Category: Philosophy

MadQueen’s Abstraction of True Will

It feels as though a new facet to the work has been shown. A tendril of exploration unraveling, of its length or details I do not know. Sometimes things sound ridiculous when I observe my words in a momentary detached state. And to be honest I do sometimes assess my own sanity.

But I have found that this momentary lapse in certainty of the existence of the patterns I am seeing is part of the entire thing; the illusion, the insecurity of power, an unfaced question of worth. Shadows of thought that unless burned away creep around the mind and much like zalgo, eats it away from the inside. Breaking off not only connection but assumption or absorption.

This recognition of significant insignificance causes doubt and detachment from the inherent divinity possessed by existing. All things reverberate into infinity. All thoughts, actions, emotions, experiences, internalizations and projections are, if they become, eternal in their curve. Not only the initial force but all echoes, conflicts and merging affect the makeup of reality, perhaps from some view even create it. The facets of the fractal, a pixel of light.

And I, a vortex in the center of my own spiral, my own strings cast into the primordial pattern seek to reach a stasis of perfect vibration in accordance with the dance of my own divine flame.

This is my abstraction of true will.

Doors were never really closed; perhaps they simply could not be seen.
Hidden in the darkness, the very essence evoked by the word occult to those who love it.
The light is being reclaimed by realization.
There was never any door.
The wall has grown softer.
Let us enter.

 

(from MadQueen’s personal journal, Oct 3, 2011)

Edgar Allan Poe and Evocation of Anchors in Poetry

The Bells

by Edgar Allan Poe

 

[01:56] <@MadQueen> <.<
[01:56] <@MadQueen> >.>
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  HEAR the sledges with the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      Silver bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a world of merriment their melody foretells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>           How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 In the icy air of night !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>           While the stars that oversprinkle
[01:56] <@MadQueen>           All the heavens, seem to twinkle
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 With a crystalline delight ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              In a sort of Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>       From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>    From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
[01:56] <@MadQueen>   Hear the mellow wedding bells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      Golden bells!
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a world of happiness their harmony foretells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>           Through the balmy air of night
[01:56] <@MadQueen>           How they ring out their delight !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 From the molten-golden notes,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      And all in tune,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 What a liquid ditty floats
[01:56] <@MadQueen>       To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      On the moon !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              Oh, from out the sounding cells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen> What a gush of euphony voluminously wells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      How it swells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                     How it dwells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 On the Future ! how it tells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 Of the rapture that impels
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              To the swinging and the ringing
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 Of the bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>     To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  Hear the loud alarum bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                           Brazen bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>            In the startled ear of night
[01:56] <@MadQueen>            How they scream out their affright !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 Too much horrified to speak,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 They can only shriek, shriek,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                           Out of tune,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                    Leaping higher, higher, higher,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                    With a desperate desire,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 And a resolute endeavor
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 Now — now to sit or never,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>            By the side of the pale-faced moon.
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                    Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                    What a tale their terror tells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                           Of Despair !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         How they clang, and clash, and roar !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         What a horror they outpour
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  On the bosom of the palpitating air !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>            Yet the ear, it fully knows,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                  By the twanging,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                  And the clanging,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              How the danger ebbs and flows ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>               In the jangling,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>               And the wrangling,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         How the danger sinks and swells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                    Of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>        Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>               Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>     In the clamour and the clangour of the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>     Hear the tolling of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                       Iron bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>  What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         In the silence of the night,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         How we shiver with affright
[01:56] <@MadQueen>      At the melancholy meaning of their tone !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             For every sound that floats
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              From the rust within their throats
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                     Is a groan.
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             And the people — ah, the people –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             They that dwell up in the steeple,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                   All alone,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>            And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 In that muffled monotone,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             Feel a glory in so rolling
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 On the human heart a stone –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>       They are neither man nor woman –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>       They are neither brute nor human –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                    They are Ghouls: –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             And their king it is who tolls ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      Rolls
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 A pæan from the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             And his merry bosom swells
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 With the pæan of the bells !
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             And he dances, and he yells ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>        Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>        In a sort of Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 To the pæan of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                     Of the bells :
[01:56] <@MadQueen>        Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>        In a sort of Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                 To the throbbing of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              Of the bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                  To the sobbing of the bells ;
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         Keeping time, time, time,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>             As he knells, knells, knells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>         In a happy Runic rhyme,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                  To the rolling of the bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>              Of the bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                  To the tolling of the bells,
[01:56] <@MadQueen>        Of the bells, bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>                      Bells, bells, bells –
[01:56] <@MadQueen>     To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

 

This poem is one of my absolute favorite examples of beautifully executed iambic pentameter.  It evokes emotions with not only with the descriptions but also with the overall sounds of the vowels, and words used to make those descriptions. They have been programmed in layers since birth from everyday life and interaction with society. The poet sees the layers and will utilize as many as possible concurrently.

These are the tools a poet needs to perform an anchor evocation.

  • The “feel” of words.
  • Their definitions.
  • The theatrical presentation and conveyance of the message.

These things all help to illicit responses responses in the reader predicted by probability and anchored by previously experienced emotions.  Using sound is a subtle way of affecting  the reader and  getting the subconscious reaction the author intends. When this is used in tune with the words chosen it’s a powerful evocative of a magical act; combining conscious and subconscious layers of effect and consensual culturally ingrained symbolism.

An example in The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe is the sprialing change of tone and feeling  from”light and merry” to ”dark and terrifying” at the end.  The use of wording such as “the tintinnabulation that so musically wells” is a stark contrast to “what a world of solemn thought their monody compels”.

This is direct conscious manipulation of basic minor emotional anchors.

To add to the power of of its delivery the indentations and offset of the above text was done purposely in an attempt to match the way Poe originally wrote it. There is debate among scholars as to what, if any, importance this may have. However most will agree that the undulations of words create a unique form and face to the poem.

Forms, shapes, patterns and outlines can all illicit an almost intuitive response by a programmed reaction. It seems the shape of the poem is to assist with the overall “falling” theme synthesized on multiple levels and layers within the piece.

 

Fare thee well wordslingers. And we are well met

 

pom pic

The Pomegranate Prophesies

As a Gift to you Dear Reader, The PostHyperMeta Cabal has decided to Give out The Pomegranate Prophesies COPY LEFT and TOTALLY FREE this Chaoflux 2012 in honor of the Late Eris Nancy Discordia (may she rest in peace). This Book has been in the works for well over a year and contains over 300 pages of Absurdist Magic Written by Rev. Billy F. Sasquatch with Glorious Contributions By:

Rev. MadQueen, Rev. Akana Shadowfyre, Rev. Lewis Carpathia, Doktor Metis O’Bedlam, Seth Moris, Thee Vicar Ov Tzeentch, Rev. Kiki, Ave Cthonos, Nyte, Vectress Ouroboros Ov the Qao, Monsignor Feldspar Ov Void, Alejandrew “Puffin” Paparox, Hokurai, Nylus, Beck Beckerton, and some random Discordians.

Funktastic Cover Illustration by Doktor Metis O’Bedlam

It has been a long road to this point and it has been a labor of love.

Enjoy:

http://www.scribd.com/doc/82132897/The-Pomegranate-Prophecies

makhno_flag_big

Occult Fatwa No.1

I have no idea what anything is anymore

Chaos magic is on eHow and Discordians are spamming their kickstarters to Reddit. Magic is Dead-usher in the Aeon ov Occelitism.

You want a sign WE caused 2012? The cruise ship Concordia flipped onto it’s side.

 

I used to be a Chaote, till I took a Qao to the knee.

 

Tonight I shall start the occult jihad. But this must be more then just coming up with nice memes and writing jokes and making videos. We must actually do the magic behind the meaning if we were are really going to be able to say fuck the police with a bit of integrity. So we are done plotting. The plans have been wrote up and the people are already in place. Orgone IED’s have been buried. This weeks game?

Simple

Kill a God.

7 days from this posting at least one Godform will be killed live on cam to prove We are serious about immanentizing the eschaton

Lets give the Neo Somethings and Tinfoil hatters something to REALY talk about.

[End Transmission]

129368423071

I Am The New I Am The Now

I AM THE NEW I AM THE NOW

I AM THE WE THAT IS THE I-ICU AND UCI

I am all that ever was and shall ever be, I am the resplendent cloak of the gods, casting the shadows in which my own magic dwells. I am the corn husks arranged into symbols that have stood long before and beyond both time and man. I am the fire that burns the highest this day and night, I am the God head cast out of Void.

I am the web that glistens forth upon this earth this day, the dew beads nodes and axis ways that form the cube that forms the torus made up of all that breath in the chill air and walk amongst us these hours, both seen and unseen. I am the wand I am the altar I am the blade I am the salt I am the cup that now runneth over. I am the macro and the micro.

The angels the dance upon the head of the pin are as those around the world dancing this day, uncountable and individually unknowable. However this is of no consequence today. For today we are all magic we are all the living occult, the beating pulse of The Infinite and with these words I unlock its majesty to unfold and caress the We that is the I. I am alone in the universe simply because I am the universe, and tonight the universe celebrates.

I am the new I am the now. The Infinite Current is here, partake my friends partake, and weave with me the basket to collect the mirth and joy of the stars.

Happy Samhain INFN

 

 

wizard

A Story

There begins a time when one; done of questioning his birthright, finally stops and puts an ear to the keyhole, firmly listening to the rapture on the other side of the precipice. With shaking hand they make the motions of a man far beyond their current years and striving for perfection kick open the door to the cosmos. And for a second that is indeed timeless they are pleased in their actions, calling themselves learned and wise in their ways.

They are but lost in the garden of a self willed Eden., cast to burn the dawn with blistered feelings. After awhile though they find themselves waking atop a sun worn rock called delusion, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and hacking the taste of wine from their lips. It is then that they will pick up the rod and whip thy self into a frenzy of returning angst from the hallway they once strolled down, thinking they have scorned their chance at illumination.

Sometime in most, it can take a long long time to heal from these scars and to put the rod back for the next. It is at this time one spins the wool of dogma into a cloth to hide the marks of self shame and beings to walk in a blind direction, seeking solace on a road far away from that place. And soon the dust will cake there lungs and cause great misdeeds and false truths to issue forth to all those they meet while walking, never stopping to gaze into an eye or ask of a man the time, for the neat and sweat of their cloth has driven them mad yet again and the see not the hems torn and felt in tatters falling away from them.

Till they come retching to a stop and are helped by those around them. Asking but why are you nude like a babe? Take from me this water and fill you vessel thusly, you are a fool to be out such as this. And they shall gather around him and offer him the beads and trinkets they have formed as well to cover him up. And in this moment shame and confusion shall rush up at him and violently he shall cast doubt upon those that helped him to this feet, for was not his the best cloth he spun for himself and those others but a sham, and are their wares not crude baubles in this haze, their clothing patched and patched anew?

So he will slap away at himself and and hide deep beneath the shade of the woods to the side of the path he wandered and stepping through those leaves he will see that colored strips hang from thorns and that he is scabbed from walking through these great bushes of truth while seeing only cobblestones in his minds minds eye. And he will then taste the true hunger in his breast and reach up and pluck the fruit none forbid but himself and picking the scabs from his flesh he will mingle thine blood with the juices and sweet nectar will intoxicate and refresh his mind anew.

And again he will awaken, under a glimmering light, the moon looking own upon him in the mud, and of this he will collect the clay and sticks and rhines and fashion himself a mask and go back to those on the road he left. Stealing their fire he will cast up ad light to those he surrounds and speak in tongues he did not know he had and they shall scorn and beat upon him with their bags and dry dust from the ashes of their sleeping fires. And fallen and forgotten he shall crawl back into the forest and nurse his wounds at the edge of a milky pond.

And after a time he will hear voices ring out from beyond the aether and before his eyes will dance the hidden creatures of the forest, and before him shall stand the mushroom king. And he will tell him him to eat o his flesh and that those out there are damned and the man will be tempted and go to eat, but in the light of the true moon will he see the bone of those before him strewn upon the ground and brightly painted and cobbled into flutes of the forest people. And he shall tear away from that embrace and the howls of those will spur him out of the glade and onto the doorstep of a multi-toned and winking city.

And there he shall find the rod he left so long ago and hold ti up, and in it will the lights shine back upon his face and tell him of his fate. And nude and proud he will hop the gate and walk among the people who stumble blinded by the light of their city and he will talk of his travels but be told that there is nothing but their own glory by those he meets and again be asked to cloth himself in their marvelous hues.

Shocked and dismayed he will throw open the gates and a meeting of those who lived there and those who walked will occur and they will be shocked to turn and look for the man they now call hero and messiah, for he will not be among them.

He will be back where he began, having used thy rod to guide him. And using it one last time he will pry up the rock on which he once lay and see under it names and rods all different and many. And he will add his to the list and bury hos tool among those. And to the door he once opened when he thought himself a child he will blow the dust and webs of aeons from it to see and stand where he did before. Only this time facing the opposite way he will see a door that was behind him him, and like a child he will put his ear to the keyhole.

StarscapeA

Words and such

Unfolding into things i once thought of as silly while letting go of these silly things i took seriously, evolving beyond beyond the rock and the self and into great new mysteries of the night and sun. There is nothing there but love, all else was the true web, and i was almost a fly.

 

There is nothing ever but self actualization, all is is misery in gaudy paint. These things too shall pass, if they take you with them is only up to the animal inside us all.

 

Everything is a grand stage of vessels and self filling thoughts and synchronicity. Would you trade for power? You are already changing the world, there is nothing to change my darling, nothing to do but sink into the true flow and forget these hidden dogmas put on the self in times of desperation. We painted the rooms we are in because we could not cope with the Grey. We painted the self because something in us did not like this ugliness that we must face. I am forever not more the child.

 

We sleep now, in beds of honey and roses. For it is too scary to wake from these mediocre dreamscapes; can you not see that what you pine for is behind the lids!? Can you not see you already have it all for we are magic? I love you too much to let myself be blinded anymore. For fear of what you want is a devilish thing and it has sown seeds in us all from time to time.

 

There is naught but love, and it shortens the breath to think we already have it. One does not have to work for Ecstasy this is a teaching of the damned. There is nothing to hold back from except tearing away the film which we coated our selves in long ago, at the bequest of the true demons of this world.

 

There is nothing to hide from anymore my sweet, except yourself. Embrace it and become the stars in the heavens and dance with me yet again.

 

The eschaton has already been immantized, the rebellion has already been broadcast, we are living in the next great aeon of light, our eyes are just still developing to take in the hues. The world fights because fighting is what we have been taught, all they are fighting is themselves anymore, tantrums of the self loathing complex and the composition of hate.

 

I was there i speak from the heart i, but i no long miss these excuses, for i have cracked the sky and the things beyond he veil call forth for me to grab your hand and spiral ever outward. The shell of misery was never a home, just a crutch for those injured by others animals rebellions, for it is true when we must break out an away we do it without thinking and this can lead to blind striking out.

But in the end we are are the matter of the cosmos and dreams are just that, pale ghost figments of the beauty which is all around us.

 

Breath deep now, and come forth into this warmth with me, for you are free, and always were, take it in your hands now and become that which you where meant to always be.

voynich

Mechanical Berry Big Toe

It’s funny how little pink pills can cause waking nightmares. I feel like I’m walking through a wind tunnel, there is no rhyme to the reason anymore. Bubbling inconsistencies and self righteous trees, bows bent to black swam god of this primal age. Mechanical berries do justice to the reaLIEity and soon my trope will be wheeled out to the big reddit in the sky

I canz has delusions plz

These things are inconsequential to the grand mumb jumbo; feel me up with the juju, cosmetic water pillow with a bear trap inside. This is n a drill. Things are indeed different now

We shall see all the oceans recede back into the bat cave before too long, and we will be pulled like an 11yo caught in a riptide.  Life has nothing on me nigga so fuck you and your motley crue.

Warm fudge and a knights templar does not make for easy night. Although it might be alchemy I just don’t know.

 

So many rainbow catheters lay down like a huge line across the prime meridian.  Not just a big toe but THE WHOLE FOOT with the toe socks on. But I don’t know nothing bout nothing