Using Schizophrenia as a Powerful Creative and Introspective Tool

          The full title of this piece is “Using Schizophrenia as a Powerful Creative and Introspective Tool: On the Auto-Induction of Delusionary Thought Processes as a Method of Psychological, Emotional, Spiritual, and Fiduciary Self-Evaluation”.

Trigger Warning:

          This article may be triggering to some people.

          But to make a sigil-currency omelette, you've got to break a few legs. This is to say that it will be necessary to trigger oneself; this will help to recover lost and suppressed memories.

          You must allow yourself to go so beautifully insane that your insanity heals your personality disorders. You must embrace the positive aspects of these disorders (which make you special and unique), and you must utilize them, in order to hone your deductive and intuitive skills (whether magickal or emotional), and to improve what I call your “Cognitive Discord”. Never tear down a delusion if it also happens to be one of your wildest dreams.

          Fortunately, the spiritual, mental, and emotional benefits of these practices far outweigh the detriments, and the rewards brought to bear by the alternatives. But that's what happens when you fix weights and measures without considering the Stone Price (YIC) and the Flesh Price (TBD).

          So take heed, for there are many risks to consider before getting engaged in such an Alchymical Wedding.

          First, a joke: What does occult magick have in common with economics under hoarding and scarcity? They both require and call for sacrifice! I mean, they don't call money the lifeblood of the economy for no reason.

          Another joke: What do the Moon and the Dollar(TM) have in common? They both have four quarters! That, and they form a Blood Mooney Coalition, which I believe is destined to unseat the Petrodollar-Weapondollar Coalition, to keep the USD strong against the moonetary crypto-unit which is known (on the Chinese Dark Web) as the Moon-Yuan. Still, it takes a Moon-Yuan to know Yuan!

That's why, before constructing (really, minting), your new sigil-currency, it will first be necessary to turn oneself over to The Void; that spectre of spectres, the void of impermanence which, from Planck's Constant to bak'tun, assails us all.

          For, at once, it were necessary to learn the Intrinsic Arcane (the ancient symbols written upon our amygdalas); rig thrombosis adrenal, and gallivant, tryptamine-aware, into the ever-self-propelling and self-proliferating Process (Durga). Aum.

          Phase One is, of course, proper Self-Medication. That is, drug yourself.

          Step Pa: Smoke a lot of dope. That is, buy a lot of dope, and smoke it. Literally, put that in your pipe and smoke it! So say the ancient symbols.

          Step Veh: Drink as much coffee as possible. Research suggests that drinking black coffee aids in inducing schizophrenia. [Silent, emphatic, pleading, suggestive, wild shrugs] Use that.

          Step Ged: Gather up some of your rings and coins and trinkets, take them to a warlock, and spend them on some garlic garlands, cayenne pepper, and time. Bring it all back home and snort that shit.

          Step Gal: Your dope dealer probably smokes crank. Don't smoke meth; recall what the billboards say (“Not even twice”). Instead, absorb some second-hand fumes cutaneously. This will ensure that Shakespeare & Kepler's kaleidoscopic speculum-vortex will be firmly implanted into your frontal cortex. Put a vortex in your cortex. This will be necessary for the proceeding (preceding?) ceremonies.

          Step Or: Find a way to huff glue “accidentally”. Fix your glasses with super glue, and just let it dry on your face, while you breathe in the fumes “unknowingly”. Don't have glasses? Well, you still have a pineal gland. Get a shamanic monocle (or sha-monocle), and glue it up.

          Step Un: Freebase cookies (not literally; just table salt and brown sugar). It turns time backwards. It's hard to overestimate how useful this can make things.

          Though the majority of the drugging is complete, Thisbe but the first phase of your drugging; more will come later.

          Now, on to Phase Two: Spells, Incantations, and Rituals.

          Step Graph: Cast spells, and spell words upside-down and shit.

          Cast whatever spells on your landperson (or your Landlord Jesus^TM, whatever the case). Do whatever is necessary to ward them off (Montgomery Ward's), and filibuster their inquisitions with your incantations. Call her Lambchop and tell her to go away because she has no power here. Do a goddamn thing for the Empire.

          Inform the building manager (assuming you don't live in a ditch, hut, hogan, or cooperative housing yurt) that, although if you remove an “a” from “manager”, you get “manger”; if you add an “l” to “manger”, you get “mangler”. This will freak them out, and show them that to be a tenant is to be Led like a lamb to the slaughter.

          I mean, seriously! I need to burn incense and candles in my adobe abode, but the building codes forbode it. People can be so afraid of a little fire sometimes. The trees like to get lit just as much as we do, people! Who has an Eostre without fire?

          Step Tal: Isolate yourself.

          Trigger and incite yourself. Doubt every thought you have, and question why you are thinking the way you are. But also question whatever motivates you to question yourself thusly.

          This will imbue you with the kind of Cognitive Discord (not to be confused with cognitive dissonance) which is necessary to comprehend the resplendent inanity that is the incoherent logick of Discordian thought.

          Go to a Zen session. Be foolish enough to interrupt someone. Do their little corporate retreat team-building exercise at the Wall; just don't spoil the esoteric surprise for yourself by learning about the Trappists beforehand.

          Step Gon: Figure out how to remove, re-install, replace, and fix, the locks (or lox) to all the doors and windows in your dwelling.

          Think on this question: What is the key to your core (coeur)?. Where is your true home; In which Temple are your true souls housed? Whatever the House, whatever its Key, that will be your sigil; will be your currency.

          Remember, as you live, your home is your Pyramid. And, as you live and die (in your cold, shitty apartment), it becomes your mausoleum, just as the Pyramus intended.

          And so, you must protect it; by warding off snakes, loan-sharks, and loan-snakes, those fraudulent u-serping u-serpents which plagued Egypt so long from now. They are that Genetic beast crawling on its belly, that squelcher of the dreams of our immortality once had by our feathren, Brother-Men, and Whethermen. Praise Imhotep, Lord Abbie of the Abbey, and the Dual Hoffman of psychopomp and circumstance.

          Step Gon·: Smell is the most powerful sense tied to memory. Seal every crack and crevice of the exits and entrances to your abode; windows, vents, and all. Because who doesn't love a good Caesarion section? Caesar's wife and her best friend Sam knew as well as anyone that the gods don't close a door without opening a Window. That ought to explain it all.

          Use duct tape and other sealants (feel free to huff them) to create an impermeable membrane between your cloister and What Lies Beyond. This will protect your neighbors from any Hellfire^TM which Issues from without your abode.

          To be The Catacombs is to be human; it is to be a Library of Alexandria of dead books, seeking One to read them. As Blake explained: to inquire of God is to ask of God. Theology is prayer.

          Step Na: Seek relief from the thunderous, paralyzing silence. “Play some Zeppelin, for God's sake”, as Sir Patton Oswalt (Emperor of YouTube, and the Conspirator who shot the General) imparted to us.

          Unfortunately in this case, life imitates art, so you are denied “Stairway”. However, “All My Love” serves as a delightful accompaniment to finding a metal hook on your Wall suitable for positioning a delicate crystalline lamp (LamBam) which would ordinarily belong on a desk-top.

          Ritual object magick is 10% inspiration and 90% Feng Shui.

          Step Ur: Now that your first incantation has been selected, build a soundtrack to accompany your spell-building and spellbinding. This is the soundtrack by which you are to captivate and fascinate your audience. Don't be afraid to go the extra mile, by literally taking the audience captive.

          Select a book of chansons; they can be either original works, or covers. Just keep in mind that an album of covers has two more covers than it lets on (that is, the back cover and the front cover).

          But however you fashion that you'll fascinate your audience (The Voices), you must fashion also spells. Encapsulate them within the binding of your spell-book (preferably one of human flesh, as we have disgust). And, praise Eminem, you know what this must mean; this is the only binding which is truly binding.

          You must bind The Book the same way The Covenant binds you.

          Step Mals: Isolate yourself. Deprive yourself of everything you once loved; friends, lovers, family, all social interaction. Join a cult if you have to (but don't just join a cult; be The Cult, be The Hidden).

          Deprive yourself of your hobbies, freedoms, possessions; even nutrition, heat, and ventilation. Cut out all indulgences and guilty pleasures, especially if you can't afford them. Deprive yourself of adequate nutrition now, in order to be able to afford good nutrition later! That's just the way you have to think and prioritize for the long-term; after all, you're immortal (or at least eternal, it's your Call).

Denying yourself everything you hold dear will, of course, aid in inducing the depressive state which is necessary to invoke the spirits which dwell within, out-into the world of Māya. That is, I mean, if you insist on being a materialist like that. “Beware of Māya”, so sayeth Jáyaraj. But after all, these deprived and depraved rituals are what's necessary to live an ascetic (not to be confused with A E S T H E T I C) lifestyle. Right?

          Until you sit atop the Earth, until you sit in the Master's chair, you won't understand that all the value of the Universe is literally in your hands. You cannot fully comprehend until you reflect upon what it verily means to stand-under; to under-stand the Heavens. Just as you charge a sigil the same way you charge a purchase, your assets cannot financially appreciate until you learn to intellectually appreciate.

          But you keep forgetting; the Master's chair is your chair to begin with, just as Don Yuan subliminally and repeatedly suggested to Carlos. A good church is one that keeps the Throne open for Christ, and good synagogue is one that keeps a seat saved for Elijah. Just as a good opera saves a seat for Emperor Norton, your dwelling saves always a seat for you. Do not take it for granted.

          To understand this is to see the Sky for the first time, despite having looked up so many times before, praise Bob.

          Step Ger: Search for other things - besides your incantation soundtrack and your gematric Economicon - by which to pretend (and portend) to bind yourself to your audience. Once all is within you, you need no longer fear the ill effects of looking outside of yourself for fulfillment. All is One.

          Put clothespins all over yourself. Fingers, ears, eyes, nose, whatever dangles from ya. Put one on your tongue and try to make a lamb noise. Speak all sorts of tongues; this is the true Song of Songs.

          It is in this lamby Silence – after the Initiate has already, by oneself, initiated the sacred creative process – that the mind acquires a certain stillness; that Pallas Muse and Oracle make their apparitions, and begin to take possession of the Artist (without laying any claim to His Work).

          To put a clamp on your tongue is to bind your Flesh to your Word. Let this clamp be as your Fasces.

           Chasten, don't hasten.

          Step Drux: Be so quiet, and so still...

           Listen for a voice coming from behind your left shoulder, or look for a vision in red coming from ahead and to the left. This is not some J.F.K. assassination shit I'm talking about here; this is just standard chaos ritual, the kind any ordinary witch-daemon will tell you about.

          If you need to verify this, read your Crowley... just not before, and not after, reading yourself.

Everybody look at your hands; I need You to really hear this.

          Step Pal: Make The Deal^TM.

          Read a bunch of WebMD. Give yourself Munchhausen's Syndrome. Start saving your blood, and all of your humours (your precious bodily fluids). Donate the vast majority of them to Commodity Fetish Records. Remember, it's not a blood sacrifice, it's a voluntary blood donation. And anything that you can describe as “voluntary” can't be harmful! (Disclaimer: If nobody volunteers, then a volunteer will be chosen at random from the audience.)

          Keep some of your humours (and your tumours) saved somewhere, in case a couple come to your window with a dog, demanding a sacrifice. Study up for this inevitable event by reading some David Berkowitz (a/k/a Dr. Doolittle).

          To Make The Deal (hadith), get your blanket out. You know the one, Linus; that one with the royal red of the Second Coming on one side, and the white veil - the Shroud of purity and holiness - on the other. Place it onto the dog, red side up. This either crowns the dog the Red Devil, or else Christ the Blood-Covered King. It's actually impossible to know.

          That is, until eleven years later, when that couple you hosted who conceived that night, birth the Antichrist Jesús, the Invincible Invisible Muscle Car; the Susej-Jesus, that flying soothsaying sausage on a saucer from beyond the Lamb's Head Nebula. Yea, for Muscle-Car Jesus was laid upon the Cross, affixed to it with the bolts of a million sinners who bolted from Mother Church; and crucified onto the psyche of the American automobile-purchasing consumer public. This is why most car companies and dealerships are named after star systems, praise Ford (fnord).

          When all of this is over - whether you've found the serial killers or not – let people point guns at you. Don't even ask whether they're loaded, because, honestly, like you give a shit. Next, do whatever. Show up at work the next day like nothing happened.

          Step Med: Now that The Deal^TM has been made, construct the corresponding iconography. To be clear, this is a pre-currency-crafting sigil-building session.

          Write down whatever comes into your head. You know how there's a Book of Numbers in the Bible? Add a Book of Letters, or perhaps a Book of Names. Turn an English Bible around 180°, pretend it's in Hebrew, and try to read it. It's like the good people at Klutz Books explain; nearly every letter (not just p, q, b, and d) can be turned upside-down into another letter. I mean, you might have to un-capitalize it, but fortunately for us, Brother Marx has already explained this un-capitalizing process in full detail.

          Once the iconography is “architected” (as the Trumpeters say), and your self-constructed symbolic gematria tables (replete with onion-like layers of meaning) are complete, communicate it to whomever you feel appropriate. This will not be easy at first, but with practice, it will save your skin. And your imagination is the only limit as to how you might put that skin to good use.

But, of course, demonic possession is nine-tenths of The Law.

          Step Don: Engage in self-harm.

          Now that all the occult ritual infrastructure is in place - and you've sat down in a cardboard box facing southwest, and stood up to find yourself leaning sideways in one of those wacky-house tourist-traps somewhere in rural Wisconsin - pick out a good seventeen-minute song (it should already be part of your incantation playlist), and play “The Knife Game” along to the beat. Don't worry if you fail to stab yourself on the first play; you'll get better with Practice.

          Next, go somewhere where there's construction, and grab one of those thin white hard plastic poles that they stick into the ground. Walk around downtown, unapologetically whip yourself in the face and The Shins with it, and smoke J's. Your night will be over when you see Wayne Coyne talking to a Pakistani mystic who secretly used to be your T.A..

          This all goes to show that some experiences are universal.

          Step Ceph: Continue to self-harm.

          You know how I told you to smoke a lot of dope? And how you've been walking around toking fat doinks in front of everybody? And shouting at the mounted police “Hey, one if by land, two if by sea, motherfucker!”? Well, check this out: Put lit joints out on your forehead. Right above the bridge of your nose; between your Temples, in front of your pioneer gland. If that doesn't help decalcify things, then Nothing Will!

          You may experience a slight (that is, life-long) scarring sensation; a permanent burn Mark. But apostate Catholics have been putting joints out on their faces for Lent for millennia; there's no reason why you shouldn't do it too. After all, does it not say in The Book that the Second Coming and the End Times (not to be confused with American Babylon: End Times) is heralded by the Mark appearing on the right hand or forehead? (Revelation 13:16) And are Marks from self-harm not commonly found on the wrists?

          This is the Book of Mark incarnate; it happens to the best of us. The One who bears this Mark is the One who has True Value in his hardware; a true Profit. This Mark is the Talisman. The Power and the Will to acknowledge this Mark is the Shibboleth; that by witch we are to distinguish the Parishioners from the Apparitioners.

          He who Will not recognize the Talisman is no proper bearer of The Message. In such a case, it is entirely appropriate to shoot The Messenger.

           Step Van: Go outside (if you don't already live outside), and look for Adam and Eve. They are in your neighborhood.

           Recall the Roman rule of 150; every person, real or fictional (or legendary, or mythic), is an avatar of one of 150 Eternal personalities. They manifest themselves as the some seven billion living, as well as all of the dead and their many geists. Just as He will come if you invite Him in - just as it will come if you build it - if you go looking for them, you will find them. Blessed are the Seek.

           Invite a total stranger into your home. Figure out which saint he is, make sure he isn't dead or undead, and ask him to help you pick out an interior decorating scheme. Lay down a line; not one of cocaine, but one of stockings on the floor; in a line perpendicular to Mecca. But do it without painting yourself into a corner. This will help establish boundaries.

           Let the saint drug you against your will. Let him tie or tape you down if necessary. Inform him that, in exchange for imparting the jewels of arcane wisdom, he is obligated to steal one item from you. Finally, cease contact.

           Step Fam: Next, you must allow yourself to go so gloriously insane, that your delusions begin to possess an almost nightmarish beauty. If you can manage to go insane enough, you can actually come out the other side. You have to work through the insanity to get to the chewy sane center.

          Just as there's no wrong way to eat a Reese's, there's no wrong way to drive yourself mad (yes, the same way you would drive a car). Give yourself Capgras delusion, or Fregoli delusion (really, it's taster's choice). Implant false memories in your own mind. Give yourself paranoid delusions, but also pronoid delusions. Finally, mix it all together in a cauldron with a dash of Protagonist Syndrome, to make a nice bouillabaisse of Dissociative Identity Disorder.

          How? Hang out with people who have those disorders, and believe everything they say wholeheartedly. Believe their delusions even more faithfully than they do. As long as you can “relieve the stigmata” of mental illness, and avoid diminishing its seriousness, this will allow you to better empathize with others. Don't forget: mental illnesses are communicable.

          But just as Kohan explained about “how the light gets in”, once you let someone inside of you, you don't need to try to understand them and relate to them; you already are them! Want to write a story or an incantation from the perspective of somebody else, but can't get inside their head? Boom! You're already all up in there!

           It's like Roger said: it's just a little pin-prick. Thus, the task of understanding others becomes no more difficult than trying to understand ourselves (ha!)

          But once you see yourself standing atop this whirling planet – and see yourself from above and without, as if peering-in from outside, yet, at once, from within, the Universe, and even from the vantage-point of a god - you see yourself spinning as the planet. You see your pierced twin-souls, spinning, and revolving around one-another, like two puppies cozying into bed on a cold Solstice morn; or like a binary star system, its atomic mechanizations fueling your very physical being.

          You begin to see the Great Spirit as one which pervades you, others, itself, and all; and that each of us, in the midst of our spiritual quandary (again, prayer), is but a giant space-termite, nibbling away at the desiccating tree branches which, like streaks of heated gas, connect our galaxy's Roots (shoreshim) to the Branches (zemachim) in the Heavens. Which one is the netzer, we cannot know until Olam Ha-Ba.

           So too do you see that this ancient connection may be restored, if only the ancient symbols may once again manifest in the mind of a living mortal. You shan't refuse the call, but you must know when the time is right. Remember, time is mooney.

           Step Gisg: You know that Zen retreat I mentioned earlier? Accidentally walk past it on your way up a mountain. If you get to the top by midnight, and the moon is at its absolute fullest, then you're going to meet Björk, and solve that cryptic math-rock mashup riddle that you thought was the True Name of YHVH.

           It may sound crazy but like I've explained, the firmness and fervency of your belief makes it what Terence McKenna calls “true enough”. As above, so below. I mean, if Björk figured out the name of G-d before you, what makes you think you're going to Say Anything that'll pry the Word of G-d from Moses's dead hands?

           By now, you ought to have successfully induced psychosis. If not, change your drug regimen around and try again.

           But whatever you do, by all means, over-analyze the meaning of every word spoken around you. Even the tweets of birds, whether real or recorded. Over-analyze the meaning of every sound you hear. Even if they're not directed at you, know that the dark humour of the Universe, and the entropic irony of the cosmos, dictate that, ultimately, everything you hear is about you, regardless. Your inaction or silence cannot excuse you from joining The Dance or singing The Song.

           To get swept up in The Way is like watching Dancer in the Dark. It's like Bill meant to say; all the world is a (sound)stage. Like when you're tripping, and the Walls are breathing at you? Only the Trappists know why the Walls do this; only the Trappists hear at full volume what they have to say. They are the Root of the illusory Separation.

           To study the Word is to pray. To Know Her is to Love Her. To love God is to love oneself. And, as biochemists have proven, to fall in love is to go insane. And so, to know God, you must drive yourself so hopelessly mad that magick is all you can do. It's just like Howard told us; “first, you've got to get mad”. As within, so besides.

           It's like The Body said; “You can't make a Gypsy anthill omelette without breaking one of your eggs over an anthill, you can't put the egg before the horse if the chicken came before the egg, and you can't put Descartes before day-horse without giving yourself a night-mare, and invoking the Pale Horse and his fellow Horsemen. Heed the Mark, for Harvey Milk does The Body Good.

           Follow the examples set by Newton and Jung; scientists who realized that their research was no longer relevant, unless and until they were to dive into the realm of the collective subconscious, rescue the ancient symbols from Goddess Psyche, and set the gematria tables for a McKennan fish-dinner picnic on the noetic shore.

           Ain't nothin' to it but to do it. That, and to self-trigger, in order to catapult oneself into the face of God.

           Everything bad you've ever done will last forever. Everything mean you've ever said is being permanently recorded onto a giant straightened paperclip-wire in the middle of the galaxy, which is being fed on by a giant space-chicken at the Edge of the Universe.

           This bird-headed One (whom the ancients referred to as Osiris) reads every bad deed to its own duplicitous anima (St.-Peter-as-Maat), and weighs our sins against one of its own feathers. This is Judgment; this is the Reckoning (or, at least, I reckon).

           Every male you've ever met is God, every female you've ever met is Mary, and everyone else is the Holey BeJesus. Yes, every sin you've ever committed was committed against the Holy Family itself. So take care, and best of luck!

           You're losing it, I can tell. And that can only mean one thing: You are now just about ready to construct your sigil.

           Its shape should resemble that famed Sisyphian object; that incarnate single-fingered Glove of Love worn by Doubting Thomas but for Eternity Infinitesimal.

           That is; the shape of your sigil must represent the value of its currency.

           All is for nought. 1=0. Ave Chao.

           Ave Meyers.

This has been a (semi-) satirical piece.

Dictated on November 3^rd, 2017

Transcribed, Edited, and Expanded on November 5^th, 2017

Edited and Expanded on November 13^th through 15^th, 2017
Edited on May 2nd, 2018
Edited on January 17th, 2018

Yes, That Inanimate Object is Mocking You, and Here's Why

Yes, That Inanimate Object is Mocking You, and Here's Why:
A Guide for Schizophrenics Trying to Get into Chaos Magick

      We've all been there.

      You're out somewhere, and someone's talking to you about Charles Manson. You want to tell them Tex Did It, but you can't tell whether they're really into Charlie or they're just flirting with you. It happens all the time.

      Then you come home, and the dark suitcases and blankets that you meticulously arranged on the large shelf a few hours ago have morphed into an empty floating Darth Vader shaman's cloak waiting to sexually harass you. Then you turn on the fan, and your little silver dish full of cookie fortunes gets blown away, and you pick up one that offends you. What did you expect?

      And don't forget about the recurring nightmare about being Martin Luther nailing the 95 Theses to the church, and the papers turn into Jesus, and you're nailing Him to the Cross! I mean, fuggeddaboutit! It happens to literally the best of us (samaan).

      You want to ask someone what's up, and get your line of thinking checked out; but you don't want to cut yourself with Occam's Razor. We all know the story; don't feel alone, feel at-one! You alone have the power to investigate and solve inconsistencies apparent in your conscious thought; all you have to do is remember that the opposite of paranoia is pronoia, the suspicion that other people are conspiring to help you. Know that He sees you and takes pity.

      Yes, your possessions are mocking you, and for good reason. They scoff at the thought that you might ever truly and fully own them!

      Why would they hesitate to mock you when you mock yourself so much!? I mean, why wouldn't you suspect that your friends from across the country sneaked (snuck?) into your apartment, crawled under your blankets, and suffocated and died under there? Of course that's what happened! You've been gone for hours, and the least complicated explanation is most likely the correct one.

      Besides, your friends wouldn't tell you if they were coming to do that. It seems considerate, but seriously, sometimes, the nerve of some sheet-ghosts! Sometimes you manage to ask yourself what the odds are, but C-3PO, being an android subject to Asimov's laws of robotics, submits to your order to never again tell you the odds. Pathetic.

      But eventually, after you take your shoes off with your eyes closed, sit in a cardboard box, facing southwest, you crawl out of Schrödinger's Cat-Box, turn on the lights, pull back the blankets, and see that it's just some pillows that got tucked down under your sheets, impersonating your dead friends under the blankets. And for now, that seems logical enough.

      Until you remember that the folks at the Zen session told you to hold tight to those pillows. That's when you start pondering whether there really is an alternative to Richard Nixon owning the Moon. If you find yourself (-selves) asking questions like this, just remember: “You're not crazy, you're a warlock”, and “Bitch I'm a Witch”. Keep in mind that a lunatic is just someone who pays attention to the Moon. Keep watch over Her bewitching form if you must; just don't let Diana possess you (like something out of Soviet Russia). “Crazy” has no formal medical definition; it's just a Willie Nelson song.

      You must learn not to make yourself an easy target for mockery by your possessions. You can take the matter of “what you possess vs. what possesses you” into Your W-Hole-Y Unique Hands (R), and here are twelve easy reasons how!:

      1) Replace your cuckoo clock with a mockingbird, and you'll see what I'm talkin' about.

      2) Choose your new possessions (and familiars) carefully. Be careful how you befriend your new familiars. And if a piece of fruit at the store is giving you the malocchio, yes, it's best to simply avoid buying that type of fruit at that store, because the other Fruit may be spiritually compromised. Unless all pineapples worldwide are similarly cursed. ...Oh shit.

      Anyway, choose your possessions well; and own them, or else they will own you. How much time do we waste catering to the upkeep needs of our possessions? I mean, how many robot servants am I gonna have to maintain thirty years from now just to get a Fish or a Pure Pineapple? My concerns are valid.

      3) Our pets' eyes can act as portals into other celestial (and sexual) dimensions. Simply put, if you don't possess your cat, then your cat will possess you. You must claim your pet as your witch's or warlock's (or male witch, etc.)'s familiar.
      Force your pet to take your surname as soon as possible! Say you let some female dogs live with you. Make sure they know the score; a renter must submit to her landlord! Marry one of those dogs, and make sure it knows you're its master, and she's your bottom-bitch, or else you won't know which bitch is which witch, bitch! Do some bitchcraft. Give animal husbandry a new meaning.

      4) There is actually an easy way to tell for sure whether your pet knows who you were in a past life: Put a Witch Hat on It.^TM What will this accomplish? Nothing. ...That is, if you consider looking super cute and witchy and sick af all at the same time “nothing”.

      The point is, listen to what your “mortal” mini- Anubis or Sphinx is trying to tell you about “who you are”. For more information on the origins and meaning of this phrase, please stare into the eyes of a hastily-Google-image-searched portrait of Madam Helena Blavatsky.

      5) Macabre-up your living (and personal!) space. Remind yourself that you will die from being enslaved by your possessions by finally building and putting to use that chandelier made out of human skulls and bones, and marimbas made out of the same, that you designed last bak'tun. Wear a vial full of your brother's blood around your neck. Do a goddamn thing for the Empire.

      6) You're not getting any younger (or are you?). Why do you keep putting off carving that Hebrew typewriter with the keys made out of dice carved from endangered white rhino teeth that gets Bluetooth transmissions from the Pakistani volcano that's psychically informing you that you have Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.)? You remember, the one that the invisible rabbi told you about years ago (or years from now)?

      7) Use sigil magick to cash in on domain names! Dramatically increase your ability to claim intellectual property, by using glossolalia to generate new words and languages. Invent new symbols, pictograms, emoji, languages, codices, and cryptograms, then simply add “dot website”. Then cash in on the stock market, and make millions in whichever cosmic or celestial currency you desire! It's a fool-proof plan; not necessarily lunatic-proof, but fool-proof.

      8) Stop flipping coins! Submitting your decision-making authority to a piece of currency with a socially constructed value helps money to own you, which, believe me, is the last thing you want to do.

      9) The lamp you've affixed to your wall knows which Led Zeppelin song you're supposed to play when you light the candles, you just have to ask it politely.

      10) Remember that you can never be fully deprived of possessions. At any time, one can request to have a reading performed - by a trained, certified professional, for a reasonable price - to determine possession of (and by) which kind of cups, or swords, etc., one may be struggling.

      11) Own yourself, your Flesh, your past, your mistakes, your actions, and your Word. Emotional and psychological ownership – especially of your baggage – is a prerequisite for total self-ownership. Let your Deeds speak for themselves, while emulating Your Word. Take joy in simple labors like carpentry, fishing, and wine-making, while pondering christosis, martyrdom, the labors of the Christ throughout his life, and the role of God as architect or gardener. Emanate what you emulate. Own your Word, keep your Word, and may your Deeds become Word-Made-Flesh. Grow the biogenetic tapestry, and bring Spirit back into Flesh.

      12) Be prepared, at all times, to present identification as well as several forms attesting to your body's (i.e., state-owned flesh-bag^TM, a/k/a yana) privilege to travel and work, to any and all individuals claiming to be persons of authority. Surrender your body as requested; you'll get your body back eventually. It may be full of holes when you go pick up the stuff you had on you when you got arrested, but you'll get it back one way or another.

      You must be careful and decisive about what to own, and whom you may be attempting to own. Sometimes we call our possessions “mine”, as in “my parent”, “my friend”, “my lover”, etc.. However, in lending credence to this subject / object blending, you risk ignoring the other's “ownership” of yourself in similar relation. Once again, I use the term “the other” lightly, for as Jimi Hendrix asked, “Have you ever been experienced?” It's apparent that your parent should not be apprehensive at preparations for reparations through becoming more than mere apparitions. Don't be possessive, and don't possess people; not in the ghostly way, not in the regular way.

      Your possessions must not define you, for definition means limitation, and framing. Do you want your possessions to frame you? Huh? Do you want to get framed? You wanna be Roger Rabbit? Huh!? Answer me! Oh wait, I forgot, I'm just some words on a piece of paper (just like you, your body, your house, your family, your money, your heart, and your fingerprints, and your DNA). I have no power over you; just like you! Just like your possessions shouldn't.

      But shudder, for your ritual object magick is too weak (and American) to fight mere paper and words. The solution: throw The Rock into the gears, or else throw scissors and cut down the marionette! I don't tell you how to run your puppet show, don't tell me how to do my card tricks. Don't let your possessions keep you in your place.

      Anyway, your cat barely even has time to properly “own you”, it's busy on the catwalk modeling hats and doing witch shit with Cat Fabio (our Lord and Savior, the Sphinx among Sphinxes). It's also worth noting that planned obsolescence is pretty darn anti- Feng Shui. Remember, you can 3-D print any shape out of any kind of animal connective tissue you want. If that doesn't help the Gypsy read the chicken bones, I don't know what Will. So throw them bones down, Hoodoo Man, Lucy-fer's got some articulation to do! Cast a lot, and cast alot!

      Don't blame yourself for not knowing how to properly Feng Shui the eggs; it doesn't take a properly seated Carlos Castaneda to know that eggs are to be organized half-function (for balance), and half-form (for zazz). Eggs also belong on anthills, provided that you're “In the Mood”. For more information, ask your local friendly neighborhood Romanian. If you put all your eggs in one basket, you're gonna have a shitty Easter. And Jesus had a shitty Easter weekend so that we don't have to.

      It's natural to feel like a many-armed elephant-god, or the demiurge at the center of the planet, when you're so quickly sorting the items that your nameless saint friend salvaged from the dumpster. Repent, for you knew his Name; from the womb (as if from within Elizabeth), and in the deep forests of Psyche where alone one may find The Eternal. Also, he definitely did drug you that one time you were wondering whether he drugged you. But he helped you move in and do interior design, and he never crossed the line of stockings on the floor!
     You know that the Pharaoh within you will recognize his possessions once he wakes up; you know how to Mark them. You read Exodus. Remember, the voices aren't real – especially the one coming from over your left shoulder - and the most consciousness-expanding time of your life never needs to happen again. All you have to do is learn to lock your shit up properly. Lock that shit up in your head.

      Radically reclaim your property in the name of freedom to burn Eostre candles and gum resins. If you must take property, then be the sarcophagus, be the crypt, be the catacombs, be the pyramid. Your zoning laws fuck with your right to conduct religious services in your residence because your zoning laws are man-made, fallible, and impure. Practice fucking with your locks, but be extra careful not to accidentally lock yourself out of “your own” house. Bring Yobhel back; immanentize the eschaton and all that jazz. Be Mutualist Landlord Jesus.

      Don't stop bringing trash into the house and looking through it for fetishes though. You were supposed to hang onto that “Trust No One” ring, by the way, you weren't supposed to give it to the first cute barista whose name started with “A”. That's not the kind of fetish I'm talking about. I mean the damn shamanic and anthropological definition of “fetish”, get your head out of the gutter.

      Rest (and rest well) assured (and rest well-assured) that the ring and the barista will lie in your abode, each in “its” own proper place and position. The point, I guess, is that “We must own ourselves, or we must bone ourselves”. You don't have to be a Feng Shui master - or watch The Fifth Element or read The Joy Luck Club or any shit like that - to acknowledge that You Know Where the Bone Goes, and You Know Where the Wood Goes in the room. So go be a khlyst, take up thy rod and Walk.

      You must not allow your name to name you, nor to own you. Don't say your name out loud to anyone, and don't let anyone hang a sign on you; you will recognize them by how they call you. Whether and how we name one another act as both talismans and shibboleths. See the Forest for the trees, and don't confuse the map with the territory. While Matti told us “Although it is not your name, you are naméd it”, names name you not.

      You will see not only the Forest but also the Garden in the cryptic mirror triptych. If you can't see yourself in that, I don't know what you can see yourself in. Try as we may, spare the “final end” (and I use that term lightly), we may never shed our subjectivity nor our objectivity. Each of these is but one of our properties (and this time I mean “properties” in the strictest sense of the word). As we are felt, so too do we feel. Lo, for is it not (basically) said that a Fish is worth His weight in gold? Is the Fish's blood not the true medium of exchange (or at least the medium of exchange for all human sin)?
      If that which makes a resource suitable for use as a currency is the scarcity of the material of which it is made, then is it not the scarcity and rarity of the individual human being which make us suitable to serve as the most heavily traded item, and a currency, at once? You get where I'm going with this.

      Non-magicians (commonly referred to as Muggles) struggle to comprehend these complex psycho-shamanics (not to be understood as psychosomatic nor psychosemantics), nor the psychopomp and circumstance (not to be understood in general). They are to be explained Gnosis, introduced to L-rd Alan Watts, and informed that good psychiatry resembles shamanism more than it resembles slipping someone a Mickey. "Psychopomp and Circumstance"; there's a Song that's Truly unowned!

      Keep Me in mind and heart, and heed Me. I wrote the flesh-made-Word on your heart in the very Beginning. The real Gospel is right there at (and in) your fingertips. Own your body as you own my letter to you, which millennia ago I carved on your flesh when I wrote your name in the Book of Life, and which you carry with you as soul-you carries flesh-you around like a vehicle from life to life. If you don't come to find Me, I will set out to find you; but I cannot come in unless I Am invited.

      Read it carefully, and I will never abandon you. Come keep sparrows with Me. Together we shall find whether we are, indeed, our sparrows' keepers. But take seriously the decision as to whether to become an angel; angels must submit to G-d and the Word, becoming Gaia's property in the process. Don't even try living before you've decided whether what you really want out of life is to possess, to self-own, or to spend your life enslaved to deity.

      Pick your Tree wisely, and don't choose the Cup of Wisdom poorly. To know the Deep Truth (not to be confused with the Deep State) of this, you must own and keep your Word, know that an angel is a messenger, read a list of titles of books by Marshall McLuhan, and then watch Angels in the Outfield. I mean, don't shoot The Messenger, really.

      In conclusion, please read my blog, it's written on a scroll of sheepskin, nailed to a million-year-old Tree – made of, and into, the True Cross – deep within the Gardened Forest of the human soul, in the Garish Land of the Garland and the Garlic-Laden Calf, within the a-maze-ingly labyrinthine fingerprint of genetic creation, buried next to our hopes and dreams of eternity, yet patiently waiting to be exhumed so it can burst forth from the impenetrable, synthetic cloud of nearly primordial mental fog that is “civilized” Babylon, and reclaim what has been snuck from out its grave; from its rightful place at the foot of its master.

      Nah, I'm totally fucking with you.

      But for real though.

      This has been a satirical piece.

Written Between June 14^th and 16^th, 2017

Edited on June 18th and 22nd, and September 14th, 2017