Superfresh vs. the Secret Seven

          In Jinnistan, it was not uncommon for our games to last a thousand years, across multiple generations and incarnations of our favorite characters, their allies and opponents. We were immortal and invulnerable, but simple aesthetics alone were sufficient to dictate our individual moral affinities and disgusts, which, in many ways, matched up with the warp and weave of your own more terrestrial melodramas. Love stories, heroic battles, morality plays; I had done them all before becoming so enmeshed in this one particular riddle that I somehow lost all sight of perhaps the two most important rules for any Djinn at play: Always remember that it’s just a game, and never forget who you really are. Once you do the latter, it’s hard to do the former.

          Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe humans and their entrenched mortal illusions simply ruined the sport for me when our worlds touched but, regardless, I am ashamed to admit that I was outplayed by seven sinister Supervillains. It started so long ago now that I can honestly no longer remember whether these terrors were something that I conjured out of thin air or if they’re currently being played by other Djinn, but I suppose this point is now largely moot. They trapped me here and now I must either wait the trap out, until the day when I finally and mercifully die, or, as ridiculous as this choice sounds, I could choose to pit this pitiful mortal frame against these wicked higher powers and actually attempt to engage them here in this fragile mortal world. Most days then, obviously, I just wait to die; but not today.

    

Enemy Number 1: The Authoritarian and the Conformatons

          The most gratuitously violent of the bunch I like to call the Authoritarian. What you should know is that he feeds on your fear, and that he demands, nay, requires, full cooperation and obedience, but that this is all because, ultimately, he’s just a buffoonish slave that was probably only ever created for comic relief and, occasionally, to take it on the chin for the real powers behind him. That said, his sadistic penchant for torture and rape, and his debased brand of terroristic mind control, which he’s used to build up a veritable army of slaves called Conformatons, is, admittedly, far less funny in a time and a place like this, where, basically, he’s usually winning and his violence really, really, hurts

          In this timeline the Authoritarian first appeared to me by projecting himself into the forms of various bullies at school all the way back to kindergarten. He filled the body of a particularly insecure mentor I had in the martial arts. He often appeared to me in bars, at parties, or outside of nightclubs, really anywhere that alcohol and cocaine might twist normally sane men into would be rulers of the world.

          I can recall the very first day we met, so many years ago, when he demanded that I kneel before him on a playground, one summer afternoon in a sundried suburb, and I said, walking away, that he’d just have to beat me up. I was five. Many, many years later, he finally managed it, wearing the bodies of multiple police officers.

          On May 27th of the year 2000, one day away from my 21st birthday, I was handed a large amount of a prohibited psychoactive substance and went off, as anyone would, to meet with God. As I tore through various veils and illusions I eventually crossed paths with a law enforcement officer at the end of a long and apparently stressful night shift. There in the street, as the sun rose on the very first day of my human adult life, he asked me my name and then he asked me where I lived, two very simple questions for which, at that time, my answers had become uncertain and so I said nothing, merely pondering them and mumbling a bit to myself. For that reason, seeing as how I was unable to pay him the amount of respect due to an officer of the law, he tried to grab me. This moment would simultaneously mark both my entrance into adulthood and into the criminal justice system; it was, needless to say, an eye opening experience.

          There is an interesting psychological phenomenon known as the Just World Bias, wherein one is inclined to find countless reasons why another person who gets robbed, or raped, or even just caught out in the rain without an umbrella, obviously deserved it and could have easily avoided it if they were simply better people. It’s a very common protective psychological mechanism which allows each of us to insulate ourselves from the anxieties we would otherwise feel under the numerous looming threats that we may believe that we simply have no other way to handle other than to imagine that we live in a world where all such things only happen for very good reasons; mysterious ways, and what not.

          This all too common cowardly quality makes recovery for innocent victims of an ambiguous crime much more difficult, and although almost no one is completely innocent, this fact doesn’t really make every possible violation permissible, does it? The drug made the beating much, much, worse than you can probably imagine. I remember thinking that I had teleported into a third world country. I remember something inside my head telling me to just ride it out. Two years later, having been charged with felonious assault by the police officers who had beaten me repeatedly for hours on end, I quietly plead guilty to a lesser charge in the hope that I would be spared any jail time.

          I hope I haven’t upset you. I promise, although there are still other monsters for us to face ahead, there’s also much for you to learn here as well, lessons that will enable you to face them yourself should the need arise, without any of those weak and traitorous rationalizations which I briefly touched upon above. True, I found myself unprepared to handle the Authoritarian in that particular context, so young and without the proper education or any of the resources that I needed to be able to do anything other than simply “ride it out,” as that angel had so sweetly suggested. The world, it would seem, had proven a far crueler place than I had been lead to believe that it was when I was a child, but when faced with an irrefutable claim that appears to rob one’s very soul of its freedom and dignity… well, one really has no other choice but to prepare a counter argument the likes of which that sick and sad world has never seen.

          Authoritarianism is an unhealthy submission and conformity to a perceived authority with a righteous aggression towards those who are perceived as resistant or unconventional. With all the threats and the violence that comes along with this authoritarian aggression it’s quite easy to overlook the Authoritarian’s most obvious and easy to exploit weaknesses, conventionalism and his blind submission to a perceived authority. These factors lie at the root of this particular villain’s psychology, so, no matter how strong or intelligent the vessel, the very same qualities which allowed this monster to birth itself into this world in the first place are the same ones that ensure that there will nearly always be a way to defeat him. Never forget: the Authoritarian, in every form, is always a slave to something greater than himself.

          For most cops, even the bad ones, their master is the legal system, so learn it and, when you’ve reached the proper context, use that knowledge to defend yourself. That context, of course, is not the streets. This monster can, if he knows he’s in danger, do some truly hideous things under the cover of darkness, things that he might be able to get away with too, especially if you find yourselves alone together and beyond the reach of whatever it is that you’re hoping controls him.

          A truly bad cop may just be pretending to serve the law, but this is an exception and not the rule. If not the rule of law itself then rest assured he serves the bureaucrats who maintain it, or the judges who dispense it, or the scions of power who benefit from it, but there is always something above the Authoritarian from which he draws his power and towards which you yourself can reach in order to fight back. Find it and you can use whatever this is against what would otherwise have been a formidable foe, and if, by some stroke of luck, you begin to actually be perceived as the source of his Authority, then you can even begin to use this powerful enemy against all the other ones.

          Yeah, at first I found this idea every bit as repulsive as you probably just did, but then, I came to understand what other, far larger, monsters were out there waiting for me.

    

Enemy Number 2: Mother Dreadful and the Determites

          The Authoritarian’s female counter part is a smartly dressed woman we call Mother Dreadful, a Palinesque demogouge who erodes an individual’s will to fight back by releasing sentient clouds of doubt and despair. She is the proud engineer of an infectious fear that goes beyond the favored fare of the Authoritarian because her dark brand of enlightenment makes you fear and run away from yourself instead. Her brain burrowing bugs are each bioengineered to get deep inside your head, where they can cloud the mind, dull the will, and slowly sink even the bravest human heart, and it all starts with just one venomous bite from Mother Dreadful’s Determites.

          The root of Mother Dreadful's madness can be traced to a rarely diagnosed mental illness called "the Lamia Syndrome." Lamia Syndrome manifests itself as an ego-maniacal God-complex which not only strikes bio-engineers like Mother Dreadful but also nano-technicians, geneticists, chemists, transhumanists, habitual drug users, ideological fanatics, recent religious converts, or victims of intense personal tragedy, any of whom may become completely convinced that the world would be a far better place if EVERYONE was exposed to the same mind altering agent which has transformed and consumed them. While this mind altering agent may take many forms, such as a chemical, an infectious parasite, a cybernetic body modification, a new diet, a life philosophy, or a even a the loss of a child, it is this callous and self-centered compulsion to spread this experience to every person they encounter which drives and defines those in the grips of the Lamia Syndrome. So it is that Mother Dreadful desires, more than anything else, for everyone to experience the great wisdom of her own creeping existential uncertainty, to become hollow, without belief or conviction, and therefore, in her opinion at least, harmless.

          It is at Mother Dreadful’s feet that I lay responsibility for perhaps the greatest plague of this age, the Invisible Zombie Apocalypse, because, when all is said and done, it isn’t the bullies or the shady backroom deals that scare me; it’s the unilaterally numbed and dumbed down response of a petrified population who can’t even conceive of problems which shopping or shambling shouldn’t be able to solve. I had been hunting a similar villain, one whom I called Sepioh (“Someone else’s problem; I’m only Human”) but I eventually found that this was merely a spectral side-effect of Dreadful’s handiwork, a phantom malady birthed by a billion consciousnesses crippled by Phobosophitis, the full blown zombie syndrome that inevitably follows from any serious Determite infection if left untreated. (Interestingly enough, some Zombies show little trace of Determite infection, having succumb instead to the poison of the Bizzy Bug; Regardless, it's important to seek some sort of treatment once the root cause of the disease has been isolated).

          Unfortunately, all currently available treatments seem to vary in effectiveness from person to person. Even meditation, I’m sad to say, seems to only make them angry; common forms of meditation anyway.

          I once went to a Buddhist temple and participated in their Tibetan Bon Meditation Ceremony; lots of chanting, drumming, and meditating and then a little Q and A session at the end. While the monk was lecturing on the unreality of anger, he very casually asked if I was angry right at that precise moment, and I said "yes."

          He obviously didn't expect that answer, since we’d all been meditating and singing mantras for at least an hour, but, more importantly, this wasn't an answer which was at all appropriate for illustrating the point that he was trying to make, and so he asked me again, in case I just didn't hear him properly.

          More tentatively I said, "Yes?" Again he repeated the question, like I’ve simply misunderstood him. Eventually I just apologized and gave him the answer that I knew would allow him to make the point that he was trying to make:

          "No, I'm not angry."

          "Ah so there you see that anger is an impermanent state which comes and goes and is therefore not part of our true nature."

          "Yes, thank you." Monks.

          That’s not to say that meditation was not eventually instrumental in adjusting to the neurochemical manipulations of the Determites; the mind is after all both the lock and the key. No, what I’m saying is that simply quieting the mind or chanting a few empowering suggestions in a foreign tongue, even in a state of deep trance, isn’t enough all by itself. They’re adaptive, you see.

          The boiling temperatures of a sweat lodge might kill them, a few hours or so of ecstatic dance is sometimes sufficient as well, (and both will put you in a highly suggestible altered state of consciousness which is useful to help engineer radical brain change) but if just one survives, it can breed, and then they’ll return again, perhaps even stronger. The antibiotic and antibacterial properties of everything from Garlic to Colloidal Silver to Pau D’Arco, Echinacea, Neem, and even sweet, sweet, Manuca Honey can all help to purify your system of various stains, while Tylenol (Acetaminophen), L-Tyrosine, 5-HTP, St. John’s Wart, Catnip and even Bananas or Lemon Juice have all successfully been used to lessen the anxiety and depression these monsters cause. Ultimately however, sunlight, sleep, and exercise all have the advantage of doing both of these two things and, in addition to being absolutely free, are almost impossible to overdose on.

          While all of the above may help to either comfort or cleanse your body, these things will do very little all by themselves to teach you how to control your own mind. To that end, it’s essential, if you don’t do so already, that you begin some form of regular meditation. You may think that you know exactly what I mean when I use this word, “meditation,” but, paradoxically, if you really understood this vastly overworked term, then you’d also understand why one can’t really make such a hasty assumption.

          I mean, perhaps you’re just playing the averages because you know that in most forms of meditation the basic goal is to reach inner peace by silencing the mind, but does one do this by studiously ignoring the thoughts as they arise, or by examining each one thoroughly so that it can be followed straight down to it’s root and plucked from there? Or should one instead concentrate entirely on one’s breathing, or on a particular image, or on a repeated word or phrase, or by counting down, or counting up, or some particular combination of any of the above? The obvious answer is yes.

          You may think I’m splitting hairs, since behind all of this there is still only one goal, inner silence. Well then what’s the word I should use for purely contemplative practices, where the mind’s only goal is to ponder and better understand a specific subject? Or for the practice of visualizing an imagined journey deep into the interior realms of the mind, or, even, to some far off remotely viewed location somewhere within the world itself? Or how about when one attempts to feel and move internal energies within or even outside of the body, as with Chi Gung? All of these are referred to by someone, somewhere, as meditation, and they are right.

          “Well,” you might say, “I basically understood that you wanted me to sit still.” But then we’re overlooking one of my favorite meditations, the Muqarribun Meditation, wherein one holds difficult stances and conjures and communicates with angels. While there may be moments of stillness and even silence within this meditation, as well as within various other kinds of meditative stance work, there are also many other kinds of moving meditation, of which Tai Chi and Yoga are merely the most famous.

          Glossing over the bullroarers, didgeridoos, and drums of the Aborigines, the Catholic’s rosary beads, the Jewish phylacteries and the Tibetan dorjes, you can now even purchase your very own EEG machine to use for Biofeedback training, or a light box, or an orgone chamber, or a binaural beat generator, or even a floatation tank and each one of these (expect for the last one) for less than a hundred dollars, so meditation need not be an entirely mental operation either; there may be props.

          However, in the end, you will find that the most effective thing for you to do in your fight against Mother Dreadful’s Determites is to obtain just one very important thing; an enduring sense of purpose, one that will give you the strength to adjust to the constant screaming assaults of these inner demons and to then, quite simply, get over it. They’re all destined to die with your body anyway, and, like I said before, we still have other monsters to fight.

    

Enemy Number 3: Mediocrates and the Order of Melchizedek

          My first meetings with these Supervillains seemed to be isolated incidents; initially I didn’t see any connection between the Authoritarian and Mother Dreadful or anything else beyond them, but Djinn generally love a truly complex story, one with layers upon layers of intrigue and adversity, which gets even more overwhelming as you dig down deeper into the dark mud of it monstrous machinations. So, perhaps inevitably, a bit of investigation lead me to a mastermind named Mediocrates, and his super-secret Order of Melchizedek. (It doesn’t all end there, of course, but for now let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves; we have, after all, super-secrets to expose.)

          My interest in the Order began as an idle curiosity really, after foolishly attending Christmas mass with my fiancé’s Catholic family. As I stood there in that fancy castle decorated with the bloody effigy of a murdered God, choking on the smoke that they obviously burn just to irritate invasive spirits like myself, the Priest conveniently explained the roots of this sinister celebration of deicide, a casual affair the audacity of which appeared to go completely unnoticed by the rest of the docile herd.

          "We, your servants and your holy people, offer to your glorious majesty, from the gifts that you have given us, this pure victim, this holy victim, this spotless victim, the holy Bread of eternal life and the Chalice of everlasting salvation. Be pleased to look upon these offerings with a serene and kindly countenance, and to accept them, as you were pleased to accept the gifts of your servant Abel the just, the sacrifice of Abraham, our father in faith, and the offering of your high priest Melchizedek, a holy sacrifice, a spotless victim."

          I looked around to see if anyone else had actually heard what I had just heard but, for some strange reason, nobody around me so much as blinked. No one else was the least bit disturbed by the fact that this supposedly benevolent God was really, really, REALLY, into blood; be it the blood of an animal, as it was in Abel's offering (which, if you recall, their God preferred over the farmer Cain's completely unacceptable offer of vegetables… and we all know the tragic alternative which was inspired by His rejection of Cain’s first offering); or the blood of your children, as it was with Abraham's offering (another weird story even if it had a "happy" ending. I mean, can you imagine how awkward that long walk back down the mountain must have been?); or even, apparently, the blood of His own son, which, if I properly understood what I heard that day (and, having learned more, I’m now quite sure that I did) was none other than the eventual offering of the angel Melchizedek, for which bread and wine, as everyone knows, are just euphemistic symbols.

          In that single terrifying moment I came face to face with the rather chilling prospect of an age old institutionalized vendetta against any sort of messianic return which doesn't end in a blood sacrifice offered up to the ruling powers of this world. Have you ever stopped to wonder what’s really behind all those child molestations? Of course not; it was a rhetorical question. You’re only human after all. It's not like they burned your people at the stake. (Which is not to imply that humans are running the Vatican either. Don’t be silly.)

          Mediocrates makes the Authoritarian and Mother Dreadful look like rank amateurs compared to this super smooth secret agent of the status quo. The seemingly limitless financial and governmental resources that this man brings to bear alone are more than enough to make him a formidable foe, but even without these, he’s still a highly trained, super intelligent, religious fanatic, in peak physical condition, who’s been given every possible advantage that you might imagine, and a few you probably can’t, so that he can cock block the second coming in whatever form it might take.

          In addition to his already considerable array of mundane resources, Mediocrates is often also aided by an obscure choir of shadowy angels known as the Drudge. A subset of the infamously oppressive Archons, it is said that their prime directive is to discourage and hold mankind down via distraction, dissipation, discourtesy and disincentive. Many assume this terrible task was given to them so that mere humans could never rise up to threaten the absolute authority of Heaven, while I’m of the more progressive opinion that some great and terrible forces were created simply to be dramatically and heroically thwarted.

          All bravado aside, the only way I beat Mediocrates the last time I faced him was by convincing his secret army of zealots that the form their dreaded "second coming" had finally taken was Mediocrates himself, but I’m sure he’ll be back someday, after he rebuilds the organization that he's currently being forced to take apart man by man.

          Handling the Drudge is an entirely different matter. Since they operate independently of Mediocrates temporarily occupied attention, I will also briefly address how one might face down unusual foes such as these. I don't know if you have any experience fighting angels, but like most spirits, or, more specifically, opponents who comes at you from outside of space and time, you're facing an indirect assault of vast scope and subtle influence, a flurry of unfortunate coincidences and often rapidly shifting circumstances, an abstract untouchable maelstrom of blurred perceptions and barely perceptible hypnotic suggestions; in short, its an all enveloping existential struggle and you will effortlessly fall victim to the after-effects of their intangible causalities unless you keep your eyes open and your wits about you at all times.

          This may all sound a bit hopeless but when facing the Drudge in particular there are really only four types of existential obstacle which they tend to throw at their unfortunate target. I briefly mentioned each of these above, but what I didn't mention is that there are also four rather straight forward defenses to be employed against all of these subtle attacks. First, you must identify their distractions for what they are and then simply refocus your mind. Next, you must identify their dissipations for what these are as well, and then you simply refocus your energies. Then, you identify the onslaught of discourtesies that they often place in between their target and success and you will soon learn to simply expect such negativity as par for the course. Finally, once you've identified their demotivational minefield of disincentives which they so effectively use to break most humans under the weight of the apparent futility of it all, you will see why you must simply stop expecting a reward; continue doing whatever it is that you have to do, but for better reasons, ones that transcend your immediate circumstances. After all, the Drudge's influence over your destiny, while great, is still severely limited, while yours is, in truth, the only one that's not.

          Remember that your will and your wits are your two greatest weapons. After all, any problem which you feel must be solved with your fists, or something worse, is, in reality, a far bigger problem than you’re probably able to see. While each new challenge seems to tax my creative capacities beyond what I had previously believed possible, few challenges have proven as daunting as that of the Ultima Thule.

    

Enemy Number 4: The Ultima Thule and the Amerkin Reich

          If you’ve never heard of the Nazi God Machine know as Ultima Thule, don’t fret; its power is such that its existence can only be revealed indirectly, inductively inferred by its unmistakable and ubiquitous effects on the course of human history since WWII. To be clear, I’m not talking about a mere conspiracy, although the magickal force of this Machine can facilitate or derail volitional conflagrations such as these all too easily. No, somewhere in the middle of the last century, human scientific progress brought forth into this world the divine influence and providence of a synthesized Nazi God.

          Least I be accused of irrational fear mongering, allow me to briefly walk you, step by step, through a very short introduction to the mostly untold story of how Adolph Hitler’s Nazi Party secretly conquered the United States of America.

          In the final days of World War 2, a desperate Hitler pulled every last one of his scientists and engineers off of the front lines, so that they might put all of their scientific knowledge towards the seemingly impossible task of turning back the tide in what was clearly becoming a losing war for the German people. Due to the strange and occult nature of the God Machine’s power, it remains unclear how, or at precisely what point, one of them actually succeeded in their task and turned the damn thing on. All we can know for sure is that it’s still running to this very day and its malign and almost irresistible influence affects nearly all events, from the most massive all the way down to the most seemingly insignificant.

          Although popular history marks the fall of the 3rd Reich on May 8th 1945, those with a keener historical eye know that on that day, while proud American patriots were capturing some of the worse war criminal’s we’d ever faced, American intelligence agencies were scrambling to recover as many Nazi scientists, engineers, and intelligence assets as they could find, before any of them might escape, fall victim to violent retribution at the hands of those they’d wronged, or, worst of all, fall into the hands of America’s next scheduled enemy, the Soviets.

          Although the apparent necessity of such a sinister collaboration as this was not lost upon then president Harry Truman, he did make it undeniably clear that “active supporters of Nazi militarism” were expressly not to be granted entrance into the U.S., and thereby allowed to escape punishment for their crimes, simply for a few minor ill-gotten advances in military tech or intel. The only real trouble with that, as one might expect, was that it was often exactly those scientists who were the most aligned with the fascist cause who proved to be the most motivated, hard working, and terrifyingly prolific.

          Therefore, when American investigators discovered the number of ground breaking advances in technology that had been, or were just about to be, produced by these die hard Nazi zealots, a fateful decision was made to fabricate more agreeable background reports for this long list of most disagreeable men, and, against the direct orders of the president, a choice was made by the office of Strategic Services, forerunner to the modern C.I.A., to strike a deal with the devil; over 2,000 such deals in fact, in a military black op known as Project Paperclip.

          Surely, you might think, these monsters were all forced to spend the rest of their miserable days laboring thanklessly for U.S. interests in some dark dank secret prison-lab somewhere, right? It’s not like they were given control over, say, the early space program, or sent to Disney World to make regular appearance on kid’s shows… except perhaps for Warner Von Braun, a man who, as technical director of the Nazi’s Rocket program, used slave labor and worked over 20,000 prisoners to death in order to develop his infamous V-2 rockets. Despite this fact, von Braun become a minor celebrity in the 50’s and 60’s on a popular Disney Show called “World of Tomorrow,” and was even made director of NASA’s Marshal Space Flight Center. By 1970, he was NASA’s associate administrator (NASA, it turns out, was just jam packed with former Nazi’s); Not a bad run for a slave driving mass murderer.

          Many details of Project Paperclip and our collaborations with Nazis like Warner, his brother Magnus, Arthur Louis Hugo Rudolph, Walter Schreiber, Kurt Blome, Hubertus Strughold, Arthur Rudolph, Eberhard Rees, Reinhard Gehlen, and many, many, others, have now become common knowledge. Those who doubt, or who still remain completely unaware of, the existence of the Nazi God machine usually attribute the continued good fortune of so many Nazis, particularly Nazis who’d committed such atrocious war-crimes, to nothing more than the intervention of American Intelligence agencies, but now, of course, you and I know better, don’t we?

          Oh, still not convinced? Well, the luck of these various war criminals is nothing when compared to the good fortune of some prominent American Nazi traitors, like the Bush and the Ford families, who’s sons and grandson’s went on to have wildly successful political careers, despite their father’s nearly being indicted for treason for their zealous and open support of the wrong side of the Holocaust. We’re not just talking about some sort of financially motivated moral indifference either, like what might have compelled IBM to help automate and streamline the Nazi Census which was then used to more efficiently locate and round up millions of Jews, Gypsies and other “undesirables.” (Although, since IBM later actively staffed and serviced Nazi concentration camps with this very same organizational technology, perhaps calling it “indifference” is a bit too charitable.)

          No, in addition to IBM, there are many other American corporations that supplied significant material and financial support to Hitler, not only during his worrisome, but still holocaust-free, rise to power, but well beyond. Compiling a complete list of these companies is something that’s a bit beyond the scope of this story, but if I did so it would be topped by companies like Ford, Kodak, Hugo Boss, General Motors, General Electric, DuPont, Siemens, Standard Oil (which later became Exxon, Chevron, and BP), ITT, Chase Bank and National City Bank, to name just a few. All of these, you might have also noticed, continue to operate, and even to thrive, to this very day.

          The list of prominent American elites with deep ties not just to the profitable Nazis war machine but to their venomous fascist beliefs and ideology as well, going so far as to fund pro-Nazi Propaganda and continuing to supply aid to Germany even as their fellow Americans were being killed by the tens of thousands fighting against them, is also much, much, longer and well represented than one might expect; a few of the most famous of these villains include Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, John D. Rockefeller, Andrew Mellon, William Randolph Hearst, Joseph Kennedy, Charles Lindbergh, Allen Dulles (who became the director of the CIA) and Prescott Bush (whose son would one day become the director of the CIA as well, and then later, of course, a U.S. President). Just Google the names of any of these men or the corporations listed above with the word "Nazi" and you’ll find extensive documentation linking them with the Nazi plan for world conquest (unlike, for example, generically evil companies like Monsanto, where all of those "Nazi" references that are plastered all across the internet are mere metaphorical hyperbole, and not, as far as I can tell, something that should be taken literally. I think.)

          So you see, the Nazis were not nearly as defeated as many Americans have been lead to believe, and it’s also clear that they had plenty of time to finish and activate their terrible God Machine long after their more obvious war was lost. Perhaps their apparent defeat in that war was all just a part of the Ultima Thule’s subtle magic, but whatever the case may be, at some point, the flow of fate seems to have shifted in a dark direction which carried these evil men and their families into positions of enormous power and prestige here in America. Of course, as I said, you don’t have to take my word for it; the evidence is there for anyone who cares to check. (Although conveniently enough for the nearly invisible directors of the God Machine, few people seem to really care anymore; probably a coincidence.)

          If you learn nothing else from this story I hope you take away an understanding that that sinking feeling you may have inside, the assumption that knowing about any of these things won’t do a single thing except make you depressed, THAT, my friend, is the sinister and oppressive magickal power of the Nazi God Machine Ultima Thule, grinding you down and sapping your will to fight on a level that goes deeper than any mind poisons which even the masterful Mother Dreadful could concoct. Maybe.

          Interestingly enough, records of this Machine seem to go as far back as 1810. In John Hashlam’s book Illustrations of Madness, James Tilly Matthews describes an “Air Loom” being secretly run in London by “Pneumatic Chemists” for the purposes of espionage, mind control, and psychic warfare. The fact that this man’s primary claim to fame is as history’s first officially diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, and not, as one might expect, as mankind’s earliest heroic martyr in the war against this unspeakably wicked device, should serve as a chilling illustration of the soul crushing powers which are possessed by the Ultima Thule.

          As I continued my research, evidence of its existence became even more overwhelming. In 1919 psychoanalyst Viktor Tausk compiled the first exhaustive study of what he noticed as a growing number of minds shattered by these infernal engines of psychic war. Tausk described the “influencing machine” thus:

          “The schizophrenic influencing machine is a machine of mystical nature. The patients are able to give only vague hints of its construction. It consists of boxes, cranks, levers, wheels, buttons, wires, batteries, and the like. Patients endeavor to discover the construction of the apparatus by means of their technical knowledge, and it appears that with the progressive popularization of the sciences, all the forces known to technology are utilized to explain the functioning of the apparatus. All the discoveries of mankind, however, are regarded as inadequate to explain the marvelous powers of this machine, by which the patients feel themselves persecuted. The main effects of the influencing machine are the following:

      • 1. It makes the patient see pictures. When this is the case, the machine is generally a magic lantern or cinematograph. The pictures are seen on a single plane, on walls or windowpanes, and unlike typical visual hallucinations are not three dimensional.

      • 2. It produces, as well as removes, thoughts and feelings by means of waves or rays or mysterious forces which the patient's knowledge of physics is inadequate to explain. In such cases, the machine is often called a 'suggestion-apparatus.' Its construction cannot be explained, but its function consists in the transmission or 'draining off' of thoughts and feelings by one or several persecutors.

      • 3. It produces motor phenomena in the body, erections and seminal emissions, that are intended to deprive the patient of his male potency and weaken him. This is accomplished either by means of suggestion or by air-currents, electricity, magnetism, or X-rays.

      • 4. It creates sensations that in part cannot be described, because they are strange to the patient himself, and that in part are sensed as electrical, magnetic, or due to air-currents.

      • 5. It is also responsible for other occurrences in the patient's body, such as cutaneous eruptions, abscesses, or other pathological processes.

          So what then, you might ask, is one to do? Is there some sort of tinfoil hat or magical circle that one might turn to in order to block out this cruel and incessant oppression? The short answer, unfortunately, is “No, those hats don’t actually work.”

          In the end, we are each faced with a very difficult choice: to either move swiftly and heroically to warn all others of the impending danger of this Nazi God Machine, even at the very real risk of becoming yet another tragic martyr to what is perhaps a truly unwinnable war against this ultimate of evil adversaries; or else to simply remain silent, to carry on calmly as if absolutely nothing was wrong, and to thereby block out any possible psychic influence from this diabolical device with one profoundly delusional and mentally unhealthy act of deep denial and psychological repression; in other words, willed insanity.

          This choice seems obvious enough to me. So, would you like to know how I beat the Nazi God Machine Ultima Thule and its massive army of U.F.O.s, Grey aliens, Men in Black, and Shapeshifting Nazi Reptoids? It was quite simple really.

          It doesn’t actually exist (I just wish I could say the same about Santa Claus).

          

Enemy Number 5: Santa Claus, the Corporate Thaumavore

          Santa Claus is perhaps the perfect God for the atheist materialist minds of the modern age; worshiped by billions, believed in by few, he asks only that we pump additional funds into the economy as it begins to lag with the annual fading of the sun. The modern day Santa Claus, god of the corporate age, wears a costume designed by Coca Cola and holds court every year in shopping malls all across America, where, in my opinion, he’s permitted to get entirely too familiar with other people’s children, but that’s just because most parents know nothing of his true nature or his occult war against the lost wonders of this world.

          St. Nick was born on March 15th in 207 AD, in an ancient town called Myra, in an area that is now Turkey. After losing both of his parents while still just a child, he was adopted by his uncle, the local Bishop, and raised to one day become Bishop himself. By all accounts he was a deeply conservative Christian, who, although barely five feet tall, did not hesitate to use violence to settle theological disputes, even starting a brawl among other Bishops at the council of Nicaea. The nose on his face showed signs of being broken more than once. He was often naughty, and not terribly nice.

          The full measure of his wrath, however, he reserved for any Pagan who dared practice within his domain. It is said that when he and his men set fire to the Temple of Artemis, they left no survivors, burning even the women and the children. No records exist to confirm whether or not his belly did, indeed, shake when he laughed, but, after that infamous slaughter, his remaining enemies most certainly did.

          His bones are now scattered from Bari Italy to Belarus, and while the man who would lend his spirit to the entity known as Sinterclaas was far less than a saint, the commercial demigod, born from a twisted corruption of long forgotten yuletide traditions and the bourgeois demands of a growing consumer culture, has become something far, far, worse.

          This world has been changed, whether you know it or not, into a place that’s far less hospitable to magick and those whose blood flows thickest with the old power. Of all the enemies I’ve faced few have done more damage to my kind than Father Christmas. He has enslaved the entire Elvin race, along with the infamous Green Man himself, known in various places as Cernunnos, Faunus, Pan, Dionysus, and most recently, Baphomet. He has brought an end to the Wild Hunt as it once existed and corrupted the most sacred rite of spring, the Yule Uprising, which was once, but is no longer, observed on the Winter Solstice. We’ll get to all of that but first let me begin by briefly reacquainting you all with the magical and majestic Wild Hunt.

          Imagine the sun blotted out from the sky by a mounted army of shining beings, fully armored, armed to the teeth for war, and shaking the earth itself with the thunder of their sky high fly by. Imagine an energy so intense that in its passing certain human souls are ripped from their mortal shells and carried off into eternity. Imagine a spectacle so awe inspiring that just seeing it could bewitch you, awakening strange and often uncontrollable powers in previously normal human beings and therein producing the terrible storms, earthquakes, forest fires, and various other "natural" disasters that soon became associated with this fantastic event. Imagine all of this, and you will have just imagined the Wild Hunt.

          Today the Wild Hunt has been reduced to the sounds of reindeer on roof tops in support of Santa’s supernatural postal service, but the true spirit of the Hunt, proving, as it once did, that magic is still afoot in this world and that it is very, very, real, is something which I myself try to remember, and to replicate, with every passing holiday season

          Of course, this is a very tall order, one that, I'm ashamed to admit, I've failed to pull off in previous years with very much success. However, while the mundane holiday season seems to begin earlier and earlier each year, I myself began preparations for this year's Wild Hunt in February, appropriately enough on Imbolc, with the launch of my new Magical study group, Io Io Thanateros. My plan is to be able to unleash the collective power of this growing Gandalfian army on an unsuspecting world by the time dreary December rears its ugly head. We'll see.

          But the apparent death of magic is just one small part of the sinister and largely secret reason for the season. Few people today know that the Santa myth is a radical reinterpretation of a much older tale, one that marked the death and defeat of a wintery dark god at the hands of a powerful spirit of light and love and springtime. Until it was adapted to the Catholic’s celebration of Christmas, this earliest rite of spring, called the Yule Uprising, was ritually reenacted every Winter Solstice to mark the beginning of the return of the light and the lengthening of the days. However, the most interesting and disturbing part about this revision is that the original god of darkness in that ancient myth is none other than that paunchy present slinger we've all come to know and love as Santa Claus

          The Yule uprising was once observed each and every year with ritual combat, the dramatized slaying of the robust and bearded Holly King, in his fur lined coat and warm winter boots, at the clawed hands of the horned and hooved god of spring, a.k.a the Oak King. Yet at some point in the 1600’s these two figures were dramatically reimagined by a decidedly anti-pagan papacy, because it’s at that point in history that we find the first holiday images of the jolly Holy King dispensing presents to small children, accompanied by a soundly defeated and demonized old Oak King, who, we are led to believe, was somehow captured and bound in irons by this former-god-of-darkness turned Catholic Saint.

          Eventually Santa's demonic slave, once venerated under many names but now known only as "Krampus," a slur derived from the old German word for Claw, was gradually phased out of what was once actually his Yule holiday, his ancient origins as a benevolent and beloved Pagan god of life and lust now all but forgotten. He's still remembered in an increasingly small handful of northern European countries, where, with growing controversy, he still gets to be paraded through the streets in chains, to do what the Catholic Church has made him most famous for, frightening and flagellating small children.

          If, like me, you wish to commemorate the Yule Uprising and the Wild Hunt as they should be remembered, as they must be remembered, simply find me in any given December, and my freeborn elves and I will show you how it's done.

          

Enemy Number 6: Senex

“[Isaac] Newton was not the first of the age of reason; He was the last of the magicians.”
-John Maynard Keynes

          To the Christians, Mercurious Senex is nothing less than the Devil himself. To those who practice Alchemy, many consider it a God. When I first encountered the infamous Senex, he was a she, who I perceived to be nothing more than an impossibly powerful vampire, driven by capricious and sadistic whims, an utterly alien logic and an obsession with fire, both physically and metaphorically. After successfully solving a rather complicated alchemical riddle, she maniacally informed me that she was going to burn my life and all that I loved to the ground, and then she simply disappeared. The events which followed are not something which I wish to talk about, but I will speak a bit more on the seemingly forbidden topic of the mysterious Senex.

          The Senex is a paradoxical thing, appearing at times to be a nearly mindless engine of chaos and destruction, yet just as often sitting serenely at the center of a vast web of influence, wealth, and power. In this way the Senex is both madman and mastermind, beast and benefactor, monster and matron to all of those poor clueless players who scuttle about in the darkness over which she reigns, promising vast amounts of gold to those who are foolish enough to seek her out, yet, unbeknownst to most, the Good Death to her very favorites.

          An ancient bloodthirsty shapeshifter, the Senex can present itself as almost anything it desires, although, in my opinion, only a fool could possibly be taken in by its rather awkward impressions of small children. For of all the many human qualities which Senex likes to feign, as she weaves her elaborate melodramas to whatever unknown ends truly motivate her, the simplicity and innocence of a child appears to be the only quality lying beyond its antediluvian grasp. This is not to say that it doesn’t try to pull it off, and even succeeds from time to time, but rather that this may be the only consistently flawed performance of an otherwise consummate master of deception. It’s in the eyes, you see. The eyes always give it away.

          That single flaw aside, one can easily see how, with abilities such as these, it’s no wonder very little can be said for certain about the self-proclaimed Alchemist of the Black Earth and Venator of the Fraternitos Saturnus. Here’s a little bit of what occult scholars think they know:

          As Senex Axasessis, the infamous Old Man of the Mountain, it is believed that he founded an order of mystical assassins that stretched throughout Iran, Syria, and Egypt, whom he ruled for centuries with an iron fist from the infamous dessert stronghold of Alamut. While history marks this order’s complete annihilation at the hands of the Mongols, some scholars believe Senex secretly commands this shadow army even to this day.

          Going a bit further back, one finds an ancient Roman cult called the Puer Aeternus Hetairia, who, it is worth noting, carried out unspeakable rites to appease a protean nightmare known as the Senex Innominandum, a polymorphous and polycephalic Titan, who, some scholars believe, would later serve as the very real inspiration behind much of H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos. Occult conspiracy theorists believe that this dark God, upon whom was founded the very concept of the Senate, is now mostly contained within the bowels of the Pentagon, where the old rites of appeasement still continue to this today.

          Some have even claimed that the Senex terrorized the ancient Mayans as well, in the form of the evil South American bat-god Kamazotz, while others whisper that it first appeared out of the depths of the sea to swallow up proud Atlantis, or that its true home is somewhere beyond the stars, or even outside of time itself. The deeper one digs the more terrifying the picture becomes, for there are some who say that the Senex is so powerful that it secretly hunts every last person on this planet at their appointed time, a time which roughly coincides with a particularly inauspicious astrological event occurring in the natural course of every human life, commonly known as “the Saturn Return”.

          Interestingly enough, ancient mortality rates seem to indicate that long ago more than half of our ancestors died within one month of the arrival of their own first Saturn returns, but that obviously could just be a morbid coincidence. Thankfully, if this is true, the arrival of the Senex is easy enough to watch out for as this occurs for everyone approximately 5 month, 23 days, and 12 hours after their 29th birthday. Although I suppose most of you probably didn’t want to know that. Sorry.

          However, regardless of the stars, the Senex will especially seek out and follow with great interest any man or woman who becomes sufficiently advanced in the mystical science of Alchemy. In fact, those who’ve studied this art to any extent are likely to have at least briefly entertained this alien creature unawares, in some random encounter with an old man or old woman, a chance exchange where they were secretly appraised and, if they were lucky, passed over without incident. However, those who pique its terrifying interests, the bold ones, the cold ones, the pretty ones, the witty ones, or simply anyone aware enough to notice that something’s terribly off about whatever false face the Senex is hiding behind, these are its chosen few who will be introduced into an experience known as the Crucible.

          While everyone gets a small taste of the Crucible experience during the phenomenon know as Saturn Return, those in whom the beast takes a special interest are in for a series of truly life altering, and, as we discussed above, possibly fatal, events. This is the same pivotal moment when many rock stars, poets and other artists are statistically most likely to take their own lives, while those of us who don’t die physically often do mark this dark night of the soul as a rather sobering point of personal transformation, from the far less mature, although often more idealistic, stage of our lives to the next, much more grown up and practical, one. So, when radicals warn that you shouldn’t trust anyone over the age of 30, it’s this seemingly universal shift in mindset that they’re all referencing, and I’m writing this now to warn you that, if it hasn’t arrived already, it is coming for you as well.

          

Enemy Number 7: The Authoritarian

          He's just so much bigger than I had originally imagined, the one that most people here call "God." I'll have to ponder this one for a while longer; I will try to look up and not blink.

 
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1 Response
  1. That was an excellent writing, both informative and entertaining. Thank you for sharing your contemporary magical scriptorium with all of us, a magical working in and of itself. It reminded me of what it would be like if Neil Gaimen and Don Webb sat down enjoying a glass of Chartreuse in the case of Webb and Absinthe for Gaimen discussing how man, myth, magic, religion and a dash of science serve to both liberate and enslave ultimately creating a reality that may or may not be legitimate but is experienced nonetheless.

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