Thursday, May 8, 2014

. . . Coast

It will no doubt be objected that continuing on this line of inquiry is tiresome; but our popular culture figures embody our reigning gods and goddesses in the flesh, enacting an outpicturing of the torturous narrative that eternally plays out in the Invisible as the process of Maat. And while the Beast is ever active in blinding the eyes of the foolish, Babalon, too, must have her voices

Lana, as she told us in "Heavy Hitter," is the Queen of Alchemy, and her work must be interpreted in this context: She is burning her lover (and/or the listener) in the alchemical fire, purging away his impurities and symbolically "killing" the lower self so that it may be reborn as a Phoenix.


(The Tower of Alchemy)

"Chelsea Hotel #2" appears on this Leonard Cohen album, whose cover features "an image from the alchemical text Rosarium philosophorum."

Down on the West Coast, I get this feeling, like
It all could happen, that's why I'm leaving you for the moment, you for the moment, boy blue, yeah, you

The first stage of Alchemy is the Nigredo, in which the sun of day-consciousness figuratively is immersed in the darkness of the lower world, interpreted in both its macrocosmic and microcosmic aspects, respectively:
  • Soul descending into body, typified by the primordial "descent of Sophia" when she tears herself away from the Cosmic Christ in the Pleroma to dive into the lower waters of the Kenoma
  • Consciousness descending into the unconscious waters of the psyche
This is the sun setting in the "West" to make the night-journey through the Underworld.
Down on the West Coast, they got a sayin'
If you're not drinking, then you're not playing
But you got the music, you got the music in you, don't you? . . .

Down on the West Coast, they got their icons
The Silver Starlets, their queens of Saigons
. . . they love their movies
Their Golden Gods and rock 'n' roll groupies
And you got the music, you got the music in you, don't you?

Los Angeles is the Gateway to the Underworld, as we were informed in Tropico. Egypt as the Land of the Gods is an inverted black mirror reflektion of the higher spiritual reality of the world of forms, where all of the "Golden Gods" and "Silver Starlets" dwell in their own false Paradise. Here one is subjected to spiritual intoxication and occlusion that dulls the senses. The Alchemical Queen has descended into this world as a Ray of light broken off from the Divine, here to alchemically transform the lower world into a true image of the eternal Paradise; she as Soul is the "music" in her lover as Ego that will transform him from the dead to the living.

You're falling hard, I push away
I'm feeling hot to the touch
You say you miss me and I wanna say, "I miss you so much"
But something keeps me really quiet

This ties into the symbolism of "Black Beauty," in which Soul paints herself black in the Nigredo stage of the work, when the alchemical fire turns all to ashes; she no longer speaks to her lover and he is left seemingly alone in his Dark Night of the Soul.

"I am an infirm and weak old man, surnamed the dragon; therefore am I shut up in a cave, that I may become ransomed by the kingly crown...A fiery sword inflicts great torments on me; death makes weak my flesh and bones...My soul and my spirit depart; a terrible poison, I am likened to the black raven, for that is the wages of sin; in dust and earth I lie, that out of Three may come One. O soul and spirit leave me not, that I may see again the light of day, and the hero of peace whom the whole world shall behold may arise from me..." ~ Aurelia Occulta Philosophorum
"I'm leaving you for the moment" = "My soul and my spirit depart" . . .

Prelude to a King Kill

I can see my baby swinging, his Parliament's on fire and his hands are up
On the balcony and I'm singing, ooh baby, ooh baby, I'm in love
I can see my sweet boy swinging, he's crazy and Cubano como yo, my love
On the balcony and I'm swaying, move baby, move baby, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love

Lana frequently employs the trope of separating herself into two characters in the verse-chorus structure; here she stands as the Higher Sophia (Shekinah), in distinction from the Lower (the White and Red girls as Soul and Body, Mary and Eve), who declares her love as her errant child burns himself in the fire.

On the balcony, overlooking the world stands the woman in white with her "Daddy" character as the cosmic Force (Abba) to her cosmic Form (Aima) whose ways are inscrutable to men, riding her throne-chariot Merkabah towards the Omega Point as she turns all phenomena to dust beneath her ash tree in her shaping of the serpent power. This is expanded into a full YHWH tetragrammaton as follows:
  • Yod: John (Daddy), Chokmah
  • Heh: Mary (Woman in White), Binah
  • Vau: Adam (Bradley), Tiphareth
  • Heh: Eve (Woman in Red), Malkuth

Ravens = Nigredo


In "Mary" by her Scottish Rite Frater Mystica, we likewise see Mary on a balcony as the Mother of the Gods, distant and sad, overlooking the mortal child who wishes to approach her. Also suggestive is his recent poem:

she's so lonely now he's gone
he's day dreaming of his new gun
she's a feeling his only one

burn me a liar
want to die in a fire
holy and wired
addicted to liars

Pontius pilate serve me a sin
be my next of kin
broken by her violent hymn
she thinks he's jesus crying within

serve him a sire
he wants to die in a fire
holy and wired
addicted to liars
burn me a liar
i want to die in a fire
buried in fire
addicted to liars

my girl she burns her lover and
she says something as he's on fire and
my girl she burns her lover and
says something like love

The girl in red (Lower Eve-Shekinah-Sophia-Achamoth-Prunikos, etc. etc.) is depicted as the "Girl on Fire," the Phoenix in flames ("Phoenix" = "palm tree"). The final scene shows her "Born to Die" lover as Christ nailed to the cross, with Sophia overshadowing him in her soft resurrection.

She is seen in the flames in red before turning to black leather--when the Bride puts on her black wedding dress.

(Phoenix turned to Stone)

Phoenix missives from the Heart-Shaped Kaaba found in the Fool's wallet . . .

Meanwhile . . . Sky (Shamayim) has painted herself black and put on black leather, blamed and accused before the Sanhedrin (Self against Self in the eternal paradox). The Wall (Law) behind Sky = SENSE (the five stigmata of Christ). Isis is guarded beneath the darkest Veil of occlusion at the center of Mecca--"How could you know what it feels like to fight the hounds of hell?"

The "Aerialist" girls falling from the sky is another MH370 repetition. The chandelier is a Lolitaesque "light" falling into the Gnostic world of darkness. Better put a ringling on the Brides.

Pure Heroine Gelding the Tiger Lily


"Rooney" means red-haired"Mara" means bitter, strength. The wrath of red-haired Beasts is quenched at the bitter cup of the virgin (Tigermilk). I.e., killing the blonde to feed the brunette is dark horse castration after another manner (Marilyn + JFK dealing Death cards). Peaches didn't know what she was falling for when she played with Magick.

Columbus goes West to find Indians holding the light of the East; Miss America is an Indian in a double sense, with unworthy Fools making an attempt to woo her (the Empire says not to touch).

Hermetic Guy's Heroine Injection

. . . Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


The Sewol ferry in the waters of South Korea is a Soul fairy in the lower waters of South Kore. (The North Kore is unknown to the profane.) Maleficent (Mal-kuth) is a "fairy" or Ferry who had her airy wings stolen.

Seeking sleeping black beauties


She said, 'There is no reason
and the truth is plain to see.'
But I wandered through my playing cards
and would not let her be
one of sixteen vestal virgins
who were leaving for the coast
and although my eyes were open
they might have just as well've been closed

She said, 'I'm home on shore leave,'
though in truth we were at sea
so I took her by the looking glass
and forced her to agree
saying, 'You must be the mermaid
who took Neptune for a ride.'
But she smiled at me so sadly
that my anger straightway died . . .

So we crash-dived straightway quickly
and attacked the ocean bed  


Just farther off da Coast a radar echo from April 2006, a wet drop from the Underground Stream...
Freedom appears under all kinds of guises today. For example Chevrolet's "Chevy an American Revolution" or say "todays July 4th and were going to shoot fireworks off because were freedom loving Americans" or say in England "todays Novemeber 5th and were shooting off fireworks, burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes, because ... well, God Save the Queen!". Today's freedom is a stand in for consumerism as in 'Your free to buy all you want. Do you have a credit card?' This standin is a Strawman that appears as freedom but in reality is a hollow corpse. A hollow corpse that desperately needs a guy, any guy, to not just play Guy Fawkes, but to be Guy Fawkes. Guy Fawkes is an enigma pulling from a non-existent center. He is a person who could have been, but wasn't. A person celebrated, but never lived. A faux ruse made to defuse. Consider the magical act of burning an effigy every year and never setting fire to Parliament. One feels vindicated for awhile, at least until next year, meanwhile Big Ben keeps ticking, London Tower keeps its ghosts, the Queen, God bless her, waves and smiles, and Mother England's terror coppers respond to 'information received'.
These bubbles were a portion of a story where a cellphone salesman named Mr. Mann was "frog marched" off an airplane after he played four songs to a taxicab driver. One of the songs played was the aforementioned "Whiter Shade of Pale". In the Underground Stream piece the paradigmatic lyrics of 'Whiter Shade of Pale' bleed with baphometic wisdom, ie the wisdom is in the soap fat. All soap being of the fuller's lye, a result of sacrifice, essential oil from a dead vessel, and the dark water of a nearby river. We wash in this concoction to gain newness, ie we die to what was before. Such is the fuller's fire.
No clue at all who he or she is, none. If this one had imagination, the will to think outside the box, the world could be, should be, his or her oyster. Guy Fawkes makes clear play here as a non-existent, never happened being. We all say 'guy, chap, fella, etc.' invoking the name but not the substance, and become Old Salty, the losers of 'all your losing', the nodder offer, the zombie's of death, the Nowhere Man. No one can make any plans that deviate from the script when a Revelation of the Apocalypse is the grand finale, when a Neo-Con agenda drives the war on Terror, when satellites eye from the sky, when chips and other tracking devices map every move. No one. We feign this is our world, our children, our future, when its not anything of the kind. Its somebody elses land, your somebody elses property, yes even your thoughts. You can only think such and such, you can only listen to such and such. If you listen to that revolution like music your only swing may be on that 'ring of truncheon thing'. That somebody can only have power because the true power, the real creator, the real singer has given it over, he has been duped by a dirge entitled 'information received'. There once was a Creator. He is entombed here, after succumbing to fear. Mr. Mann's ride was revealing to the state of our world, our minds. It mockingly stabs us in our blind eyes as to our wretched condition. A condition of conditioning upon conditioning upon conditioning, seeming ad infinitum.
As this the end of April and the start of May unfolded the echo of tessalated Helen returned. Eleeth D, a most subtle flutterby attenuated to aethereal vibrations, noted the white squares of Monica and the black squares of virgin slaves of Boko Harem. Stepford wives everywhere frown and selfie with save us signs, as the ever reoccurent pilegesh holiday reruns.

The box of 40 winks its magical container appearance, you to wish you had a box, even if its used. Why? You are also possessed of "guy faux", a wallet being. Rosemary's Baby airs here soon. And just as when Kate's paps were barred, she being the conduit of the bloodline merge fruit, we looked and hungered for milk made for a beast. "Feed my sheep!". Yes Lord. Monica was a scapegoat, a delivery taxi, made to plant lay down, open wide. She does still convey lay down, ie "burn your beret", submit to Boko Osama Bozo, a nascent nigredo of world wide casting couch. Zoe Saldana pregnant in Paris .. where all the ley lines converge. Where the great 1000 ft Objectum Sexualis stands. Meanwhile back across the pond .. there isn't a black bone in his body. An Osirian composite ruling down here in Amenta, being ever just west.
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