways are consumed, and absorbed into the younger, thus contributing to its growth – not unlike young spiders devouring their mother after birth.

Just as humans prey on their own mythos to create new ones, the mythos themselves also feature instances of people being killed for the purpose of being eaten. In the Greek tale of King Lycaon, for example, the titular king makes a rather foolish attempt at testing Zeus. Lycaon secretly murdered his own son, and then prepared him as a meal for Zeus. Outraged, whether at the moral bankruptcy of the act or the insult to his divine intelligence, or both, Zeus turned Lycaon into a wolf-man as punishment. This story has both literal and symbolic components, as the Greeks found themselves utterly revolted by the savage religious practices of their neighbors, which supposedly included cannibalism, and so their disgust was reflected in their own mythos as a reflection of their societal values. In addition, one of the themes of many Greek myths is that of arrogance. That Zeus chose to react to this one instance implies it was the specific action of a mortal daring to test him which drew his ire, as the practice had obviously predated the Greeks and indeed all of civilisation – where then are the other Lycaonians?

Another instance of like-devouring-like, this time in Latin, involves the figure of Eumolpus within the Satyricon. Unlike the Greek tale of Lycaon, the cannibalism of Eumolpus was not an act of mortal hubris, but one of necessity for financial gain. Eumolpus is an unextraordinary poet posing as a wealthy individual in order to exploit those who might proverbially bend over backwards in order to gain his inheritance, and indeed, all manner of fawning candidates went to great lengths to appease him. Unable to keep up the ruse, Eumolpus has his will read to the gathered ‘inheritors’, which proclaims that, in order to receive any ‘inheritance’ they must eat his dead body in public. Naturally, the condition of being required to eat Eumolpus’ dead body was intended to ward off those who expected what could not be provided, but it also speaks to the mindset of those who would seek out in some way the legacy of their forebears, as they put on all manner of disingenuous fronts and superficial displays in a shallow attempt at courting approval and thus, assurances of inheritance – and the post-mortem division of assets and legacies does indeed resemble the butchery of a carcass, often done ravenously, as though the inheritors were tearing the corpse apart in the street and swallowing great fistfuls of viscera.

How curiously do we come full circle.

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A Gift for the Abyss

Dread Darkthorn

The quickening silence onset in the dank hours of midsummer’s heat, then before dawn. A single arm slipped through the black plush comforter, and sought out the unblemished curvatures of the disrobed counterparts with surgically executed barbarism of the erotic intent. Contact fell and coursed like electric; the exchange of subatoms, energy and soul. Then in the rising of the new planetary dominions, William exercised with due diligence his properly enveloped husbandry in overtures of ancient ardor. Therewith, beyond the firmament even those fell messengers which stood watch over his ancestral rural abode were galvanized with fire and enthusiasm by the efforts of he, their fleshbody symbiont.

Waves of dark celestial choruses — persecutive daughters of the dread queen, the Mother of Blood, incised their lips and tongues with fervor as they caressed their dead white skins bound to the extradimension in sapphic embrace. The savagery emblazoned upon those formless intelligences: apprehended by perspectives that bloom from the development of abyssal being, alone. Their pressings pushed furiously upon their muliebribus, on this morning of soft tortures and umbral delights. The air was bloodthirsty, and saturated with rancor, pulled in with all senses of an dark empassioning, envenomed, and offered before an opening of the acausal continuum where that aweful deyonne — the Mother of Blood — waits beyond the mirror’s pane. Many preternatural rains dove then downward: reanimating, compounding, folding, hammering… priming the beautiful felony of an harvest unforgivable, as red candle wax and elixir would flicker between the shadow play of the maligned triptych.

An ocean away, in England, near the boarder of Wales where Arthurian shades still haunt, fissures grew rapidly in the crystalline pyramids that decorated a long since used edifice, hemorrhaging a physical, and yet supernatural exsanguination. Rivulets of vermillion sheen crawled downward the helix design, ebbing in cadence with his pulse, now irregulated by the increasing limitations of his mortal coil’s ever-creeping conclusion. The lonely man, now devoid of even the most infinitesimal capture of significance watched the phenomenon unfold, and with violent onsetting fluxions of clairvoyant-knowing as the omen was understood — or so he thought. For, this was no such message from those who have risen beyond the gate of Saturn. No, this was but a mirage; a contrivance. Sent, not as a work of theatrics, but a sword… or perhaps a cloak and dagger.

Then from the upper cabinet in his kitchenette, the lonely man fingered a small phial of fast acting toxin to then morbidly, and yet, welcomingly, descend the wooden cellar staircase, to which the final darkness called, and this, was no mere contrivance. For there he would consign, as he would dream in waking life, to the oblivion that waited him, patiently, across the span of many decades redolent of multifarious adventures. The edge of the deeps that his descent neared: a mouth of Hell — a hostile pandaemonium, more real and existent for him than any other mortal prior. As so many souls did he guide directly into its chasm; and so many also to its edges, that would never return, for his seduction lingered even in his own absence. Now it, and they who populate its infernal habitation, wanted him as a final, great reward. No expiation remained. Only this last rite of nihilation, by his own hand, and not therefore, by the cruel unfolding of nature. Little did he realize that this dubersome snare had been strewn for quite some time by a vast, complex network of minds, and was swiftly nearing its apocryphal moment.

They couldn’t be any more different if they tried, William and the lonely man. If you were to prick him, William that is, he would have bled the blood the Dark Way, the sigils of its signature, its sacrificial cadence to non-euclidean entities, and for that matter, bled the blood of the Horrible Dragon that now inhabited his earthbound vessel — such things born from transformation into states far beyond human tantamount to dark sorcery; in tandem with deeds of true evil, as that term is commonly understood, manifold in form, continued and continuing in the real world. He did not follow the babblings of the lonely man’s students, whimsically and arbitrarily cycling into random factoid prisms that often have no practical application beyond the pale of fanciful mythoi of which they constantly claimed to have succeeded, notwithstanding their occult baboonery from which a constant sense of self-entitlement therefrom was derived. Nor did he seek their counsel in latter days as celibate oxonians with their perseverations on the purity of esoteric manual-of-form; their confabulations often self contained and coursing with the stink of sycophancy. No, William developed, and learned, and strived in secret, sometimes across the globe, and learned that which one learns in how to instigate permanent changes in consciousness, at the personal level.

And the lonely man? Just a Maniac-Mage, who had long since lost his esoteric empathy, somewhere in the mix of his own reindeer games.

In an unoccupied room within his home, that he shared with his two polyamorous companions, several items had been stored in the afforded space within. Relics smuggled from the Green Damask Room by an unofficial collaborator, as the lonely man had nurtured many an enmity over years of corruption, infighting and shameless self-promotion under a thousand different names. Soil and stones from Black Rhadley, Caer Caradoc, and Wenlock Edge transported overseas, and water bottles filled with the Long Mynd, as well as the river Severn. There were shavings of metal obtained from Post office box #4 in Church Stretton, as well as those from box #700 in Shrewsbury.

Using the skillsets that had once been cultivated, in the beginning, from the lonely man — the Maniac Mage — but then in time, refined and perfected across a willfully striven and individual anados, William sat then cross legged before the affections obtained. The matrix of his being calibrated in sympathetic contact to the defiance of Newtonian physics and a limited space-time dimension. He needed no incantations, no holy names of god or gods, or Satan for that matter, or planetary forces. There where no prayers, or even words that were spoken, only the astral patterning across the web of Wyrd. William at no point fed off of the lonely man. Rather, he fed his own life-force into the cosmic dimension, deconstructing time, and rendering no space between himself and the target of his esoteric emotional operation.

They meant nothing to William: the words, the motions, the correspondences and the incantations. They were only but a means — in the beginning — of a science to be overcome, and wholly intending to self-destruct the primitive mind of the novitiate physis. Much as the ONA itself was always meant to self-destruct in the year 2020eh/ev, as foretold by the classic document Sacramentum Sinistrum. And yet it persisted, for reasons unknown. That its lifeless husk remained — a quandary unanswerable. William’s understanding was that the truth behind the Dark Path, was that, it could merge with anything — a perfect mergence — or merge with nothing at all, remaining nameless therein.

William felt the footfalls upon the sawed stairs undertaken by the Maniac-Mage, as he saw with his own eyes the omen which was projected into his mind, only minutes before. When then he stood in the centre of the pitch black stone cellar, a tomb fit for a lord of this world, the lonely man lifted the phial to his face and examined it. He removed the cork and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of lifetimes stacked upon one another — the loss, the memory, the joy, and all that goes along with the rush that accompanies a sordid recalling and added regret when to dispatch oneself is finalized.

Both William and the Maniac-Mage spoke out loud, joined in darkness.

“To kill a king…” they both said. At which the lonely man lifted and drank the substance into his body. Tears streamed from the eyes of the man, and William’s eyes wept blood, as they both collapsed onto the floor in their respective localities. The man and William convulsed in unison, then into fetal position, and then to soon expire, or at least one of them. At that moment across Terra Firma, twelve individuals fell to the floor, or awoke screaming and fell, ensorrowed for what could only be intuited and not truly known.

But the most cold-hearted and cold warrior machination was embodied and lived by Claire, who was of Amerindian stock, complete with William’s three miscegenated childer, all of a blended, native breed to their home of millennia that reached further back than human memory could assure. When she had traveled to meet with Scotland Yard on official business, the plan had remained ‘open,’ as was discussed and agreed upon prior. That she was to deliver an exercise in fellatio of unforgettable make-and-model to the detective chief superintendent was something that simply fell into place, hair double-braided and exotic as a Pocahontas of the most corrupt professionalism. His no-scalpel vasectomy procedure exempted her from the zygote infused sacrificial conclusion, but her esophagus was sprayed, with wanton accreditation, for a sexual favor most perfectly executed.

With papers signed, a reason cooked up never to be questioned under the critical mass of threatened termination, and the ghastly exhumation occurred. Her skull, being that of the lonely man’s dead lover, replaced with a cheap pewter fabrication purloined from an American vendor, free of charge; credit from a previous blunder honoured. A type of old-world necromancy was in the works, to conclude the epilogos that, even now, begged to be complete. For her death signified his ultimate failure as a human being. Perhaps his attempt at expiation occurred in the maximizing of his earthbound days: with his heart tortured daily and nightly by reflexions upon that burden which surelye cost him his very soul.

Claire entered the room wearing the skull now sawed and threeded to be worn as a mask. In fact, the skull was all that Claire wore, being of a buxom, well endowed hourglass figure. Her distribution of fat cells seemed to hone in, like a heat seeking missile, on those sex organs that stoke the élan vital of the male species. Like a figure from mythology, enskulled and sexually disproportionate, Claire sauntered before the collapsed but rising body of William, arms raised in horror, reflective of the desolate vacuum that was his spiritual essence, now populated by evil spirits in great number sealed into the flesh.

In England, the lonely, dying Mage saw his former lover, or what he believed was her, arrive, dancing around his fading light. She wove between, with her dance, several Dark Ones, who stood watch before the felling, some of which he knew in his life — and some of which he did not. For only some of the dark forces had been cataloged, by him, and by others. Whom he thought was his dead lover’s revenant shade, but truly Claire projecting the necrotic form into his psyche, attached her swaying movements to a particular inter-dimensional being. In the world of the phainomenon, this was William, now broken of one sympathetic contact, and onto the next, wearing a butterfly mask. The custom piece of taxidermy was made of once living fragments of hipparchia semele, known in the United Kingdom as graylings, that which employ a technique known as cryptic coloring: a manner of disguise.

Her derrière fell with violence upon his pelvic region in lustful, circular, backwards thrusts. The lonely man then watched as Noctulius— Lord of Night— entered into her bowels with ascendant sexual hunger. She was taken by him through the forbidden orifice, porta infame, and ravaged with pure animality. Her juttings were accompanied by facial expressions of anguish, fear, and terror untold. Her cries were those of submission — to that of a higher man, a young Lion. The lonely man died, with this, and all that accompanies these visions, as his final constituents, sealing then his eternity into resigned nullification, as Noctulius —Lord of Night— filled his ghostly lover’s cavity with his amaranthine essence.

He died, and died again, or so it seemed — and so it was — for the Nightmares woven this morning were vile and atomizing as befits the reception of a theoretician of terror. For like kind must meet with like kind, in great leagues above all known capacity and expectation. An evil so vast in possibility — an limitless, total evil, unvarnished and unadulterated — the only measure that could be justified in one’s dealings with the Maniac-Mage, and all who are of his ilk.

Some time later in New Jerusalem, Pennsylvania, William and Claire sat closely at their dining room table, playfully stroking limbs beneath the structure against one another. They exchanged glances of mirth and penetrative gazes of deeper meaning. The flutters of eyelashes and whispers that rained glory upon one another came in droves, crossing and colliding both ways. There were plates of meats and glasses of milks set before them, as they proffered then slivers of predatory restriction into each other. Bodies that were in a constant state of ketosis, physically nourishing the thirsty nightsky on a consistent basis, which veiled those lurkers upon the evil tree, basking in the undying flame of the here and now.

Dark and crimson spheres pulsated with life-force. Ghostly shadows unveiled. The seeds of astral tides propitiated, as foretold in elder tomes of antiquity, towards purposes once initiated remain unchanged. A species that would be builded into the real world, capable of breathing her fiery breath into forges that produce principles of iron belief. Kings and Queens who, as terrible lawmakers of preëval lineage, sworn to uncompromising stricture, claw, even now, at the fabric that separates you from the woeful and approaching eventuality.

From the dark recesses of an antechamber, Phaedra flung face first into Claire’s nestled cleft with unbridled berserker rage. The brood of Mactoron howled like jackals before the desert moon, drunk on the blood of an aeonic opfer, and Sodom’s devils rose from an eternity of ruin to rub the dust from their eyes. Blasphemy enthroned, they three drank of the flesh unrestricted; pagan and extramarital in extremis. An heresy unchallenged in propriété privée, voices outstretch in perversion. Nocturnal turgesence traversed backwards and forwards in slick repetition, engorged with the confidence and character that is welcomed into the vulvas myriad which the open expression of desire brings into being, liberated fully from external compunctions.

Phaedra panted as Willam took her deeply — the fullest and deepest ever to be, but her cries would fall upon the deaf winds, as Claire shoved her darling face into the carnage of her yearning cunt. Hot and live seminal fluid blasted Phaedra’s ovaries, once more miscegenating the body of non-Aryan woman.

Anwynn Edgar Thorn

9AO

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The Immortal Order of Nine Angles

Beast Xeno

MYTHOS:

Mythos will be defined here as a pattern of beliefs expressing symbolically the characteristics of a given culture. One such pattern is that of tragedy. Tragedy (as an esoteric practice) can be understood to be an intentional use of pain to awaken (self-perception). Tragedy exists as an ephemeral and yet acutely visceral phenomenon. The human story is one of tragedy.

Should we choose to embrace the tragic, it can be a powerful and transformative energy, a sudden jolt breaking open the psyche, preparing the subconscious for new parameters within existence, and waking those of a particular sensitivity to the harsh environment of the natural world. This is what we describe as “Pathei Mathos” meaning “learning from adversity” or wisdom arising from personal suffering, and/or personal experience is the genesis of true wisdom [1].

μῦθος Mythos – Something said, a design, a plan.
In this context, mythos is the path we choose in following the Pathei Mathos. Mythos would be used to create one’s reality – and forge one’s own path – out of adversity. It suggests Carl Jung’s Shadow creeping into the collective unconscious, waiting for its turn in the story we weave.

Tragedy, terror, crime, and hate are elements within the human experience which cannot be simply cut out; they are ingrained within the nature of our being. These and other such “evil” aspects of the human condition are a reflection that stares back at us from within the Dark Pool – Carl Jung’s Shadow of Self. (Or, Lovecraft’s Outsider.)

This Shadow side is not merely a facet of the individual, but something that can be detected on a broad scale within what’s called “social-consciousness.” The Mythos will always be infected by the mind virus within the Shadow. As Niners, these are the elements of self we seek to explore and understand. We recognize that there is nothing beneficial about the repression of such mechanisms.  Vaccines are made from the cells of the disease; they are not mere conduits through which “evil” is enacted to the world – nor the zombie of the Shadow Self in its instar emergence, rather, these Shadow elements are the darkness through which a normal man can be transmuted into something more extraordinary.

“We explore other realms and create a new form of living for ourselves because it is in our nature to do so. If we do not live true to our nature, and revel in our defiance – in our living as gods – then our Destiny to take human experience outwards into the Cosmos to bring the Galactic Aeon, will not be realised.”

-Temple 88 – Fenrir No. XXI – 1997 – Nouvelles Pieces Froides – Esoteric Pioneers pt 2

This is where our critics fail in understanding what we are. Headlines of NSBM clownery and fringe cases using our iconography are not representative of the whole – only of those who are where they are meant to be. As for our critics, detractors, and well-meaning adversaries – We are amongst you already. We are your teachers and your students. We are the police and the criminals. We are the staff and the patrons. We are neighbors and strangers alike.


We seek to “distil the opposites between us.”

AEONIC ALCHEMY:

“Even if man were nothing but a piano key, even if this were proved to him by natural science and mathematics, even then he would not become reasonable, but would purposely do something perverse out of sheer ingratitude, simply to have his own way…then, after all, perhaps only by his curse will he attain his object, that is, really convince himself that he is a man and not a piano key! If you say that all this, too, can be calculated and tabulated…then man would purposely go mad in order to be rid of reason and have his own way.”

–Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The sentiment of the above quote is all too familiar to the Order of Nine Angles. We recognize this within the tragedy that is the human story. This is the beginning of mankind’s hubris; not because Man chooses to see himself differently, instead, it is hubris because Man does nothing in the way of changing his station.

This is where our Order is differentiated. We seek in a very practical sense to separate from the delusions of the Other. As such, we use tools that can be misunderstood and we do this offering no apologies, each of us taking responsibility for our own development.

Of these tools, one we note is: ὴχομιμητικό – “echomimetico” – “echo” + “mimetics.” This is the game of creating imitation. Replication of ideas, stories, histories, traditions. A term that’s thrown around at times in the ONA is “memeplex.” I would bore you with the etymology, but it’s precisely as it sounds. As a Simulacra of sorts, our Memeplex is the entire web of our Order of Nine Angles. Our Labyrinthos Mythologicus.

I lied a bit there about not boring you with more Greek, but of importance to the growth and complexity of the memeplex, is the understanding of the labyrinth.

On Labyrinthos Mythologicus:

“The term is a combination of (i) a transliteration of the Greek λαβύρινθος – whence the Latin labyrinthus – and (ii) the post-classical Latin mythologicus, the former word giving rise to the English terms labyrinth and labyrinthine, and the latter word having been used in the book Mythologiae by the post-Roman grammarian Fabius Fulgentius (c. 6th century CE, a modern edition of whose works was included in the Bibliotheca Teubneriana of 1898 published in Leipzig), and used by him to suggest “myth-making; creating or concerned with mythology or myths; a mythical narrative.”

Our Labyrinthos Mythologicus is (a) “a modern and an amoral version of a technique often historically employed, world-wide among diverse cultures and traditions both esoteric and otherwise, to test and select candidates,” and (b) a mischievous, japing, sly, and sometimes (for mundanes) an annoying, part of our sinister dialectic.

Thus and for example, we, the Order of Nine Angles, have presented to outsiders – and to those incipiently of our kind – a series of tests, a modern Labyrinthos Mythologicus, and which tests begin with them being expected to distill our essence from our apparent conflicting opposites.”[2]

-Order of Nine Angles, 122 yfayen

“Furthermore, these practices lead to a synthesis. They are essentially learning experiences. The self-learning that they provoke (in those who triumph, that is) leads in time to a transcendence, new beginnings, new stages of the Satanic way. This is essential for novices to understand – the experiences have to be undergone, they have to be mastered, what they provoke within and external to the individual has to be faced and then mastered. All this is seldom easy – which is as it should be, for those questing after the essence.”[3]

-Hysteron Proteron – The Practice of Evil. In Context.

Just as Anton Long must have done in his journey to and through gnosis, we test ourselves. We test others. Through our pathworkings, we are made conscious of the subtleties of being and what is possible beyond.

Finally, this leads us to the understanding that each of us destroys, sustains, and most importantly, creates. To embody this is the essence of our founder, who, for a deliberate purpose, concealed the truth of his identity. Who “Anton Long” might be simply does not matter. It was never meant to be the point. We all seek to develop an essence like that of Anton Long[4].

I am Anton Long. We ALL are Anton Long.

-The Eternal Outsider yf 133

Footnotes:
[1] Pathei-Mathos and The Initiatory Occult Quest – Order of Nine Angles MSS
[2] The Seofonfeald Path Trilogy – Labyrinthos Mythologicus – Order of Nine Angles MSS
[3] Hysteron Proteron – Order of Nine Angles MSS (For further context and a more complete understanding please read “Satanism, Sacrifice and Crime – The Satanic Truth” as a supplementary text.
[4] Hysteron Proteron – ONA – Organizational Structure:

“This working secrecy is necessary because Satanism cannot now be anything other than selective – it is elitist, being a hard and dangerous path, and part of its effectiveness lies in work of an underground, clandestine nature [e.g. some essential work is done by those involved in respectable positions, which positions would no longer be available if the Satanic beliefs/practices of those involved in such work was generally known: i.e. they were discovered to be Satanists].”

Written in conjunction with Kristos513 and Ariadne (originally intended for the now defunct dot org site)

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Devilry – A Revival of Traditional Satanism

Beast Xeno


Shakespeare said “Hell is empty and all the devils are here”. I believe, nothing knows the depths of evil better than people. As I see it, none can know the artistry of a painting better than its creator. There is a place that artists live in during our rituals of creation. Let’s call it a dimension of infinite potentiality; a realm in which, the artist contrasts the shadows from its highlights. As the artist assigns the values, a pattern appears.

This means that what is permitted is brought forward and what is forbidden is driven deep into absence; outcasted. An image formed with perfection in mind. Yet the scope of the creation’s beauty is magnified when you begin to contemplate what is intentionally removed. If this creation was composed of words and ideas the consideration of what is preference would become antithetical. Creating a dynamic challenge between them.

Since people are the authors of evils, they portray them with an image of perfection. Creating the contrast between permissible and forbidden. Thus the permissive, through popular sentiment and aesthetic preference, becomes orthodoxy. Ulteriorly that which is taboo or forbidden takes up the form of heresy.

With the purpose of not dragging the analogy out further than necessary; no uniformed interpretation of art can be embraced by all. Each artist calls forth selected qualities within their works. The subtle and sometimes stark heresies give rise to variants of beauty in popular culture. As a particular culture is defined by its creative manifestation and palettes of taste; there becomes a clear ideology of what is deemed ugly, undesirable, and ultimately labeled evil. Hold in mind that art needs it’s critics.

The Devil Within Us:

There’s is an old dichotomy debated within the diabolic circles. It is the born-versus-made contention. The prior sees that one either possesses innate qualities of devilry, including latently, or one doesn’t. Whereas the former only strikes a subtle deviation, concluding that all hold this as a potential predisposition to the diabolic. I find myself, in agreement that we are born.

My certainty comes with the recognition of the sheep flocking behind every would be shepard. The moving from one grassy knoll to the next is akin to the effortless way the branches of the trees sway in the moderate wind. People are truly like that, so many sleepwalkers, so little presence of true self-awareness. To stand back and observe it; you begin to see the magnificent symphony as it’s conductor manifests. Suddenly the recognition of separateness unveils an awareness sometimes acute but persistent.

This first shock, this “revelation” is a momentary awakening. From within, the shadow finds itself alerted. Much like a sharp note within a scale. Through this comes a realization that you are not as flaccid and bendable as has been witnessed. Clearly your sense of composure clashes. It is at the moment, that we pick up “our brush” in an effort to make a better work, that we encroach the profane.

From that point forward, we become the critic. It is precisely the formation of alternative values and objective criticism which leads to offense among the indoctrinated sleepers. The heavier the critique, the harder they’ll rail against it. Sleepers, by in large, don’t want to be awakened, and the very existence of something that could potentially disturb them is unnerving.

In nature, it’s not uncommon to see indifference to those triggers from one species to another as they continue along the way. It is more common though, to see a species take advantage and use it to ensnare it’s prey. Without conscience acknowledgement of otherness. Thus the born argument is affirmed.

The Infernal Eminence:

Let us now examine the most prominent characteristics of the diabolic. These are fiercely inscribed upon the heart of, and dare I say, ingrained within the souls of the horde. Non Serviam, there can be no surrender. The Law of the Jungle, while usually this is phrased as “survival of the fittest”; that is a misstep in understanding. This isn’t as true about survival; as it is true about thriving. Domination, no matter the tactics used, is evidenced through strength.

Morior Invictus, I die unvanquished. Nothing is more glorious than the passion of the trumpets echoing the city walls. Excellence is a pursuit worthy of any gambit. Trust and kinship are earned, not given. Loyalty is the fruit of our union through them.

Lex Talionis, what’s taken out must be put back in. There is a caveat though, your word must be your bond. Your accolades and retributions equally swift and exact. The motto, fuck around and find out.

Morality is a house built of flimsy cards, but honour is a brickmade stronghold. The more principled and resolute your conviction to nobility is, the more weight your words and actions will hold. Truth is the black flamed sword thrusting down upon fraud and corruption. Thus from the corpse, we cut away only what is useful. Culling that which is unfit for consumption.

We only have the certainty of one life to which we live. Therefore we must love fully and completely, when we love. We must work hard and relentlessly when we lust, albeit for affection, power, or prowess. No matter the sacrifice required. No matter how large or small the task. Our measure of its worth must be convincing. No permission needed, there’s no apology necessary.

In these times, those more concerned with their own honour than social acceptance, are truly the devils of the today. Stand strong, in the face of demonization and ridicule. Hold fast to your principles and values, as you ride out the raining arrows. If you fall, rub some dirt in it and become a Phoenix. Scorching everything as you rise.

Live Deliberately!

– Dread Xeno

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Immortal Homeland

Beast Xeno


For most of my life, I have been interested in my own ancestry. There is a certain pride that can be had in knowing exactly where the roots are and how deep they go. So much of us is composed by such things. Yet, we must recognize that this only maps what came before us.

It’s easy to allow yourself to be defined by your heritage. In a very real way, we cannot be separated from the echoes of our forefathers. This leaves two questions unanswered though. Who are we as the individual standing before the world? What will our legacy be?

As you can imagine, these can be difficult questions to answer. Those answers can be received on many different levels. What do I mean by that? Throughout history a small handful of people have left legendary marks upon the world. Some positive and some negative, but history remembers them.

Some have held no impact and were content to go quietly into the night. There are those who have been shadowed by another greater than them during their time. History ignored them despite their achievements. Their bloodline though, it holds onto certain qualities in memory.

This is one path to immortality. What you do and what you stand for, are key in answering the question of who you are. They foreshadow and begin forming the answer of what your legacy will be. It’s important to understand that, like your ancestry, your legacy cannot be the sole focus of your being. Even if the destination is within your line of sight, you must remain aware of your footing upon the path.

Imagine if Thomas Paine had been concerned with these things. Would “Common Sense” hold any sense at all? Paine was focused on what he stood for and was sure of who he was. This is a man whose writings poured fuel on the fires of two revolutions. Love him or hate him, he is now “an immortal”.

One thing of note, no matter where he resided he sought to impact the land he inhabited. This is an act of deep patriotism and a testament to the power of conviction. Patriotism is not simply a fidelity to the Nation-State, but to the people of that land. It’s not enough for us to simply think about the future of our children, we must be concerned for the future of our land.

This can be a very complicated matter to digest. Especially when you are born into a festering of rot and corruption. There are no clear or easy solutions for it. To compound matters, just about the time you get your bearings in what might be beneficial, the rebelliousness of youth is slipping away.

In the times of old, this was remedied by radicalizing through indoctrination of the youth. At the pinnacle of the age of enlightenment, we cross over into an age of wisdom. Through years of practical experience and maturation of comprehension, a clear vision forms. It seems only natural that we would attempt to hasten the process of “enlightening” the youth and guide them to action. Often this is in effort to reach for “immortality”.

Therein lies the fundamental obstacle. Great care must be taken in the work. Too much “foresight” is as dangerous as hindsight. To stand alone upon the claim of heritage, is as pretentious as it comes. Merit that is underserved. Too much focus upon your legacy, often leads to delusions of grandeur. Once again merit that is underserved. Instead focus on your footing, remain within the moment. Remain a patriot to the “people of your land”.

-Live Deliberately

Dread Xeno

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Off Topic and On Balance

Beast Xeno

I call for you, yet you cannot be named. I study you, though I can never truly know all of you. You’re abrasive and uncompromising, that’s simply a part of your gentle nature. Just as everything has gone completely wrong, I find myself thinking I have finally got it right.

Looking around we are a collective of individuals. Celebrating our distinction with the latest trending accessories. There is a mundane comfort found in the conflict of polar extremes. One can simply xerox whatever originality we think makes us unique.

I struggle to understand the purpose of the denial of this life; bartering it to embrace an unseen next. Is this manifestation of delusion caused by the inevitable strife endured by unsuspecting victims or an over-indulgence of fetish by the listless predator? What I find is a lack of spirit within the self-professed spiritual. An article of faith being propagated by the unfaithful. The deeply self-absorbed evangelizing a message of goodwill and selflessness.

So delicate is the harsh measurement taken of equilibrium. It is by design that chaos becomes the unanticipated order. Is it expected that those who preach the overman are often underachievers? Why do so many empty words seem to hold such tremendous weight? When does a hollow idol fill the cathedral with such nurture for the soul?

The fulcrum seems so exceedingly undecided, yet I know; tis affixed in it’s place. With no gold standard to follow, what value is offered seems to quickly fade. Without the integrity of character, words like “on my honor” are only spoken in lip-service. Thus a teacher without a curriculum to instruct.

In Her Beauty,

T.C. Downey

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The Principal of Water Element

Beast Xeno

When I think of the Elements the first one that comes to mind is water. Water is very much like Darkhorse. It is unassuming and so often overlooked. There is an almost unnatural calming effect that so many experience in its presence. It is as if the stories of old, told of the Siren’s song, were simply a metaphor for the mesmerizing trance that the water holds. As deep as the trenches of the ocean floor go, so does this great teacher’s lessons.

In as many forms as we can find water taking; we can find an equal portion of transformations owed to it. Water is the giver of life and the unspeakable horror of the lives it has taken. On a Planetary level, it is representative of the inner mind and subconsciousness. Some of its chief hallmarks being adaptive, soothing, fluid, corrosive, expanding, and overcoming.

None can deny the power that this element holds. How quickly it can shift from a calm serenity, to a swelling chaos of certain peril. On an Earthly level, it is a perfect balance of tri-state mastery (hot-tepid-cold). Seemingly able to summon hybrid variations of these states. One would be wise to court Mercury’s companion. At the surface, it should be seen as reflective. Bearing in mind, the deeper we go the more mysteries it holds. No wonder why in Alchemy it is denoted by the downward triangle.

The Slyman works to imitate the properties of water element. Seeking to absorb the prowess and mysteriousness. Minding the great wisdoms the waters hold. Not just in seeking your own level, but in your own tri-state mastery.

To this effect, the (one of the) fundamental task(s) of the Initiate Grade of the Order of Nine Angles’ Sevenfold Path termed “Insight Role” (once referred to by Mindfux as Agency); is revered by Darkhorse as essential to development. This practice of shapeshifting is both insightful and extremely useful to our ends.

I am not sure I agree with A. Long about the duration of your first insight role being a minimum of 18 months, but perhaps there is some aspect I’m overlooking. I would tend to think a build up to that undertaking would be useful, as learning to hold a shape takes a tremendous effort. Still I am a strong proponent of the notion “if its not broken, don’t fix it” and this is definitely not broken.

SHTF Preppers (Shit-Hits-The-Fan Preppers) should be flocking by the thousands to achieve this; as this is the ultimate “Grey Man” training. Changing your appearance and being able to move in and out of different scenarios undetected is only effective in a short term event. They assume they can make it to their “bug-out” location. It is also worth mentioning that in a true SHTF situation this is reactive and not proactive. Anyway I digress.

If I have failed in any way to demonstrate the powers held by this Elemental; one needs only go to Wikipedia and search “List of water deities” and stand in awe of broad scope and antiquity of its worship. For me, being of Irish Celtic descent, its resonance echoes of a heritage I will never truly get to understand. I refuse to buy into the “neo-druid” horseshit which reeks of Crowley’s golden dawn with sprinkles of wicca and flakes of shaman spice.

As a boy my great-granddad used to tell me old folklore from our homeland. Tales of fairies, warriors, and gods were his favorite to wax. There was always a water connection. So much of a connection that my family’s coat of arms distinctly has 3 sea creatures on it.

Before I stray to far from the thrust of this writing. I wanted to glean another association to water I have made, and that is to blood (more specifically bloodlines). Obvious I guess, to most maybe, but in the same way that water can be used for dilution, it can also be used for purification. To further affect it is also key to transmutation.

The process of making crack-cocaine is one excellent example of such purification and transmutation. Three very simple ingredients when processed together can take weak powdered cocaine and make it reemerge; both hardened and more potent. This of course takes place in the first ingredient water.

During times of antiquity, a tactic was used to assimilate a conquered people (thus ensuring compliance) without necessarily totally enslaving them. To maintain “total occupation” is an extremely expensive and laborsome endeavor. By simply killing off the undesirable components (in this case the warrior caste) and inter-breeding with select components; you can create a linear-sense of loyalty and submission. Halfbreeds (with desirable traits) can then be further bred back into the desired pool. Perhaps adding a physical or mental ability not present (or perhaps weaker) before.

This is not unlike the process of making crack-cocaine. As it is a formula for the breaking down, purification, and reemergence of greater intensity; it is yet another stellar example of water’s transmutative abilities. As much as water is one the great teachers; so is it one of the great tests. Though we require it to survive; it is something of a feat to survive it. The necessity to do so is the catalyst for us to become as adaptive and persistent as water itself is.

So in closing, I will implore those of the Darkhorse to be as insidious as water is. Study it, work with it, revere it, and you will unlock the secrets bore in the depths of it. The Mother, Destroyer, Nurturer, and Sorceress that is eternal. She is worshipped throughout the history of mankind. She encourages us be silent and subtle; to be formless and adaptive; to be entrancing and yet treacherous. This writing is but a shallow gleaning of a gnosis so rich and available to any who choose to undergo it. One cannot move through water fearlessly, without knowing the depths of it. As Bruce Lee once said “Be water, my friend”.

Live Deliberately!

-Beast Xeno

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