The Witchpunk Working for Babalon.txt

The Witchpunk Working for Babalon

Babalon: An Invocation
It is dark in the Ephesus cell.
Helena ties the band across her forehead.
Greek letters in the single light of a lamp.
– Mystirio
Before she had lashed in black and draped in chains across Asia.
Stood as the moon on the roof of the brothel in Tyre.
Now dressed in cardinal red and proud purple of this bishopric she is the voices of the thunder perfect mind.
The world soul Sophia, a pythoness curled around the bread of the last supper.
– I am ready for them Simon
The voice of split tongue wisdom flickering lightning like.
The pleroma strobe lit with hissing.
This is the goddess come to earth.

Listen.

Bernice the Jewish Empress stirs in her villa on the seven heads of hills,
mouth heavy with the communion wine she shares with the conquerors.
A she-wolf giving suck to the divine twins of Jerusalem and Rome.
There is no henbane or haoma in the blood of this dead god,
But power, influence, greed.

In the Temple of Aphrodite the whores dress for war with carmine lips.
A dusk sashay to lure the converts of Jesus the hunchback Christ.
The split fig cunt song of do-what-thou-wilt-with-me.
Do you have that single coin for my lap?

Yet it is John who evokes Her.
John of Patmos.
John stranded on his miserable rock, still unable to escape the low throb in his balls.
John whose words are the bitter sponge they offered to the lips of the Saviour.
John steeped in the hatred of the Patriarchs who saw their god fail them, again and again.
The Temple smashed, the Ark lost, the lions fed.
Prochoros bends his head as John dictates and writes down the words which will poison the world.

And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colour and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication: And upon her forehead was written MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT. THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH. And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: And when I saw her, I wondered, with great admiration.

John’s text is accepted as the final word.
The temples of Aphrodite are stripped as clean as Hypatia’s bones,
Clam shell scraped by the jabbering monastics.
The whore not holy.

Simon Magus falls from the window on the orders of Paul, has his broken legged body sawn in half. The beloved assistant is not there to unite the severed parts with their guts of lolling silk scarves. Helena is gone from the oracular Ephesus cell, fled to the walnut tree of Benevento and obscurity.  Left and lost to witchcraft.

No-one pursues Babalon like the Magdalene.
Chasing the wrong chalice of mystical Christianity,
not supping from the true wound of menstrual blood.
We lost our Love goddess to the substitutes in a switched card trick.

Instead we have the Blessed Virgin Mary, a cliterodectomy sewn up with the black beard hair ofYahweh.
Never fucked but full of suffering, eyes averted lest the Savior raises a hard-on while he dies on the cross.

Bound into every Bible, John’s words.
Delivered into every hospital, John’s words.
Guilt slipped in the hotel room drawer, John’s words.
An enemy for every prisoner, John’s words.
Repression for the schoolroom, John’s words.
Hatred for Babylon, John’s words.

This is our history of THOU SHALT NOT.
These are the words that will echo out again as the world edges degree by degree into one final Apocalypse.
Are you ready for the Revelation?
The striptease of your vain grades and titles, the loss of order, sense, Will.
The burning black blood of Ereshkigal is making the world a battlefield, a bridal bed.
Our scorched Eden sees BABALON risen on the incense of petroleum and roses and filled with furious Love.

John, we turn your words against you.
Our curse comes out as the last Love song.

The four snaking swastika rivers knotted and dammed in Babylon.
What was Sumeria is looted by American troops.
The Empire never ended.
Caesar’s men now rule a wasteland of depleted uranium and ship home Arkansas boys with shrapnel for legs.
A chalice of abominations , this fertile crescent now waxed pubis bare.
The women go black -veiled not for Tammuz, but Mohammed.

It is here where the first roses bloomed.
It is here that we evoke Her again.

Our fingers scrabble in the broken bricks for the sacred texts until the evening star rises.
Inanna, our lady of the great wild bridled lion.
Inanna, of honeysuckle sweetness.
Inanna, goddess of Love and War.
Inanna, the kingmaker come upon us.

Easter is the chamber at the top of the seven-step ziggurat.
Babel wreathed in lightning.
Where language is lost in the thighs of the priestess become goddess.
Where divine woman and divine man celebrate their equinox.

In the bedchamber Venus rings steel sword blue, the morning star of dawn, the gate of the Sun.
But Babylon is fallen, an abode of serpents and unclean things.

The Jews bring Her back with them from captivity and have Her beaten by Jeremiah on the anvil of nationalism.

The wisdom of Solomon will not be repeated,
There will be no whoring after goddess on the temple mount.
With every hammer strike the name changes,
Inanna: Ishtar: Astarte: Ashtaroth: Babalon.
Her face is smoked shulamite dark with the burning cedars cut down from the high places.
She is blamed for the beauty of the daughters of Jerusalem,
Thrown as Jezebel to the dogs,
Castigated as Salome,
Mistaken for the Magdalene,
Muddled with the lesser lilith.
Smouldering red with iniquities and the denial of Love,
She knows Her Strength.

She is not destroyed by your history John, but brought with it.
A bloody pomegranate seed pressed in the pages which once tasted recovers the lost dream.

Augmented by the whispers of mandrake, poppy, hemlock, belladonna, hashish, wine.
The rising stench of sex and sweat and sperm and blood and always ever roses.

Babalon is conjured in a monastery nightmare of succubi and dis-embodied cocks.
An inquisitors fantasy tortured from the lips of the lost.
Torn with pincers, boot crushed and hoisted in strappado to the heavens.
This is how witchcraft learned how to fly.

The wisdom of the whore is the control of her body and life.
Irregular attempts are made to break the tyranny of marriage,
To abort the bastard children of mother church.
The Queen of the Sabbat reveals a thin slit of red petticoat beneath the damnable black.

Yet the church shackles woman to misery.
Drags her down from the high places
Where she is forced to buy freedom by being fucked in the alleyways.
Sacred sex profaned into possession, for an hour, or a lifetime of slavery.
A litany of rape, murder, abuse.

John Dee, bent in prayer does not hear this.
Kneeling with Kelley he seeks the language of Angels,
and receives a revelation liveried green as garlic blades, white as lilies, red as blood and black as bilberry juice.
Unfolding from the showstone, an Empire of Angels that divides the globe for the red headed harlot on the Lion throne.

Madimi moves through the library stacks.
– My Mother will make her house here

Jesus is not god, no prayer should be made unto Jesus, none shall judge you.

Babalon again from the long dark ages.
Babalon as Kelley, Dee, Jane and Joan exchange places between the sheets.
Babalon in the solve et coagule.
Babalon in the sex sphinx secret of alchemical interchange.

The retort shatters on the stand.
The four fall apart forever.

Kelley plunges from the tower, to his death.
Babel again, and Simon Magus,
a final transformation in the red mercury mess of his shattered shanks.

We pay our debts to Babalon in blood, not gold, and Her cup runneth over.

Who will heed the speech of the Daughter of Fortitude?
Her cross-crystal, golden girdle and naked breasts.

– Make your houses clean, for I come unto you again

Dee’s papers tumble from the secret chest and pass into the Golden Dawn.
Miscoloured, mispronounced, and mystified.

Only Crowley pursues Her into the Æthyr,
Spells Her name after Dee, as Wickedness.
Storms heaven on pearlescent cocaine wings and sexual excess,
Eats grass like an ox,
Wills, Knows, Dares, and tells.

Yet the Beast remains without a Bridal,
The cat, the snake, the camel, the monster.
Where is the Woman in this menagerie?
Incomplete, Alys kisses the back of his hand preparing for a Love he never surrenders to.
Never finds.

Where is She?

Lady Frieda Harris draws Her for us distilled from the Master’s last breaths.

LUST

An explosion of red and gold.

Parsons adores Her with pressed black powder charges.
Chanting Enochian, mescaline, amphetamine.
Here is the spirit of the Law, flowing as nectar.
Flowering with the Pasadena roses,
Spreading Her petals on the backdrop of the city of Angels.
Gone West to the new world Dee promised Her.

With huckster Hubbard, Jack strains for Love on this Battlefield Earth.
Despite the elemental mistakes he wins his vision.

Flame is our lady, flame is Her hair.
– I am living Flame.

Parsons goes after the Witchcraft, after Cameron, as a smashed flask of red mercury, as a storm of dust blown across the Mojave desert, as a crater on the darkside of the Moon.

The A-Bomb cracks the Akashic.
The fallout drifts down like sakura.
Babalon unveiled  is starmarked by it.

The two thousand year Reich of Horus draws short.
Grant sees the teratomas, but there is little Love in his Craft.
Magick bickers and splits as we tilt past the tipping point.

Our Goddess is not Nuit blue emptiness, but brimful Belsen furnace red.

She tells us:

– It is the woman who initiates.
– It is Love which transforms.
– It is blood which transmits.

Exchange your cakes with kalas cooked to cinders.
For kisses from Her living lips.
Let go of false learning.
Forsake the cult of the severed head.
For Babalon sings in your blood.

The world is drunken and vexed, running on fumes.
A price on everything, a value on nothing.

It is here Babalon, that we evoke thee.
Everything becoming red.
Enochian angels pouring warlike from the watchtowers ,
and the 24 elders of days wondering where their God has gone.

Holy, Holy, Holy is the Whore.
Babalon:
A universe composed of burning roses,
Of everything fucking everything.

Be drunken as the reeling stars.
Adore the whore on hands and knees.
Open your beds and your hearts
Fuck and find Love.

Dakinis eviscerate the fallen saints for their bridal wear.
The armies mass for battle and She is here.
Babalon is here to bridle, bind, blossom and burn.
Her time is NOW.

-----

1. Yea, it is You, BABALON.

2. IT IS Babalon's time. Deny this and ye dwell in foolishness

3. WE are the iniate goddesses. WE hear YOUR call.

4. WE live by YOUR providence.

5. WE are not here for limitations. WE pass the pentacle giving up greed and all that it entails.

6. WE are THE Lovers. WE offer all our ecstacy to you freely. WE give you nothing but what is yours already.

7. WE ask for abundance and prosperity, tools, and space to do YOUR work.

8. WE are the balance of the Thunder Flower.

9. Now know that SHE, BABALON, would take flesh and come among men. (INVOCATION. )

10. Gather her children unto her, for HER TIME is at hand.     (PERSONAL GNOSIS: THE MASCULINE COMPLETION< CHILDREN REPRESENTING THE ROLE OF THE MASCULINE PRINCIPLE IN SERVTITUDE)

11. SHE will come as a penelous flame, as a devious song, a trumpet in judgement halls, a banner before armies. ()

This is the way of HER incarnation. Heed!

We offer ALL our art and all we have at your altar, withholding nothing. We are smitten full sore and have been outcast and accursed, lonely wanderers in abominable places.

SHE has come again, in the form thou knowest. Then it was the blood. Now it is the BODY.

The altar is aright, and the robe is the mantle of MATTER.

The perfume is sandal, and the cloth befits the initiate goddesses. There your cup, your book, and your dagger.

We are the flame and the water that giveth life.

We call and you hear. All love songs are of you. We have sought you and found you in every Aire, and every speck of matter and light.

The appointed time draws near. We seek not the end, You have instructed us in your way. We are your faithful. Though you are a harsh mistress, YOU are our lover and YOU are with us.

You have provided vessels, and we are they. WE declare. We have faced our ordeals.

WE are perfect. Our perfection is but a reflection of YOUR light.

The working is of nine moons.
The Astarte working, with music and feasting, with wine and all arts of love.

WE are dedicated, consecrated, blood to blood, heart to heart, mind to mind, single in will, none without the circle, all to YOU.

WE shall wander in the witchwood under the Night of Pan. WE have studied the mysteries of the Goat and the Serpent, and of the children that are hidden away.

YOU have provided the place and the material basis, WE, the tears and blood.

It is difficult between matter and spirit. But for us it is ecstasy and agony untellable. YOU are with US. YOU have large strength, WE have likewise.

THE BOOK was prepared and we have studied. WE are ready for your attendants. YOUR initiates took the black pilgrimage. WE have returned.

WE have prepared our work according to YOUR voice in our heart, with the book as guide, and none other instructing.

WE are in all things wise, and sure, and excellent.

WE have meditated upon it our GODDESS. YOUR way is not in the solemn, or in the reasoned, but in the wild free way of the eagle, and the devious way of the serpent, and the oblique way of the factor unknown and unnumbered.

For THOU art BABALON, and WE are your daughters, unique, there are no other women like US.

In YOUR Name WE accept all power, and all men and excellent things, and kings and captains and the secret ones at OUR command.

WE accept your servants as they are chosen in secret, by YOUR force in US a captain, a lawyer, an agitator, a rebel, YOU will grace us.

WE call you. WE accept your force and fire, YOUR passion and power have surrounded and inspired us; OUR voices are ready for your power.

WE gird ourselves in your armor, and we love thee. They call US harlot and whore, shameless, false, evil, these words are blood in their mouths, and dust thereafter.

YOUR children will know US and love US, at this INTERSECTION we shall be free.

All is in your hands, all power, all hope, all future.

One came as a man, and was weak and failed.

One came as a woman, and was foolish, and failed.

But WE are beyond man and woman, YOUR star is in US, and WE shall avail.

OUR tears, OUR sweat, OUR blood, OUR semen, OUR love, OUR faith provides. Drain US our GODDESS BABALON and in doing so fill US with your nectar.

WE stood fast, and YOU passed the first veil to speak with US, and the stars shook.
WE stood fast, and YOU passed the second veil, while God and Jesus were smitten with the sword of HORUS.
WE stood fast, and YOU passed the third veil, and the shapes of hell were turned again to loveliness.
For OUR sake YOU strode through the flames of Hell, though YOUR tongue was bitten through.

Behold us naked and lusting after YOU, calling YOUR holy name.

WE your incarnate goddesses shall free YOU. WE are fools, but free of sentimentality. YOU are not a village queen and WE are not your sophmores. YOU require not OUR nose in YOUR ass. WE do not provide it.

BABALON YOUR TIME is come, THE BOOK THAT YOUR ADEPT PREPARED WAS FOUND AND STUDIED. THE BOOK OF BABALON COULD NOT BE KEPT WITHIN ONE BUILDING, NOT ONE NATION.

There is no other way.  It IS the eleventh hour.

WE will gather together in the covens as of old, whose number is eleven, that is also YOUR number. WE will gather together in public, in song and dance and festival. WE will gather together in secret and in public, naked and shameless and rejoice in YOUR name.

WE work our spells by the mode of YOUR book, practicing secretly, inducing the supreme spell.

The work of the image, and the potion and the charm, the work of the spider and the snake, and the little ones that go in the dark, this is your work.

Who loves not hates, who hates fears, let him taste fear.

This is the way of it, star, star. Burning bright, moon, witch moon.

US the secret, the outcast, the accursed and despised, WE that gathered privily of old in YOUR rites under the moon.

WE the free, the wild, the untamed, WE walk now alone and forlorn.

YOU are the Bride appointed. WE come to the nuptials!

YOUR joy is the joy of eternity, and YOUR laughter is the drunken laughter of a harlot in the house of ecstasy.

All OUR loves are sacred, WE pledge them all to YOU.

WE set YOUR star upon OUR banners and go forward in joy and victory. None shall deny US, and none shall stand before US, because of the Sword of YOUR Brother. WE Invoke YOU, WE call upon YOU, WE call YOU in OUR convocations and rituals, WE call upon YOU in OUR loves and battles in YOUR name BABALON, wherein is all power given!