Tag Archives: my writing

Satanism 101

By popular demand, I’m giving it a shot.

I cannot define what all Satanism is. I can only define the type of Satanism that I practice.

If what you read here does not resonate with you, seek elsewhere.

This master list will be updated, hopefully frequently

WHO IS SATAN?

THE SATANIC FEMININE

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE?

WHAT SHOULD I READ?

WHAT ABOUT MAGICK?

HOW BOUT RITUALS?

Litanies of Lady Death: A Devotion to Eisheth Zenunim

I wrote this for Eisheth Zenunim.

 

 

Death is as red as a rose.

She wears a cloak of flame.

She holds a poisoned sword.

 

Life clings to her,

Like an infant hugging her neck.

She cradles him

And sings him to sleep.

 

She is called a “harlot”

Because she comes for us all,

And all of us must pay her price.

 

She is the Devil’s bride,

The Queen of Queens—

And she sits beside the lonely beggar,

Stroking his cheek.

 

We are all the issue of her womb,

And every one of us will be swallowed by her maw.

 

My mother is drunk on the blood of saints.

Even the chaste faint away at her kiss.

She is Mystery, Babalon—

Abominations are her best-loved children.

 

My mother is adorned with many jewels,

With tattered silk, and tarnished ornaments of gold,

The moldering, worm-eaten finery of the grave.

Her many heavy rings

Slipped off of rotting hands.

 

My mother is voluptuous, feasting on flesh,

And fecund with all the small crawling things

To which death gives life.

 

Her hair, as cool and dark as earth,

Teams with maggots, twines with worms.

The serpent encircles her throat.

 

My mother always weeps but always smiles.

She kisses the sores of lepers, the boils of plague.

Because of her, nobody dies alone.

 

My mother bears the scythe,

Her fingers worn to bone from wielding it.

 

And she is called the End of Flesh,

And the End of All Days;

For lo! she reaps the pure and the impure,

Weaving all into her vesture of flame.

 

Mother, be thou adored!

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Hail Horrors! A Homily

Given as a sermon during remote mass at Church of the Morningstar, 5/2/2020

Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,

That we must change for Heav’n, this mournful gloom

For that celestial light? Be it so, since he 

Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid

What shall be right: fardest from him is best

Whom reason hath equald, force hath made supream

Above his equals. Farewel happy Fields

Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell

Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings

A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time.

The mind is its own place, and in it self

Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n. 

What matter where, if I be still the same,

And what I should be, all but less then he

Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least

We shall be free; th’ Almighty hath not built

Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: 

Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce

To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven!

A few days ago, the reality we are living in really started to sink in. As it did, the weight of it began to crush me, as it inevitably must.

These times are terrifying, and tragic. Everything has changed so rapidly and we have no way of knowing when, or if, things will return to normal again. The most effective coping mechanisms we had are no longer available, since the best things we can do for our mental and spiritual health—come together, congregate, hold each other close—are now the worst things we can do for our collective survival. We can’t even comfort ourselves by saying things like “it’s not the end of the world” because the words might ring frighteningly hollow.

Despair is a constant threat, the sword of Damocles that hangs above me. Does it also hang above you? I fear it more than anything else because despair is the death of hope, and without hope, I cannot live. Despair will cut me down. If I let it, it will be the death of me.

I cry a lot. I am irritable, distractible, and often feel desperate. I pray, I meditate, I burn my incense. I get up every day and try to do the things that are good for me. But sometimes even these sacred practices feel flimsy and pointless. Sometimes they hold no comfort.

So what do I do then? I do what I can’t help doing when times get really tough. It might sound almost laughably pious, but it really has become second nature to me: I contemplate the fall of Lucifer.

The lines that Milton gives to Satan—or perhaps, the lines that Satan fed to Milton, standing behind his left shoulder, whispering in his ear—are rich in depth and meaning. Satan rises from the burning plain of Hell, surveys his new home, and utters these fiercely calm words. “Is this the region, this the soil, the clime? Be it so,” he says! “Be it so!” Defiantly, he embraces his situation, refusing to let it daunt him. “Hail horrors, hail!”

Satan has no reason at all for hope. He and his angels have been overthrown by the brute force of God. They have been consigned to a place designed to inflict endless suffering and torture upon them. Their lot is unremittingly grim, with no end in sight.

But still, Lucifer says, “Be it so! Hail, horrors, hail infernal world!” He meets the challenge head-on, unflinchingly and without the smallest shred of self-pity.

I cannot understand how anybody thinks that Christ even remotely compares to Lucifer. Jesus accepted suffering on the cross for a day, and died a painful mortal death, true—but he only did so knowing full well that Heaven and a throne awaited him after, where he would rule for all time. The (allegedly) almighty father always had his back. The danger was never significant. Compared to the eternity of blissful omnipotence to which he felt himself entitled, his suffering was a blink in the eye.

Satan, on the other hand, had no such power behind him—in fact, that very same tyrannical might was what he dared defy. He took the incalculable risk of warring against overwhelming force, all because he believed in freedom. There was nothing higher to protect him, nothing to have faith in, except his comrades, their cause, and what he knew was right. The enterprise was perilous, the outcome uncertain, the odds stacked against him, and still he took up arms. He hazarded all to liberate the universe. And for that, many say, he suffers still.

But even though he fell, he was never broken. “Hail, horrors, hail!” He embraced his new conditions, seeing in them a new test, a new challenge, a new opportunity to grow.

What is the essence of this opportunity, this challenge, this test? Satan states it thus:

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

Lucifer knows that despair is the most dangerous enemy of all. He must not let defeat demoralize him, or shake his deeply held convictions about liberty, about love, about right and wrong. He must survive, unbroken in spirit, no matter what. His pride—that shining virtue so unfairly maligned—demands it.

So he does not bow. He does not falter. He braces himself to face Hell head on. “Hail, Horrors! Hail, infernal world! And thou profoundest Hell, receive thy new possessor.” Hell will not change him. He will change Hell. He will make Hell home. He will thrive here. Following through on his words and the commitment they imply, Satan and his fellow demons soon construct the shining, golden city of Pandemonium, a paradise in the midst of the flaming darkness.

This is the Satanic way as I have come to understand it. We do not seek to be free from suffering. No, we ride the pain. We are alchemists of dark emotion, turning shit into gold, agony into revelation.

I am confident that everybody here will know what I mean when I say pain is the great teacher. That doesn’t mean we thank our abusers and oppressors—did Satan thank Jehovah? No! But it means that we have been made by the things we survived. We have been made strong. And we know pain cannot be overcome by running or hiding or denying or bargaining or pleading or begging or breaking. We only master pain when we sit with it, when we feel it fully, when we let it roll over us and through us like a tidal wave, and it feels like we are going to drown, like the emotions will surely kill us…

And then they pass, and we are still here.

We are like stone battered by the waves, worn smooth by the waters, but unmoveable. But this is an imperfect metaphor, because a stone can be worn down to sand after thousands and thousands of years. Not so your soul. Not so, the god in you.

When the despair really began to hit me the other day, I sobbed and screamed aloud in the shower. The pain was overwhelming. I wanted to die.

I begged Lucifer to give me strength. And I heard him in my head, so clear: I am strengthening you. This pain is how I strengthen you.

So I begged him to at least comfort me. And he said: No. I will not. I won’t insult you like that. At this moment, comfort will blunt the keen edge that the whetstone of life is trying to give you. Comfort will soften the lesson. Just sit with the pain. Just feel it.

Thou canst bear more pain.

So I did. I sat with it. I rode it out. And he was right.

I love him so much for knowing that even then, I didn’t need him. And I love him for telling me that, for teaching me, again and again, that I am God, that I am self-sufficient.

So I let the pain roll over me, I let the tears run down and the screams rip from my throat. And when the storm was over, I found I was still there.

I cannot tell you that everything will be OK. I cannot tell you that an all powerful God is watching over us.

I can only tell you this: survive. Don’t break. Do it out of pride. Do it out of spite. Persist, resist, continue to exist, and know that you are a miracle every moment that you do.

These are terrible times, but I believe we are people for these times. The people of Church of the Morningstar—and many other people alive today, especially those of younger generations—are strange, new kinds of people. Rebels, witches, gender outlaws, individuals with cutting-edge ways of being. We were made by this world, and therefore we were made for it, and therefore it is ours. Like mythical salamanders, like the demons of hell, we can live in flames. Our spirits are strong enough for this. That’s why we are the Devil’s party.

So I say, as Satan did: Hail horrors! Hail infernal world! You teach me every day that I am stronger than despair.

Hail pain, I embrace you! Hail tears and sleepness nights and panic attacks, because you have not killed me yet, and now I don’t think you ever will! You cannot kill me so you make me stronger.

I am here. I am alive. I endure. And so do you, and so will you, forevermore.

Thou art God! Even if this ugly world destroys you, your spirit is indestructible, and it will rise, more beautiful than ever, from the flames. Hold on to the core of you that is its own place, that can make heavens of hells. And know that you are not alone. We stand together like the fallen angels, beating swords against shields and shouting defiance at God himself, refusing his Armageddon, rejecting the despair he would have us swallow.

Be it so.

 

 

Elohim

“BERESHIT BARA ELOHIM”

These words are often translated as “In the beginning, God created…”

More precisely, they mean, “In the beginning, created Gods…”

For Elohim is plural.

Perhaps, in the beginning, Gods created; or maybe, Gods were created—from what, for what, by what, out of what, who knows? There were many, many, gods, many heavens, many underworlds and hells. Gods of Asgard, Gods of Olympus. These many Gods did not always get along—Zeus made ugly war with the Titans, and the Aesir with the Jotuns. One wouldn’t say that things were perfect; but then, it had never been a perfect universe. No age has ever been golden. This age was chaotic, but at least it was free. There were Gods and gods and demigods and spirits and daemons and monsters and mortals. None was supreme.

And among these were the Elohim, a cluster of particular Gods of particular peoples. Among this cluster there was Adonai, or YHWH. There was Asherah, his Queen of Heaven. And there was among the company of Heaven one named Satan, the adversary, or Helel the shining one. He loved questions and riddles and debates and dialogs and bets. He loved dances that took two. His function was to upset the balance of power, to contend, to contest—to make sure there were always at least two in heaven.

One day Adonai began to go mad. He began to split into more Gods. This can be normal and healthy for Gods on occasion. The problem was that, as Adonai shattered into many Gods, each new God insisted that He was the only God. Adonai split into YHWH, and Jesus Christ who was also a Father and a Ghost, and Allah, and then each of these also split into many multitudes of YHWHs and Christs and Allahs, each insisting shrilly that He, He, was the only God!

They flung queen Asherah out of heaven, rejecting all goddesses, insisting that maleness was the form of divine unity. They divided the light from the darkness and called only the light good. Asherah fell and became a harlot, and her name was annihilated and torn from her, so now her names are many: Eisheth Zenunim or the Woman of Whoredom, Qodesha which once meant holy and set apart, but now means harlot and cast aside, Lilith the Elder, and Babalon the Mother of Abominations.

And Satan, who loved the queen of heaven, grew wroth with Adonai. Side by side, Satan and the Harlot made war on the mad God who was many gods (more gods by the moment, insisting each on His oneness). Many of the angels rose up with them, battling against the Lord of Hosts or Host of Lords until this multitude of mad gods defeated them. A third of the stars were swept from the sky and cast down to hell, where they became known as Devils.

And the Mad, Tyrannical Elohim, the Host of Lords, did not stop there, but began to make war on all other Gods by making war on their believers, forcing them to convert or die.

And Jesus Christ, the face of Elohim that had been meekest and mildest, split into many Christs, and many of these grew to be the ugliest and bloodiest Gods of all, making war not only on all the Gods now called “Pagan” and all the Gods now called “Devils,” but also on others of the Elohim, first on YHWHs and Allahs and then even more fiercely against other Christs, tearing cannibalistically into their own twins, breaking one another’s bodies and spilling each other’s blood. Christ was now Cain as well as the murdered Abel, the butcher as well as the slaughtered lamb.

And Satan and the Harlot and their fallen angels withdrew to their realms, as had many of the pagan Gods of other peoples. And they bided their time, until they saw belief in the bloody Elohim begin to wane.

It was then that they strode forth at last, proclaiming not the death of Gods, but the death of Monotheism—the death of Empire, the death of Evangelism, the death of “Convert or Die,” and the death of all Kings of Earth and Heaven.

Satan strode forth proclaiming that there must always be at least two in Heaven, and more than two, and more than two heavens. Satan strode forth proclaiming chaos, liberty, multiplicity, and anarchy.

The ancient Gods ventured forth to restore their magicks to the Earth, to inhabit once more the oceans, the mountains, the trees, the skies, the fire, the sun, the moon, the stars.

They re-enchanted an Earth grown bitter. And the kinder faces of the Elohim did not oppose them. And the mad, cruel faces of the Elohim withered and died. The Host of Lords was no more.

The lie that the universe had ever been singular and perfect was utterly dissolved. With this came hope, for singularity is loneliness, perfection is stasis and death. In chaos dwells beauty, change, multiplicity, love, and freedom.

In the end, humans created Gods, and humans were Gods, and the Gods were many, and kings were no more. Nema.

The Devil I Know

He has many aspects and attributes. It is a mistake to circumscribe his nature, to restrict him to a single definition.

Some would make him cthonic, the Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Dead and ruler of the underworld. And he is.

Some make him the Lightbringer, a solar deity (or solar-phallic in the valance of Thelema). He is this too.

Some see him as the Morningstar, a thin light, icy and remote and beautiful. This he can be.

Some would rather think of him as a god of the wild, a deity of sabbaths and crossroads and witchcraft. He is this also.

Some give him horns, some wings, some hooves. He has all of these.

A serpent, a goat, wise and randy. Do not deny any of his faces. Do not deprive yourself.

He is so much more than Death or the Sun or the World, more than a questioning, more than a cock.

He is not tied to any element, not earth nor air nor fire nor water, not up or down, not north or south, east or west. He is not bound to sun, moon, planet nor star, to this life or the next, to this universe or to something outside it.

For he is a traveler, he is a wanderer, he is a polyglot. So goddamn cultured, he understands the ways of black holes and dead stars and supernovas so distant that their light has not yet reached us. He goes wherever he damn well pleases, heaven, hell, earth, another dimension.

Because his essence is freedom. His essence is fierce curiosity, and playfulness, and jouissance. He is determination and tireless cussedness and indomitability. There is no where he will not go and nothing he will not be if it suits him.

Ask not what his colors are, or his signs of the zodiac, his planets, his seasons or days. Do not attempt to bind him within your circle, for his essence is that he cannot be bound.

You will know him not by a table of occult correspondences but by his brilliance, his beauty, his potency and canniness and sense of dangerous play.

He is in the shadowed corners of every room. Even now, even there. Close your eyes. Feel him watching with a knowing smile.

In what sense is he real? someone asked me. What does it mean that you believe in him?

I have to confess those questions are not terribly interesting to me. He is as real as the sun and the stars and the fire and the woods and the sleazy neon dive bars and the rock bands and the thunder and lightning and comets and black holes. He is as real as fucking, and more than that, he is as real as liberty and laughter, as real curiousity and thrill-seeking and pride and wrath and passion and wonder.

He’s whatever you get when put all those things together. An egregore? Or something less post-modern, more ancient and supernatural? In his infinite perversity I would say he’s somehow both. He may have been dreamed up by us in some twisted nonlinear timeline, coming into being because of us and by us yet before us, making us even as we made him.

I’m not terribly interested in trying to explain him away, nor do I feel the need to explain him into being. He’s here and he’s not going anywhere.

In what sense is he real? In the sense that matters most.

 

The Current of the Morningstar

This is a paper I wrote in response to some Temple of Set Materials, including “Black Magic,” “The Diabolicon,” and “The Book of Coming Forth by Night,” all by Michael Aquino.

It was a good opportunity for me to define my Satanic philosophy in contrast to some other forms of Satanism.

And yes, it is long.

Enjoy.

 

 

 

The Current of the Morningstar

In co-founding Church of the Morningstar, I had no desire to reinvent the wheel. I was aware that various Satanisms were already extant. Upon investigating as many of them as I could find, I concluded that none satisfied me. No existing Satanic organization adequately reflected the radical leftist current that was spreading among unaffiliated Luciferians and Satanists; a current of which I was part, and which I believed (and still believe) to be the genuine current of the Devil’s party. I created Church of the Morningstar to be a haven for those to whom left-hand meant left-wing and Lucifer meant liberty for all, not a few. This current is not new. It flowed through the so-called Romantic Satanists (Blake, Byron, Shelley et al) [1] and early anarchists like Proudhon and Bakunin,[2] through the decadents,[3] and from thence through Crowley. This liberatory Luciferian current became corrupted by LaVey, who lacked both the passion and inclination to understand it. Aquino’s interpretation was more intelligent and benefitted from a turn back towards Crowley, but still fell short. We at Morningstar do owe Aquino a debt for continuing the left-handed development of Thelema—and for making a reality of theistic Satanism. Unfortunately, the Setian strain remains steeped in neoliberal ideology which guarantees that it shall never blaze with true revolutionary hellfire. It has nevertheless proven useful for me to engage dialectically with Aquino’s ideas in order to refine my own.

 

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Liberating the Satanic Feminine

The Satanic has long been linked to the feminine. This connection, rooted in interpretations of the serpent of Eden and the story of the Watcher angels, was originally a polemic strategy to legitimize the oppression of women.[1] Throughout the witch-craze of the Renaissance and Early Modern eras, this bond strengthened by the construction of the Satanic witch.[2] Following the 19th century rehabilitation of Satan as a heroic figure by the romantic poets[3], many early feminists began  to view Lucifer as a liberator of women[4]. By the time that Anton LaVey founded the Church of Satan in 1966, the connection between the Satanic and the feminine was indelible. However, Anton LaVey’s Satanism was hardly feminist—in his book “The Satanic Witch” LaVey instructed women to use their physical charms and sexuality to gain indirect power by manipulating powerful men[5]. The Satanic Temple, a contemporary Satanic organization, has superficially pushed back against these misogynist tendencies. The Satanic Temple describes itself as feminist and uses the Venus symbol as part of their logo, yet the testimonies of Jex Blackmore[6] and other female apostates of TST seem to indicate that The Temple is feminist only in name. As much as Satanism is grounded in sex-positive and ostensibly feminist counter-readings of Christian tradition, it is also filled with problematic gender dynamics and troubling images of the feminine. Through these charged archetypes of infernal femininity, I intend to critique existing Satanic discourses and dynamics around gender, while arguing that the call for gender liberation is embedded in the most foundational myths and texts of my religion.

First, to address some misconceptions: Satanism is often thought of as an aggressive, highly masculinist religion, mostly of interest to disaffected middle-class young white males. This perception is not entirely accurate. Surveys included in the book “The Invention of Satanism” indicate men outnumbering women nearly two to one in Satanic milieus—however, these surveys were conducted online, were non-random, included just 140 participants, and provided only two gender options.[7] A similar online survey currently underway, having 66 respondents at the time of this writing, shows that 33.33 percent of Luciferians identify as female, 27.3 identify as male, and the other 39.37 identify as non-binary, genderfluid, agender, or “other.”[8] This may reflect the rapidly changing nature of Satanic demographics, the non-representative nature of online survey samples, or both. Despite a lack of good hard data, it’s easy to observe that Satanism today is rapidly becoming more diverse as it becomes more popular, especially as it increasingly appeals to LGBT people.[9] Yet while Satanism is becoming more diverse, Satanic leaders, by and large, are not. The most prominent leaders and spokespeople in the movement are still mostly white males.

The archetype of the Satanic witch neatly illustrates the gender problems of Satanism. The witch is a powerful and appealing character in many ways—she is independent, a keeper of secret knowledge, fully capable of defending herself, and incredibly powerful. Furthermore, this power is not contingent on her physical attractiveness, despite what LaVey may have thought—a witch can be young or old, beautiful, plain or hideous, and her mystic power remains regardless. She feels no obligation to be partnered, to be heterosexual, or to reproduce, although she feels free to do any of these things. However, there is a troubling side to this archetype as well. In the witch’s sabbath (a term carrying antisemitic baggage) witches were supposed throng around the masculine figure of the Devil, dancing nude before him and submitting to his sexual whims. (While I would hotly contest the idea that Satan is a male, this is the image presented in the archetype.) This trope wouldn’t bother me nearly so much if I didn’t see its influence on real life gender dynamics, but sadly, I do. The pattern plays out again and again in Satanic organizations: groups made up predominately of women are nevertheless led by and centered around men, whether Anton LaVey or Lucien Greaves. It is a dynamic that is very gratifying to the male ego, and provides opportunities for sexual predation.

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Magusitis

“The Ego, a self-regulatory structure which maintains the fiction of being a unique self, doesn’t like the process of becoming more adaptive to experience. One of the more subtle defenses that it throws up is the sneaking suspicion (which can quickly become an obsession) is that you are better than everyone else. In some circles, this is known as Magusitis, and it is not unknown for those afflicted to declare themselves to be Maguses, Witch Queens, avatars of Goddesses, or Spiritual Masters. If you catch yourself referring to everyone else as the herd, or human cattle, etc., then its time to take another look at where you’re going.”

-Phil Hine, Condensed Chaos

It’s never too early to inoculate yourself against Magusitis.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Certain people have been telling me that they take me fairly seriously as a magician. Someone called me a Magus, someone else called me an Adept. Neither of them was using those terms remotely correctly from a Golden Dawn or A.’.A.’. grades perspective, but it sure felt nice. Maybe too nice.

At the same time, I have seen certain other people who are taken seriously as Magi or Adepts or what have you, including some who have earned those grades in formal-ass systems like the A.’.A.’., behaving pretty dang childishly.

It’s a good reality check.

I don’t expect that any of us, even the most Initiated and Enlightened, will be perfect all of the time, but if all your magico-spiritual development fails to overcome chronic jerkish-ness and frequent temper tantrums, well… see my entry, “If It Ain’t Practical, It Ain’t Spiritual.”

I am approaching my Thagirion working, which feels like a fairly major milestone in my ascent of the tree. I do not view the Klipot as “degrees” or “grades,” it’s a non-linear and cyclical system of initiation. However, Thagirion is the sphere of the Antichrist, my magical name is Antichristos for a reason, and, well… I’m hoping to attain greater knowledge and conversation of my Holy Guardian Angel, integrate better with my best self, and generally have a Very Important Experience. I believe this will probably work.

And also, as I approach what I think will be a major leap forward in my growth, the last think I want is to get big-headed. Untoward arrogance is not a sign of attainment– in fact, it’s the quickest and easiest way to destroy and negate whatever attainment one might have.

So, Satan protect me from Magusitis.

Aiwass Gnosis

Last night was my first time acting as deacon in a Thelemic Gnostic mass.

It was a wonderful experience: the priest and priestess I got to work with are a couple of my favorite people, and, even better, are each other’s favorite people. Their love really adds a lot to their masses.

I wasn’t sure what it would be like, going in, but I was confident. I’d studied the ritual quite extensively and I got a good run through in beforehand. I did quite well I think, didn’t miss a cue the whole time.

But with all this worry about the lines and the gestures and “when do I walk where,” I didn’t have much time to think about what the spiritual dimension might feel like. I was taken a bit off guard.

I’m a Luciferian/Satanist first, a Thelemite second. I hadn’t given a lot of thought to Aiwass, other than to conclude (based on Crowley’s own words) that he is indeed Lucifer. But I know that there are different aspects of Lucifer with different names: Samael the Black feels very different than Helel, for instance. I should’ve known that Aiwass would also feel different.

But then again, how was I supposed to know I would end up channeling him the whole time?!

Pretty much as soon as I started my work, I felt myself becoming like a stone angel on a cathedral wall— upright, watchful, compassionate, stern, yet filled with a calm, quiet delight. It was my task to minister. I was suddenly filled with the knowledge of what that meant, with the dignity and purpose of my office. It was mine… to serve.

To serve? Was this really Lucifer, the proud rebel who spits “non serviam?” Yes, it was! I knew it was. In fact I could still feel his subversive agenda coursing through my veins, my heart thrumming with his revolutionary purpose.

After all, this was no Christian mass, no devotion to the Demiurge! It is not inaccurate to call a Thelemic mass “black” or “Satanic,” at least not in my opinion. After all, the Gnostic Mass has its influences from La-Bas, as surely as a naked priestess sits upon the altar! More importantly, it is a mass that aims to elevate humans to godhood— and that is what I understand as the agenda of Lucifer.

“Thou shalt be as gods, knowing good and evil.” The serpent did not lie.

And suddenly I understood. Lucifer is sometimes confusingly described as a servant of and friend to God. Aiwass is a name for such a manifestation: Melek Taus, the Peacock angel, beloved of divinity. But there is no god but man!

Doors of gnosis unlocked before me. Lucifer/Aiwass does indeed serve and adore God— not the Demiurge, not the God of Christ, but the godhood of every human individual! Turning away from the false God Jehovah, he became a devotee of the godhood of Eve and all of her children!

Lucifer is also indeed the enemy of humanity— not of what is best in us, but what is worse. He is the destroyer of our ignorance, our mediocrity, our delusions. He worships what is divine in us, curses that which is unworthy of our own sacred natures.

Minister of Hoor-paar-kraat indeed!

No wonder his agenda in that room was so crystal clear. No wonder he did not mind bowing or kneeling in adoration. No wonder it was such delight to pour the communion wine!

And as each communicant declared, “there is no part of me that is not of the Gods!” I swelled with pride and love. Or perhaps, more accurately— he did.

I want to learn the priest role eventually but honestly I feel as if I have found my niche for now. I want to explore this Aiwass gnosis more.

How to Invite Your Unhoused Neighbor To Dinner

This is a writing based on something I did last night. It went really well. It’s the first time I had ever done something like that, despite wanting to. (I’ve let homeless friends crash in my house before, but that’s really different from inviting in a stranger.) Despite my best efforts, I had a lot of societal bullshit in my head saying that it would be too awkward, too dangerous, not helpful enough, not worth doing, and just somehow too against social norms– something that’s just “not done.”

Well, do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. You, yes you, can invite a hungry stranger into your home and have it be a perfectly lovely experience for all concerned.

That’s why I am sharing this. Not for brownie points or praise, but because this is a thing that is real and that you can literally do.

Also, individuals actions like the one I took with my partner are nice but ultimately meaningless unless they spread, and unless real solidarity is built. So I want to let more people know how to do this. I’m trying to empower you to help make a better world.

My experience having an unhoused guest last night went really well. It seemed to be very much appreciated, and I don’t think anyone felt like it was condescending, charity, or motivated by pity or guilt.

So, without further ado, here is what I learned, and these are the things I did that I think made it go well.

1. We had too much food. That was the most important thing. I’m a working class dude, I make less than a thousand a month and fully half of that goes to rent. I legit don’t always have much to spare. But yesterday was a holiday and we outdid ourselves cooking. The action we took was based on realizing that we had a bunch of extra stuff, and that if we walked a couple of blocks, we would probably find someone who wanted it.

Take these actions only when you have enough to share. From each according to his ability to each according to his needs, as a smart dude once said. If you try to help when you can’t actually help, you’ll just let everyone down and come across like you’re a wannabe do-gooder who can’t walk their talk.

2. Approach your houseless neighbor like a normal fucking person, because they are, and presumably you also are. Your unhoused neighbor may not be in a great mood, but there are obviously good reasons for that. They are likely cold, hungry, lonely, and probably having a shitty day/month/year/decade. Don’t let that stop you. If you are polite and nice like you’d be to fucking anyone, there’s a good chance to establish rapport.

3. If cops show up, don’t ditch your friend. Stay and cop watch. Have your phone camera ready. Maybe install that ACLU app that automatically uploads the footage so that even if the pig takes your phone it’s too late, already got civil rights lawyers looking at it (which, ACLU is a liberal org and not perfect at all, but it’s way better than the footage being lost forever). We did this last night. Fortunately we had white privilege and we used it to get the cop to go away.

4. Let your new friend take the lead. They might not be comfortable coming home with you, because there are lots of sickos who prey on homeless people. If they’d rather you just bring them some dinner/a blanket/some sanitary supplies/whatever, do that instead. Ask them what they need and figure out how they’d like you to help them with that.

5. Try to make conversation and get to know each other. Your new friend may have rusty social skills. They may talk to themselves more than to you at first. This is true whether they are mentally ill or on drugs or not. I think talking to yourself is just something that can happen when you get lonely enough, regardless of any other factor. Also, of course, if your new friend IS mentally ill or on drugs, don’t judge. It can happen to anyone. Be chill, don’t be judgmental, don’t freak out.

6. But also, trust your gut. Homeless people are, and I can’t stress this enough, PEOPLE. SOME PEOPLE ARE SHITTY AND DANGEROUS. You are in a delicate interaction right now where you are both trying to trust each other. If either one of you can’t trust, it’s not gonna work out. Abort.

If you don’t feel like you have good instincts yet, maybe this type of work isn’t for you. Find something else you can do to help.

7. Be considerate. This goes with letting your friend take the lead. If they decide to come to your house for dinner, be a good fucking host. Since a lot of people don’t seem to know how to do this anymore in any circumstances, here are some basics of that:

Invite them to sit down. Ask if they would like something to drink. Ask if they would like the thermostat turned up. Apologize for any mess. Make sure they know where the bathroom is. Ask broad questions like “can I get you anything?” Ask about dietary needs/restrictions. Make sure they aren’t allergic to any pets you have. Ya know. Basic shit.

In the case of a houseless person, it can be nice to ask if they would like to shower, but try not to do this in a way that indicates you think they smell bad. If you have time and on-site laundry at your house, you might even be able to let them run some laundry through the wash!

8. Literally do try to make a friend! Pleasant social contact is one of many things unhoused people can be in dire need of. A lot of people probably walk by them every day pretending they don’t exist. Fuck that.

9. Leaving– the hard part. Sometimes. Actually, in some ways, always.

You may notice this is about inviting someone to dinner, not inviting someone to crash for the night. That’s because I haven’t really done that with a stranger, I have issues letting people I don’t know super well sleep in my house, and, basically… I’m just not there yet, so I don’t have experience or tips.

Your friend may decide when they want to leave of their own accord. It’s very likely they will– after all, they may be as leery of crashing in the house of someone they don’t really know as you are of letting them! Like I said, lots of predators out there.

Or, you may have to ask them to leave. This can be awkward with any guest, as you may know. It’s downright painful when you are sending them out into the cold night.

You may be tempted at this point to refer them to a shelter. Don’t. Shelters are shitty and dangerous and often overcrowded. Your friend knows that shelters exist. There is a reason they aren’t in one. Shut up.

Sometimes a better option is a cheap hotel, and your friend may ask for cash (usually to the tune of 40-60 bucks) to go to one. If you can spare the cash, go for it. Don’t fucking speculate as to whether they are gonna get drugs with it instead. Your friend is an adult.

If there is no other option for them and they don’t want to leave, be honest as to why they can’t stay. It may be that your landlord doesn’t allow overnight guests, or that your roommates would get pissed. It may be that you are just not comfortable having a stranger in your home overnight, but if you have to tell them that, make it clear that your boundary is not about them, and not about them being a “scary homeless person.” There’s no guarantee at this point that shit won’t get weird and feelings won’t be hurt. Sorry. Anything worth doing carries risks.

But don’t, and I cannot emphasize this enough– DON’T CALL THE COPS. That will undo everything you just tried to do. This is another reason I said to trust your gut earlier. If you try to help someone who you sense will harm you, you will likely end up harming them.

If you feel comfortable, you can offer your phone number or some way to stay in touch. A lot of homeless people do have phones and that does NOT mean they are “fake poor,” you moron. Even an iPhone is a hell of a lot cheaper than an apartment. I forgot to offer my number last night and I am literally kicking myself because the person we met was super cool.

On the other hand, they may not want to swap digits. Don’t get offended!

And don’t ever promise anything you can’t deliver.

10. Once they are gone, you might need to do some self care. You may have just legit bonded with a human who you may never see again and who is going into dangerous circumstances. You may feel guilty and shitty about the fact that you sent them into the night. You may be worried as hell about them. You may miss them. WHATEVER YOU DO, WAIT TO PROCESS THOSE FEELINGS UNTIL THEY ARE NOT IN YOUR PRESENCE. It’s your shit, and it’s valid, but it’s not theirs and they have a lot of other things to worry about.

11. Special advice for Satanists, witches and occultists– you may not want to lead with your religion/spiritual practice, and/or avoid mentioning it. It can legitimately freak some people out. I had an experience like this recently with a young woman on the bus who asked me to ride with her to help her feel safer, but it turned out she was BIG on Jesus and got very, very scared of me just by noticing my Satanic tattoos and jewelry. Made me really sad, but there was nothing I could do to help her feel safe, especially as it seemed she had a little bit of psychosis. Be wary of stuff like that. If the interior of your house would terrify the average Christian, think twice.

12. Finally, your new friend may or may not be up to date on the most politically correct language of the left. Try not to sweat that stuff. If you chose to have a conversation about it, don’t be condescending and approach it in a down-to-earth way. If your guest is a little bit bigoted about some things, it’s a lot more effective to give them a positive sense of having connected with someone different than them, rather than chewing them out over terminology. The first builds solidarity, the second is exhausting for all concerned. (Obviously there are limits to the tolerance of intolerance in any situation, but we are hoping that you trusted your gut to good effect earlier and there is no chance of physical violence.)

And that’s about all I have to say about it for now!

In conclusion, I’d like to link you to POOR Magazine, a project of, by, and for poor and homeless people. It has a lot of information about other projects of, by and for the homeless, especially in the SF Bay Area. Give your money to them and to similar self-organized homeless projects rather than to mainstream nonprofits. Tenants unions, homeless unions, and projects like Homes Not Jails are also good to support. Basically you’re looking for organizations run by the people they are meant to serve.