Confrontation part 3

DAMMIT! He’s FUCKING WITH ME I know it!

I’m so sorry. Something slammed against my window this time. Hard. There’s no way I’m letting that fucking thing inside. I had to stop and inscribe the Tetragrammaton…well…I’ll explain further on down.

Last I left off, I was running towards my apartment. The fog was still thick on the ground, and by now I was sick and fucking tired of it. I’m exhausted by running and screaming and just…fucking everything. I’m tired of it all. Everything hurt so bad, and my legs were so sore that the fog felt like cobwebs holding my legs down. I stumbled through the dark and onto the road that led to my apartment, thinking to myself that the worst had to be over. But it wasn’t. It had really just begun.

In my defense, by this time I was so numb from my experiences that I wasn’t thinking. It took a while for me to notice at first, but I gradually came to realize that the street was completely empty. No cars, no people. Nothing. The police were supposed to be patrolling. No sign of them at all. I went from a slow run to a walk, and then just stopped together. No apartment lights were on. I turned around and looked for any sign of life, but as far as I could tell there wasn’t anything.

And then I heard laughter. Human laughter. It came from down the street at first. I ran forward to catch sight of it, but the laughing died down before I caught up to it. Then I heard it behind me, back from where I came. I turned around, and the laughter faded away. And then I heard it coming from everywhere. All around me, laughter filled the empty street. I couldn’t take it. I ran. Gods help me, I ran straight towards my apartment and never looked back.

I managed to open the door and slammed it behind me, locking it and then sliding down onto the floor. I was done. I was fucking done. I didn’t care anymore. It was over. The outside world could go fuck itself.

For about 10 minutes, I sat there in the darkness of my apartment trying to get back to a normal breathing pattern. My mind was too tired to even begin swimming through all the horrible things that had just happened. Suddenly there was a loud crash in my kitchen. I jumped up and backed up against the door. It sounded like something wooden had fallen against the kitchen tile. It took me a moment to realize it was one of the dining room set chairs my parents had given me. But that led me to wonder…what the Hell caused it to fall?

My mind gradually came to a conclusion too horrifying to accept. It was inside the house. It was in my fucking home.

I ran through the darkness into the hallway leading to my room, slamming against the wall with my shoulder as I clumsily stumbled around trying to find my way there. I traveled down the hallway, pushed against the door and opened it effortlessly. I flipped the light switch and slammed the door behind me, making sure to lock it. I fell back, too tired to stand up anymore.
I didn’t understand. What was it? What was fucking with my head? Did it want to kill me? Thousands of questions flashed through my head as I stared at my door in disbelief. What was happening? I crawled backwards on the floor over some paper. I looked down on it. It was the enormous print out of my Goetic summoning circle with the Operator Symbol in it.

And there it was. I’d come full circle. In my haste, in my arrogance, I’d invited this fucking thing in. But it had a name. I had given it a name. I knew for certain. It was Slenderman. It had to be. Nothing else made sense.

But I had a chance. I could fight it. The Ars Goetia brought it here, after all. I grabbed a nearby cloth, one I used to clean my glass table, and wrapped it around my hand. On it, I inscribed the Tetragrammaton, and bound within was the Operator Symbol. I was going to need this to finish the ceremony to banish this motherfucker from whence he came.

I set up a few candles in the parameter and light them and start doing the Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram with some modifications. At first things were going smoothly and I could get the incantation off. That is, until I heard something knocking at my door. The door to my room. I choked out the rest of the incantation as the knocking got more violent. A tentacle smashed through the door, tearing a fucking hole in the wood. It lashed out towards me just a few short syllables before I could finish the final Keys to the Abyss and wrapped around my throat, choking me and lifting me into the air. Two more tentacles came out from the darkness of the hallway, one grabbing each of my hands before I had much of a chance to move at all. I struggled as my brain was deprived of oxygen and the color gradually faded from my vision.

Somehow, I freed one of my hands, and thank the Gods it was the one with my Sigil cloth. Tetragrammaton firmly in hand, I grabbed the appendage around my throat. I couldn’t see what happened, but it let go. I could feel the intense heat from the contact between the sigil and the thing’s…skin? I don’t know, all I know is that it let go of my fucking throat and I could breathe once more. I almost wish it hadn’t. I almost wished it had fucking killed me, to spare me the sight. Dozens of the fucking tendrils had exploded into my room, slithering into everything I own from the darkness beyond. I had one shot at this. I kicked the candle at the edge of the summoning circle and onto the paper. The edge caught on fire.

Zazas, Zazas, Nasatanada Zazas! I breathed out, completing the last utterance of the Key of the Abyss.

The flames from the paper burned through the Circle of Solomon, and the tentacles pulled themselves off the surfaces, thrashing wildly in the air before catching on fire. Each one slowly started to burn and pulled out from my room, illuminating the rest of the apartment in a putrid green glow. I backed up into the foot of my bed, terrified as the darkness receded. I waited in silence for a good twenty minutes. I finally got up and looked out my window into the night. The fog was starting to dissipate. I started to feel like I was safe again. For now.

I spent the next half an hour up until these updates warding this room with Tetragrammaton symbols and Operator Symbols. My room is completely warded. I’ve religiously been reading up on Slenderman and trying to learn as much as I can. From what I gather, this isn’t over with. Not by a long shot. I’ve got plans to implement the Ars Goetia next as a final defense, this time with other demons instead of this Slenderfucker.

I decided to include a picture of my Tetragrammaton charm at the bottom. I’ve also included a picture of the original Tetragrammaton as a point of reference, I drew this in a hurry so parts of it might not be clear.

Jesus. I don’t even know anymore. I’m sorry readers. I’m sorry Kal. I’m only glad that you aren’t dead yet. I’m going to figure this out, I promise.

Love Under Will
93/93

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Confrontation, part 2

I apologize for the abrupt stop. In the middle of my typing I heard something move just outside the window. Given the events I was in the process of telling you about, I’m not in any mood to fuck around and let things slide. I did some investigating, but I couldn’t find a damn thing. I guess now that that’s over with, I can resume from where I left off.

I heard the gravel shift from within the grotto, but I could not discern how or where. Everything around me was still empty, with no figure in sight. I took a step back from the altar as fear swelled in my chest and tripped on something. I fell on my ass and looked down at what I thought at first was a snake coiled around the base of the altar. Only I realized that this thing had no eyes, or a mouth. It was a long, solid black mass of darkness slithering across the floor, and it wasn’t alone. On either side of the altar, three, maybe four more of the long slick appendages slid out of the fog and around the stone construct in the middle of the grotto.

I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. I don’t know why I didn’t.

I scrambled on my hands and feet backwards, till my head bumped against the crucifix. I looked up at it as the light shone down into the room. The diffuse light of the lamps above the crucifix shone onto the fog and partially illuminated the writhing black masses in pale light, making them shift in the fog like the long fingers of some malevolent and incorporeal spirit, like shadow puppets bleeding into their hazy surroundings. It was at one with the mist, which took on a new and gruesome character with the arrival of these avatars of darkness. The tentacles slid downward onto the floor, getting lost in the heavy fog. I heard the terrible sound of gravel being moved again. They were coming for me.

I’m thankful that I somehow managed to maintain enough resolve to do something. With no way of escaping the grotto behind me, I did the only thing I could have done to escape. I leapt up, pushed down one of the racks holding the candles, and ran forward. I leapt onto the altar, eager to get my feet out of the fog and away from the tentacles that slid down below. I looked outside again, uncertain as to what lay out there. I couldn’t make out anything in the dense fog, but I knew that out there could be no worse than being stuck in here with those things. I leapt down from the altar towards the only way in our out of the grotto and immediately turned right as soon as my boots hit grass. Behind me, the all too familiar scraping sound became more pronounced. I scrambled forward as I frantically tried to make my way towards the stairs. Faster I ran as behind me, the slithering became louder, this time on grass and away from the gravel. I reached forward…and ran into the chain link fence. Suddenly, I was filled with pure terror. No, it wasn’t possible. The chain link fence was in front of the grotto. I hadn’t gone that way. I should have been at the stairs! How did I get here?

I screamed and kicked the fence, then climbed over it as fast as I could. As I hit the ground on the other side I heard something hit the fence. One of the appendages had ran into the chain link fence. The tendril slid upward along the metal links. I put one hand along the fence and ran parallel to it as fast as I could, determined not to lose my place again in this fucking fog. After running a good 40 feet, I leapt over the fence and ran forward where I was almost certain the hill sloped up towards the parking lot outside the newest dorms. Mid run I stopped and turned around. I couldn’t hear movement anymore. There I was, in the middle of this thick fog, and everything was dead quiet except for the beating of my heart. I took deep breaths and walked backward, slowly. My mind raced. Somehow, the silence was even more frightening than the damned noise those tentacles made. I had no fucking clue where those things were coming from. And then I slipped again, but not on a tentacle. My heel hit something hard, and I feel back…onto a flight of cement stairs.

No. No, the first time I mighta gotten lost in the fear and confusion but there was no fucking way that I’d gotten to where I was. This isn’t possible, and I swear by it. I looked up and sure as Hell, there were the cement steps, the metal handrails, and the dense foliage on either side above the stone walls. I didn’t understand how I’d gotten there, but I realized that I didn’t care. I could finally get up the hill and towards the damn street. I clawed my way up the steps til I got on my two feet and made it to the top. There was the sign with the familiar “Lady of Lourdes Grotto” written on it. I never thought I’d be so fucking happy to see those words written on a bunch of scrap metal before. My heart was racing. I was panting heavily, trying desperately to breathe again at a normal rate. But the fog was still thick. I knew I wasn’t safe. I had to make it back to the apartment.

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Slenderman is real. God...I'm so sorry Kal

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I just spent the last hour putting wards and pentagrams on pieces of paper taped across my room. Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram done at least 4 times. I don’t know if any of this is going to work. I’m just praying it does. The Goetia is next. Burning through candles like mad. Everything is completely fucked. Fuck. I’m scared.

If you’re reading this…I’m sorry. I owe you all an apology. I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up bad.
Lemme explain.

I finished studying for my accounting exam by about 9:00 at night. Deciding I’d had enough and I wanted to visit the grotto for some me time, I picked up my iPod and headed out the front door. The night was young, and I had a lot of listening to do. As soon as I stepped outside, the first thing I noticed was the fog. It was thick and covering the ground. I got excited, thinking to myself that I was so damn glad that the atmosphere was so gloomy and spooky. My mind flashed to the story about the boy I had posted just yesterday. All of this was perfect for Rosetta Stone. I closed the door, briefly considered bringing a bottle of absinthe with me, then decided that I’d rather just wait until afterwards. I didn’t exactly want to lug all the stuff I needed to prepare it, and I didn’t wanna put it in a bottle either. It would get warm without ice, but if I put the ice in the drink to keep it cold it would just water the mix down further.

Reading this, I gotta tell ya that I’m actually, genuinely laughing. Not four hours ago my fucking absinthe mix was the biggest problem of my night.

Jesus fucking Christ.

So I stepped out into the night. It was a bit cooler than normal, but still a bit too warm for a jacket. Fishnets and a t-shirt gave me all the warmth I’d need. I walked out of the apartment area and into the campus, slowly making my way to the grotto. The whole time, London After Midnight played through my headphones. I was completely oblivious to the world around me, enjoying the night air and the mysterious fog that playfully wrapped around my ankles as I stepped further and further towards the grotto.

I made it to the steps and descended deeper into the gloom, til I could make out the shine of the lamps above the cross in the grotto. The fog diffused the light into the air, creating a soft glow just outside the entrance. I stepped in and looked up at the crucifix hanging behind the altar along the back wall. The metal racks on either side held an assortment of candles, some lit and some snuffed out. Three bouquets of roses were placed on the altar, soaking in orange juice jugs filled with water. Clashed with my mood a bit, but I wasn’t gonna let a little thing like cheap plastic containers spoil my night.

So I stood between the altar and the cross, plugged in my headphones to my iPod, and started listening to the melancholic melodies of Rosetta Stone. I imagine I got through a couple of songs, but I dunno how long I was just listening to the songs. I was blissful and enjoying myself, lost in the music and the feel of the night. I don’t know why I was pulled out of my reverie, but at some point I had caught something indistinct moving in the corner of my eye. I turned around and looked out of the grotto into the dense fog. It had gotten thicker. I could barely see a few feet out. The chain link fence wasn’t even visible. In the distance I caught sight of that movement again. There was a shadow framed in the pale white mist. I shouted out to it, gods know why. I pulled my headphones out of my ears, wondering if he or she might be shouting something at me. But there was nothing, no response. I waved my arms to get their attention, but still nothing. Then, without warning, they faded into the mist, leaving no trace of their existence. I shrugged, figuring it wasn’t my problem. But I still felt uneasy. Something about this scene wasn’t settling well with me.

I approached the altar and stood between it and the cross. I laid my arms to rest against it and looked out into the fog, searching for any hint of movement. I don’t really know what I was hoping to see, but I couldn’t make out a thing. For once, I wasn’t so glad about this damned mist. My joyful mood was giving way to anxiousness and worry, and I wasn’t even sure why. What was it about the shadow I saw out there, somewhere in that endless abyss of dreary white? What about it had my stomach tied in knots?

Everything was quiet. A strange, uncomfortable sort of quiet when you’re expecting something to happen and it doesn’t, like watching something beautiful hanging on the edge and you know it’s going to fall and shatter into a million pieces. I waited in silence as the fog rolled and settled like a pale white sea. And then, I heard it. A rustling in the foliage somewhere nearby. It was faint, but getting louder. It sounded as if someone were making their way towards the grotto.

I looked around, scanning the nearby vicinity for any figures in the night. But I could see nothing. I leaned over the altar to get a better view, making sure to keep it between me and whatever was still outside the grotto. The sound changed, from a rustling of leaves and grass to something scraping across gravel, but I still couldn’t see a damn thing. But then I realized something. Something terrible, which made my stomach turn as I struggled to keep down its contents. If it was scraping across stone and gravel, it had to be inside the grotto with me.

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Quick Random Update

So I got a brand new CD in. Rosetta Stone's Adrenaline Deluxe! It's a fantastic album! I love it, it's a bit like Fields of the Nephilim but got a bit more rock 'n roll and less of a Western feel to it. I really, really dig this album! So many good songs so far, like this one.

Now, usually when I get a new album I like to really immerse myself in it. Usually this means finding some good, atmospheric place to listen for a little while. Every single song on the album gets at least one play through. It's kinda hard to pull off on a relatively boring campus like my own, but there is one place that I can think of where listening to Rosetta Stone would be perfect. Our university has this "grotto" that's like a mini prayer/worship area. It's small and made of stone, cut into part of the large hill. Inside is a single altar for the worship area and some cherubs and such in the masonry. The back wall has an enormous crucifix and a large metal stand that holds a bunch of candles. There's a statue outside of I think the virgin Mary.

Basically the grotto is situated between the soccer field/track and the rest of the campus, facing the soccer field. There's a set of stairs leading down the hill to the soccer field. When you hit the bottom of the stone steps, you can go straight and make it to the benches in front of the track. But to your left at the bottom of the steps is the grotto. I took some pictures of it a while back with a terrible camera when I was out with some friends.

I know! So delightfully Goth, and perfect for Rosetta Stone. I apologize for the lighting, and that I snapped the photos rather quickly. But I think you get the general idea. It's beautiful. Tonight I'm gonna be busy, but tomorrow is National Absinthe Day, so I can't imagine anything better than going to the grotto with a bottle of my favorite drink in the whole world and rock out to Rosetta Stone til way too early in the morning. I'm getting excited just thinking about it!

Oh, there was something else that deserves mention. When I was going through freshman orientation, one of the alumni got all the incoming freshman together and started telling them all sorts of ghost stories about the campus. My favorite one actually took place in the grotto! The story goes like this; two students from the university were walking back from the soccer field to their dorms late one night. One of the students, having just finished a strenuous run, decided he wanted to stop and take a rest at the grotto. The two sat down and started chatting, and all of the sudden an eerie fog appeared. The fog was so thick that they could only see a few feet out, not even far enough to spot the chain link fence surrounding the track. Everything seemed empty and desolate. Both boys were nervous, but neither wanted to tell the other how scared they were, and so they told jokes to disguise their anxiousness. As their laughter died down, the boys heard footsteps coming down the cement steps. Both stood up and watched a younger student emerge from the fog. The two boys introduced themselves to the new arrival. The boy shook their hands and introduced himself as well. He was a new student who was eager to start classes and make new friends.

The three of them sat down on the benches and started talking. All three had a fondness for soccer, which occupied most of the discussion. Then the newcomer started asking questions about professors and opinions on different classes, which the other two were more than eager to give advice about. The discussions went on as the boys, wrapped up in their pleasant conversation, lost all track of time. Eventually, the youngest boy stood up and stretched. He told the other two that he had greatly enjoyed the conversation, but it was time for him to leave. The other two, concerned, asked him if he was so sure he wanted to leave while the fog was still thick. The newcomer smiled at them both and told them he was sure he would be able to make his way back. He turned around and walked out into the mist, but before he was lost in its murky depths he shouted back at them to be careful, because it was going to start raining soon. Both boys felt a chill run down their spine as the third disappeared into the night, but neither was willing to admit that they were slightly afraid at the strange warning the boy had given them. They sat down and went back to discussing classes when, not five minutes after the newcomer had left, they heard a thunderclap in the distance. Both boys stood up and scrambled up the hill, hoping to outrun the rain.

The next morning, both boys kept an eye out for the new student, but never found him. They asked around, but no one knew of anyone who fit the description. They eventually started asking about the boy by name, and no one had ever heard of anyone by that name before. That is, until they asked a friend they met up with at the library. The librarian overheard their conversation and seemed very dismayed, asking the two boys about the newcomer. When they described him, the librarian's face turned pale. She took the boys up to the old news archive and pulled out a newspaper. There was a picture of him in a newspaper published six years earlier. The story had been written a few weeks into the semester of his first year in college. He had been walking home late one foggy night from a soccer field when, while crossing the street above the grotto to head back to his dorm, he was struck by a car traveling too fast to see him in the mist. The boy had been pronounced dead at the scene.

I don't put much belief in the story myself. Seems like the kind of thing they tell freshmen as part of the bonding experience, but just the same it was really freaking cool and totally adds to the spooky atmosphere. Maybe Rosetta Stone will bring out the ghost of that mysterious boy?

Here's to partying with the restless dead.
Love Under Will
93/93

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HELP I'M BEING STALKED BY SLENDERMAN! WHAT DO I DO?!?! FUCK!!!!!

Hah! Saps. Half of you read the title and clicked thinking OMFG THIS FICTIONAL INTERNET CONSTRUCT HAS STRUCK AGAIN!!!!!!

Alright, so lemme give this a bit of context. Remember my arthaus post? Well it seems to have gotten the better of me! I was trolling the net for interesting indie horror films because I’m tired of the drivel that gets presented in modern day horror cinema. My ideal horror film experience does not involve watching people get tortured for an hour and a half. Sorry “Saw” and “Hostel.” Anywho, one I kept seeing referred to online was this flick called “Marble Hornets.” So I checked it out and…would you believe it, it was that Slenderman stuff Kal sent me! A live action film and everything! I highly recommend it if you haven’t seen it. Just youtube Marble Hornets, it’ll lead you to the channel. It’s a series of rather well done short videos about this Slenderman character. I wasn’t all that taken with Slenderman himself, but I absolutely adored ToTheArk and his films. The director made some brilliant stylistic choices!

Anywho, the troll baiting is there because as I went to see if there were any other directors making movies like this (similar to the Hellraiser series getting licensed to a bunch of people…though admittedly only the ones officially done by Clive Barker were any good), I stumbled upon this bizarre community and…get this…people actually BELIEVE this shit. I’m all for IC stuff, I play RPGs plenty. And for a second that’s what I thought was going on but…no. No people actually think he exists. That's why Kal got so encouraged I'm sure. So the title was there to freak out any of those lunatics who religiously google search Slenderman to find out who he’s been stalking lately.

Guys, seriously. Get a life. Go outside.

No? Alright. I'll make you a deal.

See this?

THIS is the Circle of Solomon. Beautiful design. It's used in the Ars Goetia and a bunch of other rituals. And that thingy in the middle is apparently called "the Operator Symbol." I guess it does something fancy and Slendy related. So you paranoid rocket scientists who are just now putting two and two together can probably guess what I've got planned. That's right, I'm going to summon Slenderman. Oh and this has been carefully thought out, for all you detail oriented losers out there. Consider the Tulpa theory, as explained in (Slenderia).



See, if Slenderman exists because he exists as a thoughtform, then the Ars Goetia is a perfect choice for bringing him forth. As you might have read in a previous blog of mine the Ars Goetia is believed to summon "internal demons" or archetypes from the mind. So it should bring Slendy right to me. Bonus points if you believe in that absurd Crowley variant of the Tulpa theory. So the plan is to print this baby out on larger paper from the office later tonight and finish the ritual. Office won't notice the large paper so we're good!

I expect you dorks to type me up messages about how I'm playing with fire and dooming myself to certain death, yadda yadda yadda. I'm going to ignore these. And continue with the ritual. And I assure you that weeks, months, and even years from now I'll still be alive. Or if I'm not, it won't be due to Slender-related causes.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go out and talk to human beings. Because that's what people do when they aren't imaging themselves to be the targets of fictional horror monsters.


As always,
Love Under Will
93/93

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In Defense of Arthaus

It’s 4 in the morning. I haven’t slept. Lights are off, but the screen is too bright. Still wearing shades. Cheap pair, ten bucks. Hot coffee sitting beside the laptop. Black, no sugar. From the computer speaker blares Ephel Duath. Avant-gard jazz-fusion metal. The screen lights up. Another message. My good friend from Australia compliments me on this rare find. I’ve got work in four hours. I minimize the chatbox and press pause on the youtube player. Scroll to the next video. Sopor Aeternum’s “In Der Palastra.” A man in drag dances slowly back and forth in his apartment. The video is shot in black and white, framed in a photo as if it were being saved in a scrapbook. Illegible words scroll across the screen along with the music.

Pretentious? Maybe. But if you think that might prevent me from enjoying this morning’s relaxation ritual by telling me I only like it to seem sophisticated, then you can go fuck yourself. I’ve had this argument twice this week. I went back home this weekend to visit my family and brought a bottle of absinthe with me. My mother gave it a try since the alcohol content is greatly diluted when you water it down. She was absolutely convinced it was terrible, which is fine. I do not begrudge her. But then I told her I was interested in acquiring a more expensive bottle from Emile Pernot (link here) for my birthday and she told me I was being pretentious. A 100 dollar bottle of absinthe tastes just as terrible as a 30 or 40 dollar bottle, she assures me. Never mind she never even knew the drink existed prior to my bringing it home for consumption. No, any bottle of alcohol that costs over 50 dollars must naturally only be drunk by pricks pretending to be high society.

Later, when I returned from my weekend at my family’s place I was talking to a friend about a project we were assigned in my film appreciation class. She was doing hers on a specific movie, and I was doing it over French New Wave cinema. She rolled her eyes and asked me how terrible the movies I had seen were. I told her I actually quite enjoyed “Breathless,” it was charming and a very pleasant change from the movies I was used to seeing. I had plans to watch other films by Goddard set up for this weekend in fact. Que the 10 minute rant about how I was trying too hard to act like a cinema snob.

I get the obnoxious behavior of those who enjoy these things because they feel it makes them cultured or sophisticated. I am not, however, cultured or sophisticated. I play Saints Row II. I listen to Blood Sucking Zombies from Outer Space, Zombie Ghost Train, and other fun psychobilly/gothabilly/horror punk bands. Nor do I pretend to be high society. But I find it very amusing that I am apparently not allowed to like certain things because they make me seem like I’m trying to seem like I’m part of something that I’m very openly not a part of. If you read that last sentence and actually understood what it meant, slap yourself right now. I’m gonna go back to my expensive absinthe, black coffee, weird experimental metal, zombie movies, alt porn, and my assortment of 90’s cartoons including SWAT KATS and Pirates of Dark Water. Because fuck you, that’s why.


As always,
Love Under Will
93/93

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Crowley and His Appearence In "Slenderman"

So for the sake of my friend Kal over at Father of Light (http://michenab-fatheroflight.blogspot.com/) and the guy who posts the stuff at Slenderia, I’ve decided to write this little essay about Aleister Crowley and how he’s been used in this bizarre internet horror story phenomenon (here’s the article I’m specifically referring to: http://slenderia.blogspot.com/2011/02/other-origin-ideas.html). Before I even begin, I’m well aware that accuracy isn’t exactly what counts here. It’s about creativity and story-telling. I’ve known people who get rather worked up about inaccurate representations of Uncle Al, and to some degree I can understand that. But there really aren’t that many characters in the occult world who have his notoriety and fame. So I understand why everyone likes using him in their stories, and I don’t begrudge them.

But my friend Kal thinks he…or maybe a little girl or something, I wasn’t paying much attention…SOMEONE is getting chased by this thing and wants to know how plausible this particular storyhook is. I guess the big thing in this little writing exercise is that there isn’t an accepted background story so people come up with their own. At least, that’s what I gathered in the 10 minutes I spent skimming the subject over at Slenderia. Normally when Kal asks me something like this (no, it’s not the first time…) I’d slap him silly for believing in internet fiction. But the fellow over at Slenderia who isn’t crazy and has a firm grip on reality mentioned having an occult contact he couldn’t reach who could verify the facts of the story. I figured I’m already here and reading it, so I’d do him and my friend Kal a favor. Maybe then Kal can quit bugging me on Facebook chat or sending me IMs while I’m at work or in class.

Now that all that has been taken care of…here’s what I’ve got. Unfortunately the beginning section and the early history presented in this story hook I can’t much comment on. Most of my understanding of occultism is spotty, focused on Hermeticism and the likes. I don't study Rosicrucianism because I've just never really cared. Don’t know about the Initiated Brothers of Asia either. Maybe they're real, maybe they aren't, maybe they get the same treatment the Freemasons do and they're just some random fraternity frequently accused of trying to take over the world Pinky-and-the-Brain style. The Buddhist connection could very well be legitimate, given that Crowley himself was heavily influenced by the Buddha. But that doesn't really substantiate it enough for me to say that it is likely. Crowley was into everything.

The section on Hitler and the Occult is pretty weak. People put a disproportionate amount of attention to his interests in Hollow Earth Theory and the likes, as Slenderia points out. He sort of just rubber-stamped everything Himmler was interested in because it promoted Aryanism. Now, there is some legitimately crazy shit that Himmler believed in (hair was an antenna used to communicate with aliens...yeah...) but it never got enough off the ground to the degree that the Nazis were mass-producing space ships/flying saucers. They had other nonsensical war weapons to waste precious resources on.

The Aleister Crowley stuff is fairly well researched in a sort of “wide-but-shallow” sort of way. If you spent about 10 minutes on Wikipedia, you’d come up with what this guy developed but would miss a lot of the content of what Crowley taught. The Parsons/Crowley link is quite real, and L. Ron Hubbard's theft of their rituals is well documented. That "The Babylon Working" was one of them is incorrect. The Book of the Law has no such ritual. It's really short, you can scan it yourself.

http://www.sacred-texts.com/oto/engccxx.htm

The closest link you can come from that is that Parsons (and theoretically Hubbard) believed that the Babylon Working that THEY wrote together (and NOT Crowley) was actually the Fourth Chapter of the Book of the Law. Which is bullshit, plain and simple. Likewise, the claim of WHAT the Babylon Working did is incorrect, and requires a bit of explanation. Crowley believed that society evolved spiritually by Aeons. Though the word seems to have a time-oriented connotation, the amount of time is fairly inconsequential. Aeons represented different stages of the collective human consciousness. The First Aeon was the Aeon of Isis, where spirituality was characterized by worship of the Feminine Divine as the source of life and love. Cycles of life and death, rebirth, so on and so forth were more common and tied to the seasons. The second Aeon was the Aeon of Osiris, pushed by religions of death and obsessions with the underworld. Christianity would be considered a product of the Aeon of Osiris, with its strongly masculine/patriarchal bent and its fixation with Christ’s suffering and death. Denial was another big part of the Aeon of Osiris. The big one was the denial of reproduction (Osiris being rebuilt without his penis, manifested in the Christian and Muslim denial of sex). The Third Aeon, which Crowley said he was the prophet of, was the Aeon of Horus. This requires a bit more explanation of Crowley's magickal theories.

Taken partially from the Kybalion and other Hermetic workings (those of Hermes Trismagestis, Thrice Great Hermes) Hermeticism maintains that the central force of the universe is opposites. Crowley believed that motion in the universe was derived primarily from the tension between opposites, which is why he loved sex so much. This tension was seen by Crowley as the force which moved and motivated societies. As previously noted, the Aeon of Isis as the first Aeon was strongly feminine. It was followed by the strongly masculine Aeon of Osiris (YHVH worship in his myriad of forms). The Aeon of Horus was supposed to represent the product of the tension between the previous Feminine Aeon and the previous Masculine Aeon made manifest. Hence, the son of Isis and Osiris, Horus. It was to represent an age where mankind would begin it’s march towards Enlightenment and awakening. It was still primarily masculine because the Aeon represents the process of Enlightenment, but had not reached the harmony and balance of the two forces that was key. It isn't until the 4th and final Aeon of human consciousness that Enlightenment is attained, at the beginning of the Age of Ma'at (Balance, equalized/harmonized tension between masculine and feminine).

Where this is relevant to the Babylon Working is that its purpose was basically to mess with the progression of the Aeons. It was meant to invoke the Divine Feminine Archetype to awaken the masculine-dominated essence of society. There was no "other dimension" involved. Parsons was simply trying to awaken society into what he perceived to be a superior thought process through poorly thought out rituals, ignoring the fact that Aeons have a flow.

*phew*

And then he got to this part.

"Consider the following: Having invited these entities into our reality, it is no where tacitly implied that they must behave according to the "accepted" norms of trans-dimensional beings, i.e., they need not appear as pedestrian spooks such as poltergeists and gray alien/zeta reticulans. If these entities, or "Tulpas" are drawing energy from the psychic fabric of which they are cut, why should they be anything BUT menacing, evil, and bent on our grievous harm? Having sprung from the work of at least one Fascist Dictator, one Megalomaniacal Shyster, The Holy Roman Catholic Church, and countless government agencies, not to mention hundreds, perhaps THOUSANDS of ethically dubious ritual magick cooperatives, how could these beings POSSIBLY be anything other than horrifying? "

No. That has nothing at all to do with Crowley and Parsons. I see what he's trying to say, but it's a very disjointed reading of what Crowley preached.

The Conscious Mind is in no way, shape, or form in control of the spiritual. Crowley believed in the True Will, which could best be surmised as the absolute Destiny of a human being, their past present and future all at once. The consciousness is merely an attempt to understand the world in a logical manner as it happens. The ego merely absorbs information from the world and attempts to understand where it is going. Crowley was very Buddhist in his outlook (Siddhartha was actually one of his Gnostic Saints; http://www.thelemapedia.org/index.php/The_Gnostic_Saints ). Yes, he believed in the Self. The Self was like a planet in orbit, while the fabric of the universe could be considered the entire solar system. The point of reality was to have every planet orbit as intended, almost like a natural law (gravity). In other words, it is not the planet which acts as the force of magick, but gravity attempting to bring the planet back. When a Thelemite does magick, he or she does so with the intent of bringing his or herself closer to their true orbit. Socio-cultural elements will NEVER be an element in Thelemite magick, because to produce that change requires knowing the True Will, which doesn’t respond to such trivialities. The True Will is eternal. It knows that things and forms change, and that everything is temporary. It aims to be a part of that change, not subvert it for its own gratification as the ego does.

Another way of thinking about it is that all objects have a place in the grander scheme of things. Our egos are how we process information, but they lack the ability to see and understand the bigger picture. The ego does the only thing it is aware of, which is gratify itself. It cannot produce change, because it needs an established system to use for its own ends. This is why people self destruct, why people engage in damaging behavior over and over again, and why people lose control of their lives. Magick is “"the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will”. Naturally, if the ego is incapable of change then an ego-driven individual, who exists to serve the entrenched structures which gratify it, cannot use magick. Only those who have communed with their True Will and work towards awakening beyond the confines of the ego are capable of successfully doing magick.

"These energies, Tulpas, thoughforms, spirits...whatever you choose to call them, have been the "Secret Chiefs" of the human race for as long as we have deigned to possess extraordinary powers. By making a gentleman's agreement we allow these "raw energies" into our dimension, allow them free reign, and all for the asking price of being granted powers which, in a parallel universe, are probably as commonplace as speech or hearing are, here in "our" dimension. Such is the Slender Man."

No. Just...no. That was not the point of the Babylon Working. That isn't even remotely the point of the Babylon Working. This is pure fiction.

The guy's done his research, though. There are quite a few elements of truth in it and the rest is connected reasonably well for a work of fiction. A lot of it probably came second hand from conspiracy theorists who skim the bare minimum of a working to find what they want and then move on. But if you want entertainment then it works. It's close enough to the truth that wiki hopping will lead you to these results if you're in the mind set to accept these conclusions and then assume all facts as support (which all good conspiracy theorists are experts at). And considering the audience, most people won't want to actually READ any real Crowley, so it’s a pretty believable conclusion. Otherwise, no. There's some pretty big holes.

If you want some relatively hard evidence about all of the stuff this guy wrote, then the Thelemapedia is probably more effective. It gives you a better idea of what the author of that Slenderman tract was saying and where he took liberties with the source material. Essentially, wikipedia + imagination = what the author wrote. Wikipedia + The Book of the Law = spotting the holes.

http://www.thelemapedia.org/index.php/Babalon_Working
http://www.thelemapedia.org/index.php/Jack_Parsons
http://www.thelemapedia.org/index.php/The_Book_of_the_Law
http://www.thelemapedia.org/index.php/True_Will

The real sad part is that it would take very little work to link Slenderman to the real Parsons. Part of the reason he wanted to awaken the Feminine Divine was to create something called the "Moonchild," a child conceived entirely by spirit. One description of the working:

"The purpose of Parson's operation has been underemphasized. He sought to produce a magickal child who would be a product of her environment rather than of her heredity. Crowley himself describes the Moonchild in just these terms. The Babalon Working itself was preparation for what was to come: a Thelemic messiah."

Imagine if the ritual had gone wrong, perhaps corrupted by a certain alien-worshipping cult leader? Hmmm…maybe this IS your “Slenderman" after all Kal? Wouldn’t that be horrible?


Pleasant dreams, dear readers. Lock your doors, say your prayers, and as always,
Love Under Will
93/93

Edit: Damn! Looks like Thelemapedia is down. I guess the wikipedia on the Babylon working will suffice. It basically said what the Thelemapedia did.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babalon_Working

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