No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean,
for words are slippery and thought is viscous.
—Henry Adams
If I’d been drinking this is what I’d say. You suck. No. Really. You do. You sit there in your little world of make-believe talking about this philosophy of which you have absolutely no intention of putting into practice. It would be too uncomfortable to actually do something about it. It’s okay to sit around talking about it. But when someone actually challenges you — Sir, please back away from that caballa; please put down the OTO degree and return to reality — actually challenges you to be real, what do you do? Silence. Hide behind a computer with Gmail and retort something along the lines about how you aren’t interested in discussing anything but were more interested in enlightening others with your meaningless blather about a hundred years and eight beers ago and whether or not Crowley really could finger the ass of a god without someone coming up with a ritual about his pinky smelling like shit and the path to freedom from this world of the troglodytes. And before someone says that everything will be alright, I find myself in the position to forcefully remind them that our world isn’t moving closer to individual freedoms but diving face first into the big, fat, hairy, flaming lips of collective fear hooked up to a central line of morphine’d security with a side of fried liberty smothering in a nice mixture of moral outrage and righteous indignation. So, tell me again how you’re a big, bad, caballistically correct, BOTL-thumping, Thelemite in the middle of the free fire zone between the Big Three? Since you can’t even take the time to figure out the most basic of applications for Thelema, you’re still stuck on thinking that Thelema is about some mystery with a RPSTOVAL and some rich guy from the west. Let’s skry a bit more and see if we can’t figure out how to invoke Dubya so we can banish him with the curse of the Abyss and the torments of the flesh knowing even that is too good for him. You poor deluded toilet bowl swimmers: haven’t you figured out yet that the fruits of the tree are the sustenance of the village? If you are the fruits, I’m going back to the nuts. I stopped buying the “we’re only a 100 years old” excuse last weekend with my legs in the air. It was fucked up then just as much as it’s fucked up now. Get over it already and do something. Otherwise, you’re merely a fuckhead masturbating into the hurricane and the only face gettin’ the moneyshot is your own.
Yeah.
That is what I’d say if I’d been drinking
Recent Comments