The Currents of Wyrd

Wyrd is an odd word, it looks like “word” and sounds like “weird”. Yet… Wyrd is the underlying fabric of the Nine Worlds and one of the central concepts of Druwydry. The rudimentary definition is something like “the course of events” or ” The Cosmic Fates”. A more intuitive understanding might be “what is to come”. In Druwydry, Wyrd represents the powerful currents of influence that control how events unfold in linear time. It is possible to displace the flow of Wyrd that is revealed through a specific alignment of The Mastery and Deed.

A Self-Centric Eye (the Master I)

Every Western institution over the past 100 years has been designed to manufacture “sleepers” that obey. This happens because the Magians and Puritans idealize putting others above ourselves. This is a monumental err. Literally putting the cart before the horse and then putting full cup blinkers on it. Selflessness benefits none in the long term and only benefits opportunistically in the short term.

Deep down, everyone knows this is true. Self-centrism is extremely frowned upon, yet everyone practices it and dresses it up in the disguise of selflessness. By becoming self-centric, you begin to pay attention and become sensitive to what impacts you directly. Developing a deeper understanding of what influences you and in what way. Without that understanding you are a vessel adrift without anchor or sail undoubtedly heading towards the rapids and rocks. Torn and shredded pieces are destined to settle into the river bed, somewhere downstream.

A correction is in order. It is necessary to embrace self as priority and in this begin the seeding of essence. What grows from the seeds? An authentic understanding of who you are, where you are, what you like, and what motivates you. This is the fundamental basis of self-remembering. Creating awareness simultaneously of what is known and the knower. Awareness of the deed and the doer.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

We are taught the results of being self-centric is devastating and destructive. Somehow it is corrosive to our collective relationships. Self-centrism is falsely construed as selfishness. In accordance, it is thought that it creates no contribution to the “greater society at large”. Yet a survey of the landscape tells a different story.

The wretched who care only about themselves seem to live forever. The ruthless businessman gets richer and more powerful. The self-obsessed athlete becomes the best in his game. The politician rises in his influence and reach. In a very real sense Satan is King of this World. The nature of this world is adversarial and the road to hell is always paved with good intentions

Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. All said to be deadly Sins. However in a controlled and deliberate use, we are led to the path of freedom and prosperity. Lust leads to the fulfillment of sexual needs. Gluttony brings forth a fullness of living. Envy creates motivation and drive to improve your station. Pride brings a focus to constantly refine and develop the self. Greed to financial fulfillment. Wrath to justice. Sloth to emancipation from fruitless labor.

Perilously Traverse the Currents of Wyrd

We live in a dangerous world. Everything is surely trying to kill us, even Destiny herself. Nythra will not be denied. Yet under the Moonlight, there’s a winding staircase that leads to the blue room of Mars. It is here in The Dark Pools that we can divine the Currents of Wyrd. Given we have the foresight, that is the occult abilities to; chart our course along the ebbs and flows of the Great River as it’s rushing.

We can apprehend Cosmic Emanation, as we see the spring forming the Dark Pool. It begins to stream outwardly. The stream eventually feeding into the Great River. I close this entry with a quote from Magister Hagur. May your Travels be by your revealed Wyrd.

“Shugara, highly developed intellectually and greatly motivated achieves objectivity wherever he is found, bringing about the deep sinister intent. The Dark God is influenced by the planets Moon and Mars, responding to their attraction, ever ready to transmit its energies to all those contemplating the Tree of Wyrd as a way of sinister living, and this means:

(1) Endeavouring to arrive at an absolute sinister motive.

(2) The ability to enter in the silence of the chaotic mind to realise the sinister way.

(3) Remembering at all time the strict self-disciplined life, which
does not mean that life is undone of sensual perception, on the contrary it does stir up a well-balanced dark life.

(4) Using self-control facing the unknown.

(5) Not to scatter innate sinister forces vainly, but focus them to a particular sinister goal. “ – Hagur

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Genesys of the Darkhorse

In the beginning, man and woman were free to be one with nature. They endured and figured out how to survive its laws, learning through trial, error, and from other animals. As they evolved they came together as human packs to increase their probability of survival, forming tribes and small communities. Then the tribes increased in size, expanding beyond their hunting grounds and into the greater kingdom of nature. The survival rate and territory of the other animals started to decline with the passing of time as humanity established itself as the apex predator. With nothing aside from natural disasters and disease to challenge man & woman’s dominion they continued to expand exponentially, taking the lion’s share of resources and living-space.

As time marched on the human race imagined itself among the stars and heavens, beginning to see itself as a separate entity of the animal kingdom. Our societies & ways of life changed to reflect our delusion, and we were reincarnated as an aberration of nature with excessive consciousness. The conceptualisation of our experiences grew more artificial and our problem-solving became more cerebral. We solved anatomical puzzles, split the atom, and reached the stars, only to realise that existence was more complex and mechanical than we initially thought, culminating in the atrophy of our hunter-gatherer genetics and the psychosis of our 21st century existence.

The human animal is now an estranged creature ensnared by a manic hysteria of its own making. Due to the grooming and pressures of society we subconsciously agreed upon rules to live by which exist in contrast to our nature. As our familial bonds have subsided for various reasons we no longer have the environment which encouraged this nurtured learning, leaving a void in our understanding of the world and each other. No longer can we as a species default to the animalistic nature which helped our evolution to this point, leaving an altogether confused animal locked in an empty room with full awareness of the futility of its own existence.

The Darkhorse kicks…

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Nochtadh Cosmaí – Further into Cosmic Revelation

Recently a YouTuber asked me if I was a Satanist. It’s been a long time since I was asked that question. I answered in the affirmative, and elaborated in it by stating in the most proactive sense of the term. In retrospect, this answer doesn’t take it far enough. So I thought I might try to flush it out more here. So let’s go ahead and devil into this.

There are 3 things to know about my Satanism. First as I see it, there truly cannot be an -ism when it comes to what is Satanic. After all, how does one practice Satan? What kind of system is Satan? What is Satan’s philosophy exactly?

Satan means Adversary, Accuser, Enemy, and One who plots against. Why not just call it Adversarialism or even Enemyism? Perhaps that is because our mind associates more then Adversity or plotting to it.

There are aspects beyond those that come to mind. Think about this, what does the word Satan invoke? In a nutshell, the first thing you should know about my Satanism is that it is not Satanism. It is Diabolism.

Diabolism places us firmly in the second thing to know. What is Satanic, is the observable state of nature. That is to say, it is the natural worldly order. We as terrestrial beings are part of this order. The simplest thing I can point to that illustrates this is the food chain.

There are many other examples of what makes it the state of nature. To further investigate this, I will point you to two titles; the Lucifer Principle by Howard Bloom and Postmodern Satanism by Jason King. Both in my opinion are essential reads.

It is undeniably obvious life is a competition for resources. There is not a species on this cosmic dirt ball, that doesn’t participate. The end game is simple, survive and thrive. What it means to thrive can sound atrocious to a naive mind. Yet it remains the natural worldly order.

In the natural worldly order, what can be reduced to simply thriving; will be labeled monstrous or heinous. As the saying goes, one man’s hell is another’s heaven. The devilish ranks of which swell with each passing day.

Since I was a boy, I have pondered the thin-lined divide of Devil/Satan/Lucifer. Are they separate entities? Is it the same being going by different aliases? I wonder is it something different entirely? Religions seem to reveal more of our nature, than answer any eternal questions. Leaving us with dissatisfaction and dogma. For this while the cat is away, the mice will play.

In keeping true to the natural worldly order; king of the hill is the favorite game to play. It is a no-holds-barred free-for-all with only one rule. The rule is “There can only be one”.

As one ascends to his metaphorical throne, he then basks in his Luciferian glory and grandeur. The next comes along and casts him down to take the throne. Each one proclaiming not to be unlike the most high.

Thus the Morning Star is born to RISE. It can only be fitting that in the same way, all things must strive. One above and one below, a balance is stuck. The enemy can now be perceived.

This brings me about to face the third understanding. Those who take the mantle of Diablo, pledge to be the counter-weight. Tasked by the natural worldly order to perpetuate it’s delicate balance. Lest we stagnant and erode into extinction.

Sorry for the brevity. Just some things on my mind.


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Nochtadh Cosmaí

The Sinister Creed

Satan in particular and the Dark Gods in general are a means to self-fulfillment and self-

Only by journeying through the darkness within us and without can we attain self-divinity and
thus fulfil the potentiality of our existence.

Our rites, ceremonies and practices are all life-affirming, and show us the ecstasy of existence
and the self-overcoming of the true Adept.

We are feared because we defy and seek to know and thus understand. We rejoice in living: in all
its pleasures but most particularly in its possibilities. We thus extend the frontiers of evolution
while others sleep or cry.

We detest all that enervates and would rather die than submit to anyone or anything – this pride is
the pride of Satan, and Satan is a symbol of our defiance and a sign of our life-enhancing energy.
Others see our way of living and our way of dying and are afraid.

When we hate we hate openly and with arrogance, and when we love, we love with a passion to
match this arrogance: always mindful never to love anyone so much that we cannot see them die,
for death is a natural changing of energies.

We prepare – through our magick and our ways of living – for the Age of Fire (the Aeon of the
Dark Gods) which is to come, when we elitist few shall reach out toward the stars and the galaxies and the new challenges they will bring.

Our way is difficult and dangerous and is for the few who can truly defy the matrix of illusions of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ – that stifle the potentiality of our being.

What does not kill us, makes us stronger.

Codex Saerus – The Order of Nine Angles

As the world around us violently changes, I am reminded of the lobster in the boiling pot. The rich have become nothing but richer, and the poor are only poorer. The masses are so caught up in the little manufactured achievements bestowed upon them. So blinded; so stupid. Men are so emasculated and women are no longer truly venerated. Gender has become something only identified with, and is no longer celebrated or even taboo. One might think to themselves “what strides of social equality have been achieved”, but to me that begs the question; what did it cost us?

I am a person who rarely apologizes, but if any of what I am saying offends you; I am truly sorry. You see, I harbor no phobias in this topic and if it should sound as such; well tough shit, all you will get is an apology from me for it. I am all about becoming who you truly are. If this means you are something other than the once “societal standard”; by all means embrace it. Keep in mind though, I am of the old school of thought; where we do not peek over our neighbor’s fences. So when I speak on these matters, understand that I am not coming from a place of bigoted mind. The only reason, I have chosen to bring this up is, because I believe we are being robbed of something essential and this demonstrates it adequately.

What I mean is this, when I was a small child, life hit me with a series of unfortunate events. I was first stricken sick as an infant. That left me with a massive hearing loss. A short time later, my father passed away in an accident. This left my mother extremely poor and emotionally in despair. She was pregnant at the time of his passing. I went through more than several years of abuse at the hands of my step-family. Mental, physical, and sexual; its like Prego “it’s in there”. By the time I hit the ages of 11-13, my somewhat shy and self-conscious demeanor had culminated into a seemingly magnetic target for bullying. This is the part of the story, where someone should have come to my rescue, and it isn’t. No hero came, no one stuck up for me. The school didn’t care, the police gave even less of a shit.

What transpired instead was a cosmic test of mettle. You see I was born determined. Each event listed I overcame; I rose above it. By the age of 14, I knew who I truly was and nothing was going to hold me down. None of the disadvantages I inherited, would make me take a knee. I had taken on the mantra of, “Why? Because fuck you, that’s why!”. I am my own champion. A warrior within my own rite! The bullies, I bullied them. The abuse I suffered, I let it be the kindling of my internal fire. The deafness, you would have no idea it is there if I did not say so.

Understand this now, I AM NOT SPECIAL! There is nothing about me beyond my defiance and determination that made it possible to overcome. Which is what finally brings me to the impetus and thrust of this entry. “Only by journeying through the darkness within us and without can we attain self-divinity and thus fulfil the potentiality of our existence.” The Sinister Creed gives us 9 points with a singular energy, the thrust to defy and overcome.

It used to be that people of different sexual orientations had to undergo a very personal quest of self-discovery and self-empowerment. So I think, those that did so will understand where I am coming from with this. It should not just be handed to you. You will miss out on everything that truly gives self power and strength. Sure there are those that will succumb and fail, not all are worthy of truly living (in my views, not all are worthy of life). Each must pass the tests of living to be worthy of doing so. Those we coddle, we do them no service. We may love them, but we must be willing to watch them die. This is the Law of Nature, it always has been. This is a cosmic revelation, yet has been no kept secret.

So in that, what do I mean by cosmic revelation? When we look into nature what we see is constantly repeating patterns. Fractals if you will. What happens on a microscopic level, seems to also happen on larger and larger scales. The Law of Nature is no different. In the same way, that a seedling planted on the shadyside of a tree has to struggle and overcome to survive; so must we endure to survive.

With all of the solar storm activity in the news lately, it should also be apparent that the same condition exists on that level. There is in fact, a delicate balance struck in nature. Some of which we can see and comprehend, the rest though the pattern remains elusive.

To be continued…


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When I was involved in various organizations, one of my many responsibilities was being tasked at overseeing recruitment. However, when starting an organization from scratch, the methods of recruitment and retaining prospective members are entirely different from one with a deep history and roots.

An organization with a long history is appealing to prospective members mainly by status and aesthetic alone. An organization without such status and history has to cultivate it from nothing. Since I’ve always been in male membership only organizations, one such influence on recruitment was the potential access to Women. Women are a powerful asset for any organization. While at the same time being it’s greatest liability. Like a fire, it can keep you warm or engulf everything you love and build in flames.

Another attraction point is aesthetic. How you look is just as important as how strong you are. Incongruence conveys falsehood. If you want to convey strength yet you are weak, frail or obese, an overwhelming feeling of hypocrisy followed by ridicule will surely follow. Uniformity breeds Militancy. Having a standard of uniform weakness will attract the like.

Investment. Even the smallest investment in something creates attachment. The most valuable investment is Time. The greater the investment, the higher the retention. When someone is invested in something they will protect it. Sacrifice is synonymous with Investment.

The purpose of aesthetic, investment and retention is circular. But what drives this circular movement is a conversion experience. I’ve found the best conversion experience is built on pressure testing. An example. A uniform aesthetic of membership creates an us and them culture. A prospective member wants to bridge the gap from being one of them to being one of you. This can be expressed through clothing and language. Clothing that the in crowd can wear but the outsider cannot. Language that the in crowd can use but the outsider cannot. Information and relationships that the insider can have access to but the outsider cannot. People like people who are like them. And people tend to not like people who are not like them.

Pressure testing can take the form of a difficult task. A task that will test the character of a person. A task that if accomplished will reflect the traits of a member of the organization. This task can be modified and suited to a particular individual. For instance if someone struggles with confrontation, then you will place them in direct confrontation for the betterment of the organization. If someone struggles with patience, task them with something that will test their patience to the extreme. If the task is completed, an overcoming is accomplished. And the result?

The result is bringing them inside the organization, giving them access. And if this process is long enough, tribulated enough, guided and punished for their failures and praised for their successes, they will be made in your organization’s image. They will look like you, think like you, and respond just like you. They will fight to defend you. They will invest in you. And above all they will sacrifice for all of you.

However, Divestment is the reverse cycle, a cycle of destruction when applied to the former. To be incongruent, to highlight the contradictions, to “do as I say and not as I do” is a sure fire way to destroy any organization. Divestment is for the outsiders, the alien world. I have seen organizations, religions, cults and clubs rise and fall over the past decades. One thing remains true, people need someone to look up to. Someone that embodies that esprit de corps. That person cannot be declared or appointed, they have to be chosen.

~Dread Zod

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The Forge of Doubt

The current trend in Western culture is one that raises up individuality and uniqueness. It seems like everyone is chasing attractiveness and status. There are millions and millions of would-be social influencers. As stand alone statements or even when considering them together as a whole concept, these are things that should be applauded and encouraged. Yet, I can’t help but make note of the lack of consistency and the obvious facades.

A close friend of mine, regularly points to this phenomenon and scowls at it. He’s right to do so. The only flaw that I can find in his analysis, isn’t really an argument against his disgust. You see, I agree with him that the internet is where people go to pretend to be anyone they want. The flaw is that he has limited the scope of his judgement too narrowly. Turns out people are fraudulent by-in-large.

This is not to say, that there aren’t genuine people. I think some genuine people can at times, find themselves being disingenuous. This isn’t really any shocking new observation. However, this is a form of corruption. A corruption that seems to seep deeper and deeper into the collective consciousness. It is not anything new or novel that this “fakeness” is prevalent in the masses. We’ve simply added a few new layers on top of it.

When I consider this in contrast, I’m not surprised to find this rampantly existing, even in self-professed satanists. The internet removes a layer of accountability. Accountability is an idea that has long been eroding and rotting. Anton LaVey was writing about it in the 60’s. Accountability is often framed to be “an owning of your wrong doing”, but that doesn’t really seem to encompass its proper apprehension. What is really being put forth is, an honesty to self. A personal sincerity, void of delusions without intention.

When I was young, I often pondered the stark consistency of LaVey’s philosophy and his character. Old Howie’s detractors often point to all of LaVey’s lavish deceptions. From plagiarism to the embellished and sometimes completely fictitious stories of his past. Certainly there’s no accountability, right? I have to disagree. I find it completely consistent.

A man with a fake name. Telling embellished or possibly false stories. Pushing a meant-to-be sensational “religion” of the secular and rebellious. Charging a membership fee for a “church” against all churches. All while grifting the grifters. Watching those old videos of ritual and ceremony and even the many television interviews, there can be seen a twinkle in the corner of his eye. After all, the devil is a gentlemen, in the words of Shakespeare.

You can see it, simply by observing. There’s a consistency in him. A playful deviance, if you will. A harmony between word and deed. Should he be a liar, then let his lies be bold and outlandish. We then find an inner-resonance of self honesty to balance against it. With the mind of Lucifer, a carefully crafted deception was made to inspire doubt.

LaVey was a proponent of doubt as being paramount to truth. Doubt, the emancipator of minds, bearing the sword of unbridled wisdom. If this is a war for the eternal souls of men, then doubt is the great equalizer. A great many will ask themselves, “Is this a hill worth dying on”.

We are left in contemplation. Are we pretending or is this truly who we are. Is there a consistency between our words and deeds? We realize that, no matter how fortified the castle is; if it’s built on a mountain of sand, it takes but a wave to wash it from the shore.

Live Deliberately!

-Dread Beast Xeno

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A Gift for the Abyss

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


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The Immortal Order of Nine Angles


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.”


“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

[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

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 Bawrn.

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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