ANON | DOSSIERS | Feral Mettle

feral mettle.

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Chapter Two: April 1994

This is produced and distributed by ANON Faction — an autonomous covert operations (read "occult" here if you prefer) group offering the gods, goddesses, angels, and dæmons (exactly which one are you right now?) a literary sampling of its delicious crop of Golden Apples. Go ahead and take a bite, we'll make more!

Feral Mettle is published whenever we feel like it: whenever there's some material around that we'd like people to see, touch, feel, and play with. . . or maybe we're just in the mood to gab. For this chapter, we are
Altatheria: Bridge-it, wade & wane
Lord Gangrel: Death of Saint, Mindfuck
Plager Rising: Stolen Letters
Ponibowie Staigeld: Homocult PT flyers, Revs
Rigor Vitus: Djinn Bottling, Paradise
RoikaXul: Rumblefish Royale, Revs
Ulfsceaferd: Fire, Tunnel Vision

Agents of ANON Faction agree to disagree as to the efficacy of any and all of the following. Please distribute freely what you find useful; there is no better way to inspire like-minded people.

Write to us! Scribble down some of the notes you see on the walls of the wyrdward spiral. Diagrams are always appreciated. Or tell us all about it by calling our PAN ANON VoxBox and get the jump on the stamp-lickers.

The time is Now. The place is Here.

ANON Faction
Post Office Box 16035
Seattle Washington 98116-0035
) PAN ANON (206.726.2666)

The Capturing of Pre-Existing Egregores, or,
Djinn Bottling.

Egregores can come in many shapes and sizes. Indeed, even a definition of "egregore" finds differing opinion. For the purpose of this article an egregore is a built up thought-form, a cohesion of information brought about through obsession, ritual generation, daydreaming, environment, etc., and may exist in form without human intervention or awareness. It suggests the expression of a specific demeanor rather than a disembodied intelligence. An egregore can also be a trend, a suddenly different line of thought, an overwhelming interest in something unnoticed before. There are house egregores (egregores attached to a specific place, often a home), and biogene egregores (attached to people, animals, and plants). Some have even suggested that there are city, state & national egregores, and world-wide ones too.

The successful capturing of the image of an egregore can be a constructive communication between you & the unseen, a flight of fancy, or a hair-raising experience. In the following ritual outline, I will show you an example of a simple rite we've used to capture the fleeting images of egregores that moved through or were attracted or attached to our area of working, and provide an example of one.

Without going into detail regarding our research before attempting this the first time, I should point out that the ritual was performed in the living room of a relatively new apartment — I had moved in some two or three weeks previous. Or course I was familiar with the sorcerous evocation of servitors and the like but had never sought to "capture" a pre-existing unnamed and unknown entity before, thinking it either a fruitless endeavor, or too dangerously close to channeling and the ouija board to be a constructive experiment. Nevertheless, I became interested in attempting to create an image of one and communicate with it. There was the subconscious to be considered; servitors and spirits are so often evoked from moldy grimoirs or manufactured to fulfill the conscious desires of the operator that the opportunity to rephrase such a working was very appealing to me.

What is captured here may be simply a subconscious image of zeitgeist made visible. It may be a natural guardian or anthropomorphic watcher of a specific tree or grove. There seem to be egregores that are happy to communicate, and others that are boring, even grumpy.

There's no limit — so please be careful; if an entity frightens or threatens you in any way uncomfortably, don't hesitate. Make the first move and banish the fucker back from whence it came or destroy its manifestation! You don't need to be polite.

Egregore "I.A.E.L.M.T" (Every other letter is here deleted from the Egregore's name to protect it, and meddlesome human entities!)

You will need sheets of thin or opaque paper; water colors, crayons, oils — whatever you are comfortable painting/drawing with; a candle; ditany of crete or other "manifesting" incense; charcoal.

The ritual is begun by all participants standing in the center of the working area. The following is used to "vibrate" yourself to spontaneous frequencies; any other method you have found that does the same or better is encouraged!

Breath deeply, and begin gently swaying into each other. Mumble and chant gibberish in a rising crescendo. At the peak, when all are screaming, the main operator gives a signal and all fall silent. Shaking your arms, legs, and head back & forth to further relax, then clap your hands a couple of times while turning on your axis.

Find a comfortable position to sit in front of a candle and incense bowl just before it. Have paper and supplies nearby. When you are relaxed, make a statement aloud of your desire to contact an egregore. Be precise in your wording; "It is my will to draw a nearby spirit" is okay—too general—but I have found "I will manifest upon this paper an image of the egregore of this place" works better.

Begin putting the herb upon the burning charcoal. Light the candle with these words: "Born of fire—dæmon of this place (substitute to suit your purpose)—Now my desire—will manifest your face!—Come forth from out of the nightside river—to my hand and upon this paper (hold the paper out before you or thrust it overhead)—A captured image you will deliver—to my hand and upon this paper!

You are now sitting, holding the paper before you so that the candle's flame is directly at its center, illuminating the back of the sheet. Incense burns and the smoke should begin creating shadows upon the paper. Begin the chant: "TARAKIM ASHARA" until an image manifests, or you are inspired to lay your drawing hand down upon it.

Picking up a pen and doodling to manifest the image is suggested; it frees up the restrictive conscious desire for a meaningful image. Then the dominant image may be painted.

Sometimes egregores manifest for the sole purpose of "making an appearance" and you may decide to employ them as servitors or familiars. In this case, a lancet is used to draw your blood—sexual fluids would normally be used for pleasure/lust or enchantment operations—and the image of the egregore is given life with a statement of your dominion over it while you draw upon the paper in your blood.

death of saint and birth of god
(from martyrdom to megalomania)
one magicians travels from sainthood to godhead

the young saint steps off of the greyhound bus, and begins to take a look around. the first thing that he notices is an architectural structure, which reminds him of a flying saucer with a needle on top of it. he begins to walk towards the structure, not pausing for anything. beavis and butthead's promise was correct: everything seemed to be cool in seatown. as the structure to his right grew larger it was much smaller than he would have thought looking at the rice krispies' commercial. the tall buildings to the left made it look even smaller. the surrounding neighborhood, however, seemed to be infested with yuppies who owned condos around. thus, he noticed the water and began to walk towards it. he found a beautiful spot by the water and people came to talk to him. he began to manipulate these persons for his benefit, and it was working quite, quite well. he carried all that he had with him and after severe depression on top of not seeming to be able to get anything done he manipulated more people, and it worked. he did workings day in and day out. everything around him began to grow, and grow, and grow. more terrible things began to happen to him, and through his dirty deeds done dirt cheap he felt as if he were in fact losing his sainthood. he did not care however, for he knew that his time of death was near. once again he pushed on, doing estranged invocations into the night. he had suffered too much and decided that this was no life for a saint. time went on, and things grew even bigger and bigger. he made even more fuck ups but he, being the genius that he was, took advantage of every one of them! things were going well. the time of death was near, but he still did not know how he felt about it. still, too many people knew of his sainthood. the bad holiday season rolled around (that one in which they celebrate the birth of a dead god). he knew of the dead god, and decided that it was time for a change of gods and holidays. it came closer, and closer, and closer, and closer to the time of his death. he had a friend with a secret name, and this friend would help to kill him although not in any vein way. this death would be a positive death. it would help him to become vampire and god. something which he had dreamt of becoming since his very early sainthood. time pushed on, but he may have been in his own strange ways very, very afraid to die (or at that, let go of that which has passed. and even through it all others would not want him to die). in fact, others would hate it if he became better than they; and he did not know whether he was worthy or not. he began getting deeply involved in black magic and invoking many strange forces of death. a demon came to him one night and made the threat of death. he was not scared to die, and this demon knew it. . . this made the demon delay because he was confused. no one had ever confused this demon before, and so the demon slayed the saint with a two-edged sword. his body lay there lifeless and the demon had then disappeared into thin air. from out of the wounds of the dead body poured steam. this steam began to make a big ball, a ball that was greater than that of anything ever made with the exception of a few other chosen ones. this ball formed into a godhead. a godhead which was very pleased that it had began anew in this way. the saint actually knew that this would happen, therefore fooled the demon. he had conjured the demon again and then swallowed him whole.

The Rumblefish Royale

Ritual Enchantment: Elixir, Animal Sacrifice — Fish swallowing. Mmmmm, conjures up an image of beer-sluggin' fratboys in college. For this ritual live fish eating, it is recommended that you fast for three hours before the rite is begun. The following rite is intended to bring up from the depths hidden skills talents or insights in a specified area of your life.

0. Needed: Mug or bowl, large or shallow enough to stick your entire hand in; an African Fighting Fish or goldfish in a bowl of pure water dyed (with food coloring) to appear black; non-toxic and smokeable herbs; rolling paper or pipe; coffee filter; 1¼ shot of vodka.

1. Elixir: The elixir is made by taking herbs associated or intuited to represent skills talents attitudes etc. that you have either forgotten since childhood or wish to draw out in yourself.

Place the herbs upon/within the filter and place both hands over it, forming a point-outward triangle with your index fingers and thumbs.

2. Consecrate the herbs to your desire by a statement. (For example, "By these words you, star anise, are consecrated to my will to make friends as easily as I did when I was a child") Concentrate your attention solely upon the herbs, seen through the triangle made by your hands for a few moments.

3. Take a small amount of the herb and smoke it. Visualize yourself performing the desired result easily, effortlessly, and confidently. When visualizing, blow smoke out onto the remaining herbs. Taking the empty bowl and placing it beneath the filter, pour the vodka upon the herbs. Shout out: "EHNOSH'TAQ!" as the elixir begins to drain into the bowl.

4. Take the fishbowl and perform a similar action as in steps 1&2, only this time, the fish is an active re-programmer of the reptile brain — the herbs act as a catalyst for its input into your operating system! (For example, "You are a living conduit — a living circuit for information — you will carry the information I give you back into myself, there to work magic and bring about my goal.") You do not have to be able to actually see the fish in its black lagoon to consecrate it.

5. Invocation:

"I call upon the processes of memory
I call upon the likeness of daydream
I call upon the the dweller in the deepest places
I call upon the lurker in the darkness
Hear me and make flesh this desire
(Your intent is recited here)
This fish shall not die but live on in my actions
This flesh (smack fist against chest) shall no longer hunger for this need!

6. Thrust your hand in and grab the fish quickly, placing it into the elixir and immediately drinking/swallowing it. If you are made to vomit the fish back up, it is a good indication that your desire is in conflict with your deep mind, and meditation is suggested before repeating the experiment.

Auto Selective Tunnel Vision

SIGILS: Create sigil. Eat sigil. See all events in relation to an immediate manifestation of desire.* Laugh to dispel belief.

*You are of course better off with smaller miracles first, so as to get into the habit of success. Sigils used to modify one's personal environment (inner or outer) should be reintroduced into the body's complex of genetic coding, by consuming or osmosis. Sigils drawn in saliva, sweat, sexual fluids (the corporeal S's), etc. — any of the body's living juices may be used — are the best carriers that I have found for somatic / sensory experiments with "reality". As strange and unscientific as this sounds, the mind is not what separates itself from the body; it is the senses. We are all in a constantly recreated multiverse bombarded and cajoled by what we choose to consciously perceive. What's it like to not filter our view of the world around us? Ask somebody else!

The Inroad Express: Fire

Laying down, then relaxing. I'm inna boat floating on an ocean — no, this is a lake although I can see no shores. I can feel the warmth of the sun in my feet, relaxing them. In my calves and all the way up over my head, I am swept up, like a wave, into relaxation. I take a couple of deep breaths. . .

The boat, once gently swaying to and fro with the movement of the water, has stopped. It appears to be nearing sunset and I have landed on a shore before a large and foreboding house on a desolate beach. It reaches up into the sky with unnatural-looking spires, windows shaped like the silhouettes of people, a sheen on the oily surface of its outer walls the color of a black light; a bright and bluish purple. This color is my very own "octarine," the color of magic and creative visualizations. The flashing color of my power to manifest.

Approaching the castle slowly over finely graveled black sand, I reach the door which sits at the head of a funneled porch. It opens as I reach my hand out to turn the knob, anticipating me. Before me is a circular room at whose circumference lie four equidistant doors, each with an insignia upon it.

The door to my left, the one with the image of a burning candle upon it, opens. It beckons me to enter. I cross the foyer, and as I draw near an intense hot rush of air, swirling on the other side of the doorway, suddenly reaches out and sucks me through the threshold.

Getting up from where I had been tossed I look to the direction where the door should've been and see that I am in no ordinary room. In fact I am not in a room at all it seems. I have been sucked into another world! I giggle to myself, thinking that getting sucked into another world is usually a wonderful thing; getting head while I stand or lie down with eyes closed and fingers crossed (or held in some mudra) has always been conducive—for me, at least—to in-the-mind's-eye magical work.

What I saw shocked me for its vividness. A vast and dry red desert. Not a single living thing, even a cactus or bird, could be seen. Slowly I surveyed the surroundings, taking a full 360º turn. Nothing. Not a sign of anything remotely alive save for the rippling sand, and a far-off high-pitched whine like a dying smoke alarm.

The rippling sand? All around, slight movements just under the surface of this Gehenna! When I bent down to look, I saw what appeared to be tiny red lizards darting in and out of the sand. They were everywhere and moving so quickly that I hadn't noticed them at all at first glance. They began climbing up and leaping onto my legs, decaying the fabric of my black jeans at their touch and moving more like wriggling serpents than true lizards. Soon I stood completely nude; the little lizards had turned even my leather jacket to white dust at my feet.

I smiled. It was strangely comfortable here, and the effect of the lizards was that I found my self feeling remarkably clean and refreshed, with a surprising amount of energy. I found myself beginning to move, to run as fast as I could, my feet like battery contacts. With every footfall I was boosted forward, faster and faster. What I appeared to be running toward was a megalithic black statue, solitary and awesome in the flat landscape.

As I flew nearer, its shape became clear to me: it was that of a huge dragon, like the Chinese drew, with solid flames leaping outwards and upwards from its mouth and nostrils. Its eyes grew bright and the whole of its body changed as I stopped before it, looking up at its some 25' height. It was alive, and, simply by intuition, I could tell it was smiling at me.

It slowly undulated itself into the air and the whine I had heard earlier began again, only this time louder, and obviously coming from the Dragon.

I stood with my mouth hanging open. The dragon was speaking to me—what had sounded like a squeal moments before was becoming English. Bits and pieces of his speech were familiar between the whistling sounds he made, as though his lungs were made of burning metal, creaking bending and crying out with every syllable.

"Yeeeeeeeeoooo—cuheeeeemmmm—eeeeeeeeeeee!—heeeeeeeer!" His voice was becoming clearer now. "Aaaahnd here you weeeeeeeel learn the lessssssson of faaaaheeeerrr!"

I couldn't move. Transfixed in my spot, I watched as the dragon lifted me up and looked me directly in the eyes. "Prepare yourself, as you are about to experience the nature of the fire." His great mouth opened, and without warning, his body burst into flames.

I was looking only into his eyes, the outlines of his face blurred and intermingled with the flames, his mouth a river of lava. His flaming arms moved me closer to his mouth, the heat forming sudden blisters and peeling the skin from my body. I was swallowed up in one movement, finding myself become the dragon. My body was flame, heat, the dryness of fire. The dragon, now apparently myself, began flying through the white hot tongues that encased us. The movement immediately brought with it a lighter, freer feeling and I realized that I, this fiery dragon, was slowly being dissolved amongst the flames, like a meteorite speeding earthward.

REVIEWS

Jan Fries: VISUAL MAGICK (A Manual of Freestyle Shamanism)

Good book, written from a self-styled shaman with a definite chaophilic bend. Not much in the way of new information, but the approach is user-friendly and his observations keen, and, T SURPRISE T based on experience rather than theory. His connection with "the Maat People" is ambiguously hinted at, but this isn't anything to dismiss the book because of. Chapters delineate techniques in spontaneous sigil creation, the use of ritual glossalalia or "chaos language" (babeleros rejoice!), elemental nature mandalas, etc. An elixir ritette is included.

Nine Inch Nails: THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL

Atlantic, interscope, TVT, and nothing records bring us more 'Nails. Yep, Trent's at it again, only this time pluckin' out an end-time groove. The usual fare of whining goes on (so fans won't be disappointed). Russell Mills cover work is good. Unimpresed with Adrian Belew's contribution. Sleazy gets thanx. (And where the hell is "Fixed" available at?). Anyway, the sleeve for the cassette is unusual (in that there is no titling on the spine—justification for the box?) and beautifully printed, very reminiscent of Coil's "LSD" Stapleton cover. Heard "Closer" on the radio and fell over to hear a machine rev up instead of a "beep!" when he growl-whines "I wanna fuck you like an animal." Cool. He goes for it with a little more atmosphere—the same kind that filled the empty spaces between the dance beats of "Pretty Hate Machine". By the way, looking through a book on early surrealism I found the source of the cover (a boy's beautiful backside seen through an inverted cross) of the "Scatology" CD, by Man Ray I think, probably done in the 40's.

J Laughing Head: DEMO TAPE

Expecting what they advertised: Industrial Death Rock. Got instead: Xist sniveling, teenager angst, with some great guitar work and mixing. Forget about the lyrics—even the choruses, which try desperately to hook, don't.

björk: debut

I know, you're exhausted & irritable from hearing "Human Behaviour" and "Big Time Sensuality" every time you turn on your radio, but the rest of the tape is worth a listen, too! Much of it is a dramatic departure from the aforementioned computer-generated dansongs. Folk harp (borrow an Icelandic folk recording from your library sometime) and beatnik sax are especial treats. Unsolicited advise for first-time listening: don't check your equipment during "There's More To Life Than This"—it's supposed to be that way!

Lars B. Lindholm: PILGRIMS OF THE NIGHT

The subtitle for this book is a little misleading (Pathfinders of the Magical Way). Really, what it should be is "Cheeky reflections on Occult History" or something along those lines. Aw, Lleeweellyn publishes yet another facinatin' book! Well, it's really not that bad (even if it's on ole L'n). Jumps through history briefly, hitting the highlights (actually, he simply writes about the most sensational aspects), topping it of with Nazi Occultism and the Present Day. Not many real facts, not much in the way of why's or wherefore's, but a good read for an evening at home. At least it's not another Satanism Revealed hype-tripe.

AUSTIN SPARE'S COLLECTED WORKS VOLUME ONE

Isn't this material tired of re-printing yet? Of course not—it's public property! Now a local (WA state) company's distributing (and/or printing) this collection of all the published magical work of Spare in one handy black and white (absolutely NO frills) hardcover—at only $95!—hahahaha—Can't hardly wait for Volume Two—hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah—what's gonna be in it?—hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha—maybe his drawing from the Equinox and others from even lesser mags?—hahahahahahahahahahahahahah! These fucking fleas are making me scratch!

wade into change & wane into all

spooky
shadows fall clumsily
like children laughing sighing yawning yelling
"dogfish moonchyle"
on this wet moonite.

nothing but a planet-shadow
terra innocent terra phantasmagloria
sucks the light from the sun
the ground hides in star-found courages
and later sips the morning juice

anonymously
here in the hushed light
here in the silken expanse of night
i find that, with intent
i can lose myself more easily

dipping into the sacred with my cup
nothing but an impudent interference
like borrowing a newspaper
stepping on a tail when ascending

freakish
clothes stick and damp skin
the grove is empty and crowded under a clouded
and o'ershadowed moon.
the grove is owned by some non-human intelligence
and leased out for free at times like this.

the fangs tartar
my voice extends with upturned face
i howl and scamper til morning
to challenge the wolves at the new moon.

come back! come back! come back!

STOLEN LETTERS, or
INFORMATION IS FREE BUT MEDIA IS COLLECTIBLE!

Note by P.R.: I've changed a word here and a word there, calling this my own creation, so I hope that you enjoy the following, and remember, it's mine, dammit! [note by P.S.: stop babbling, you jerk.]

Dear Tax Person:

I was married on December 31, 1992, and during the consummation (late in the evening, but before the New Year's revelry began) I, like all preying mantises, bit the head off of and subsequently devoured my husband. What a great way to start the year! I began consuming him at approximately quarter to twelve, but did not finish until sometime after midnight — well into 1993! And the parts that were left were alive and kicking the whole time! So my question is this: since I was the head of the household, and we were married the previous year, and I truly believe he was still alive well into 1993, can I claim him as a dependent on my '93 taxes?

Thanks.

Minnie ("Minnie the Mantis") the Mantis"

Holy and Reverend Mother,

I am a sincere and over-serious psybernaut, really. Only problem is that I and my closest friend and negress Woop-th'r-itis have trouble communicating with some people. You know, laying cards on the table without getting paid—and being polite—for it. We're both simply horrible at this, what with creeps and cretins constantly assaulting us with media of all shapes and sizes! I imagine someone getting really mad if we said what we mean, too. Should we end it all now?

Greetings on all sides of the octagon,

Jean de Petit-bourgeois

Hey Pervert:

My significant other always howls furiously when we get together, especially when the neighbors are sleeping. She asks me to bite as hard as I can on the back of her neck, and insists that pain is required for her to ovulate. Problem is, I'm not even sure I want kittens running around all the time anyway, and is this pain thing something I'll be hearing for the rest of my pussy-lovin' days? Is it true? Not that I mind, really, it just sounds a little fishy.

Best regards,

Tom C. (name held by request)