. . .
Bubbling, cascading, excreting… many have come to our Father’s table with nothing. Not a thing in their hands but pride. Far too many have come and gone from our Father’s table looking at each rich and succulent dish without a thought to what they might offer. His table is long, narrow, and opulent in minimalism. All but empty, we feast upon illusions until bursting. He who offers most brings the least. Intermittently fasting until a current of strength flows from the spirit, not the fuel of swine.
It is true, not every fisher can clean and cook his catch… just as not every reader can write. Hold thy critic’s tongue until after presenting your own manifest. Then judge the recipe of another, yet remember that taste is subjective. The fire reveals the flavor and consistency; open yourself up to the meal before devouring. There are some who would poison the brotherhood with mere analytical regurgitation. Those who do not produce shall not eat, although their want will always be greater. He that is needless also creates and so feeds the multitude.
Deadifts and protein shakes, squats and steak, benchpress and chicken breast, pull-ups and eggs. Szechuan, General Tso, and Hunan… how could a billion Chinese people be wrong? You do not want to see Seeg’nah-thamote angry.
As to the mind, dream your most accurate and believable reality. Give it flesh, make it dance upon strings. Have an audience applaud the spectacle of verisimilitude. What you do is of no consequence! It is not real. Your reality is illusion, nothing more.
The puppet master stimulating that chaotic reality which utilizes himself, commanding his own actions from inner strings, inner strength. Where is God within the mixture? It matters not whether anyone ridicules or mocks. Your truth is greater because it bears sweeter fruit. Beware of Sleestak! Doors open which can never again be closed. The universal mysteries are siphoned from energy stored in those candy colored crystals. Time and space surrender to the mageti, that lost artifact which represents the third side of the coin between science and sorcery, abhorring negative emotions. This mystical relic shall be the Rosetta Stone which guides our army. Onward, soldiers of darkness! Randolph Carter, where have you gone? A place where demons are many.
Yath Satanis oola azo zina paz zodal koth k’zin!
The black monolith represents Their wisdom, ancient and outside. Upon it sits an idol of Dread Cthulhu, and betwixt His viscous claws a trapezoid of impossible green. Within it – a rainbow glow engulfed in void. Such gates are wide open to those sacrificing the lesser parts of themselves. Those self-important portions are filled with anger, envy, insecurity, and varying combinations of being a complete and utter asshole. Don’t follow their false prophesies.
Within the shadows of said monolith, approach the matrix-table. Touch the crystals, pulsating with energy… red, violet, and green. Repeat the sequence.
Some only come out of hiding when their illusions are exposed. Start shaking their flimsy cardboard world and they come running to the foreground. Ready to do battle, what are those pathetic vermin without their mistaken view of things? Realize that man frequently stands in his own way. Begin with that.
Yog-Sothoth looked for new worlds in this and other galaxies. He discovered the ape on earth and saw promise.
Dread Cthulhu sent dream visions to further expand the minds of those ape-men who had been selected. They dreamt of esoteric sigils smeared in blood which created horrid angles intersecting unreachable planes of self-discovery. Godlike consciousness is within the Cultist’s grasp! isolation is the void. When you are calm, joyful, patient, and at peace yet spurred on by limitless passion, then ambitious goals shall be realized.
Those symbols radiate certain vibrations from the temple walls. Carvings of Ipsissimus Venger As’Nas Satanis echo a sticky chartreuse hue during nuclear stargate initiation. One hundred and eleven seconds before all is alive with the great rush of emerald flame. Countdown commencing.
Gods of fire, I present your tongues suckled in creamy jade residue!
Sprinkle the gold flecks of salvation. Arise!
Call it, call it, call it, call it, call it, call it, call it, call it…
Ain’t no love like a hooker’s love. Cause that’s what hookers get paid to do. You dig?
Now, to walk this gate… you will need a gorilla costume, a clown, a hot chick, a midget, and a goat. The goat will have many eyes looking at many pies… apple, cherry, pecan, blueberry, and pumpkin. The gate-walker should surround himself with the pies as a protective barrier. If a dimensional shambler happens to break through, the appetizing celebrant shall be eaten unless said pies have been procured and displayed counter-clockwise in the form of a co-signed rhombus. The mage who heedeth not this lesson shall find himself a leaky vessel for potent elixir, red… incredibly red and thick towards the oceanic darkness of R’lyeh.
There are three ways of conquering the self and annihilating the lesser ego of one’s personality which always obscures Essence. The first way is to greet the turquoise hierophant riding his zebra into the shadows of N’kai.
The second way is to surround oneself with gore spattered sigils in the likeness of the traveler Kutulu who is just a bit more ancient than his son, Cthulhu; although not as popular with the ladies. Both are High Priests of unimaginable strength, purpose, and sanity destroying gnosis.
The third way is to be silent, for the most part, for 111 hours. The gateways are angles intersecting time and space. Keys to beyond our failed universe. The oneironaut can see for miles and miles, parsecs and parsecs. “Chewy, get the kid a lime flavored lollipop.”
The fungi of Yuggoth are being ingested by the serpent people who seek to recapture the throne of Valusia. Serpentine minds tripping out into the aetheric maelstrom. Oh yes, it is most certainly 4:20.
Know that I caress the shining trapezohedron, Nyarlathotep. It was brought to me by the Mi-Go whilst on a peaceful, diplomatic mission to Alderaan.
Can Sharnoth be far behind?
The skittles of war hath a prismatic flavor.
I invoke your most excellent maggot-infested images. Ishliem!
Man’s possibilities are unlimited. His capacity for creating a soul allows him to grow a demon within. This demon must take on the characteristics of Nod fluctuating with Venus’s house trembling before her inner gates. Demons grow but never as directed unless watched. Carefully observe the process. These are the soul creatures like test tube aliens. Darkness and blood will mature them via might and conviction. The Devil’s starship shall hold man’s infinite seed away from earth to regions unguessed.
Subtle transmissions emanate from this, the Fourth Gate. Dreams carry the magician from this period of time to the Old Set Lodge wherein towering pyramids zig-zag asymmetric under sheets of purple programmed sky. The earth’s center is where those arch-programmers reside, some hostile to man and ever hungry for his soul energy. This is why the green stars have seeds.
The dream-self recoils. Shub-Niggurath, what is the meaning of this? Your thousand young are sticking to the forest floor like embryonic honey-semen. And it’s fucking delicious! Give birth already; crack open thy shells so that your nigrescent spawn may take shape!
All this is but nothing unless your dream-self opens the gate; not your ordinary self. You do nothing as you are. Asleep. Asleep is what you are. You are asleep. Asleep! Ah, paradox, allow me to massage your orange scented pseudo-udders. Awaken in this moment, slumbering mage. Awaken!
How can we possibly examine the dimensions we reside in? Damn you, Mauve Zone, ye are like potato chips. A Viridian Sorcerer cannot partake of just one!
To concentrate and keep that focus from being disturbed – eyes on the prize. All seven of them. Each eye is an ‘I’. A Man Number 4 needs to elect seven ‘I’s to the task of governing his empire. The adept is forged out of golden residue left over from the aeons old exile of the Dark Gods. Qlippothic nodes quiver before his ribbed undulations for her pleasure!
Endless possibilities contained within the magenta box. Who can unravel its secrets, that magenta box? Since the time of my birth I’ve waited, wondered; discontented with mundane life and false dreams born from the exterior excretions of lesser gods. O magenta box, your draconic centaurs cast fiery missiles into that unknowable darkness. Unicorns stab rainbows until colorless blood gushes from its mortal wound. My sentient, vorpal broadsword +5 named Blood-thirster Phoenix is at the ready.
These Nine Gates of Necronomicon Satanis (or are there seven… I can’t remember) are to be taken with deadly seriousness. So serious, in fact, that to even hint at frivolity within earshot is to rack Tsathoggua in the balls for no good reason. Never has a more earnest and sincere magical working been recorded, nor shall it ever be again! This is the last step, the final plunge, the absolute end to the magickian’s travels (the “k” is for kryptonite). Here lieth the majestic, magenta truthiness which surpasses ordinary knowledge in every conceivable direction.
The Chocolate Acolyte contains particles of fudge and cherries and organic peanut butter. He is the delicious one anointed by the Formless Black Essence. Mercifully free from strife are those who honor his sacred tastes. Key lime Cthulhu be praised over and over and over again until even our water-logged Lord is sick of such praises. And even then shall He be praised!
Why did I agree to fast in order to receive such visions? God damn it, I’m really, really hungry.
I have dealt with many an asshole in my day. At the beginning of my ridiculous voyage, I was angered by them. In the middle of my walk, I argued with them. Now, at the end of this excursion to the land of madness… right outside pussy town, I am besieged by assholes no longer. That is because I refuse to hear them. I cut off my ears to all the idiotic bullshit strewing from their mouths. Now my head looks more like a fractured egg, but no matter! I am free.
Creating change is what esotericism is all about. Changing the inner man into something superior. Inner change leads to outer change. I want to change the world. I have a conviction (the strongest belief possible) that the Great Old Ones will be brought back to this universe by our Cult of Cthulhu. Their return will usher in a new age… one of fruitful transcendence.
I help people because I know it to be valuable. Seeing my fellow man succeed has substance, it improves us all; a reward in itself. I teach because it’s the right thing to do. I willingly sacrifice my time and energy, suffering the slings, arrows, barbs, thorns, and sharp tongues of friend and foe alike in order to transform ordinary men into the Gods which they have the potential to be.
Gate Four is quite an ascent up the stairway. Congratulations for making it this far. At the 4th level landing, there’s a door. Do you try opening the door or continue up the stairs?
May your key lime cheesecake have enough zest for our Lord’s inner-sanctum,
Venger As’Nas Satanis
Cult of Cthulhu