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Chapter Two: April 1994
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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
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The time is Now. The
place is Here.
Post Office Box 16035
Seattle Washington 98116-0035
The Capturing of
Pre-Existing Egregores, or,
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.
(Every other letter is here
deleted from the Egregore's name to protect it, and meddlesome human
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
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
(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.
"I call upon the processes of
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
Auto Selective Tunnel
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:
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
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.
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
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.
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.
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 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.
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
shadows fall clumsily
like children laughing sighing yawning yelling
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
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
nothing but an impudent interference
like borrowing a newspaper
stepping on a tail when ascending
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?
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
Jean de Petit-bourgeois
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.
Tom C. (name held by