Archive for the Writing Category

Biographical Pseudepigrapha

Posted in Fiction, Unlinked, Writing on 2018-06-11 by eianorange

When I was but a youth, traveling alone in the mountains to the East called MASHU by the people who live there, I came upon a large gray rock carved with three strange symbols. It stood as high as a man and as wide around as a bull. It was firmly stuck in the ground and I could not make it topple.

Thinking no more of the carvings, save that they might be the work of some warlord to mark an ancient victory over his enemy, I built a fire at its foot to protect me from the from the wolves that wander in that region and then went to sleep. It was night and I was far from anything I knew. And, Mt. MASHU is approximately 120 miles from the nearest village which is known as BA DURABYA. Being about three hours from dawn, on the nineteenth of Shabatu, I was awakened by the howl of some kind of dog. It was uncommonly loud and seemed very close at hand.

The fire had died down to its embers and the red, glowing coals cast a faint, dancing shadow across the stone monument brandishing these three odd carvings. I began to make haste to build another fire when all of a sudden the gray rock began to rise slowly into the air as if it were beginning to hover. It was strangely horrifying because it was very dark and certainly some unknowable sorcery must be lifting this rock.

I could not move or speak from the fear that seized my spine and wrapped cold fingers around my skull.

I heard a soft voice some distance away. A more practical fear, the possibility of robbers, took hold of me and I rolled behind some weeds while trembling uncontrollably.

Another voice joined the first and soon several figures in black robes came together around the place where I was camped directly under the floating rock. They did not exhibit the least bit of fright.

I could see clearly now that the three carvings on the stone monument were glowing, a flaming assortment of colors, as through the rock were on fire from the inside. The figures were murmuring together in prayer or invocation or something in some unknown tongue, only a few words of which could be transcribed.

The figures, whose faces I could not see, began to make seemingly wild passes in the air with knives that glinted cold and sharp amid the mountain sky. Although they seemed erratic, their somatic gestures simply had to be calculated motions of magical significance.

From beneath the floating rock, out of the very ground where it had sat, came rising the head of a serpent. This serpent was surely larger than any I had ever seen. Something more than supernatural was at work, here.

One section of this snake possessed human arms and as it rose from the earth further it was followed by another set of arms.

These were followed by more still and the ground began to rumble. The chanting of the priests (for I knew even then that they were the servants of some hidden power) became much louder and nearly hysterical.

“IA! IA! ZI AZAG! IA!IA! ZI AZKAK! IA! IA! ZI KUR! IA!” The sediment where I was hiding became moist with some foreign substance. Being slightly downhill from the scene I was witnessing, I touched the liquid and found it to be blood. In terror I screamed and gave my presence away to the priests. They turned towards me and I saw (with loathing) that they had sliced deeply into their chests with the daggers they had used to raise the stone for some mystical purpose I could not then divine. Although, I now know that blood is the very food of their familiar spirits, which I assume must be why the field after a battle glows with an unnatural light. It is the manifestation of the spirits who are feeding upon the dead and dying.

“May ANU protect us all!”

My scream had the effect of casting their ritual into disarray. I raced through the mountain path by which I had arrived, and the priests came running after me, although some seemed to stay behind, perhaps to finish the rites. As I ran wildly down the slopes in the cold night, my heart gave rise to rapid palpitations in my chest and my head was growing feverish, the sound of splitting rocks and thunder came from behind me and shook the very terrain I was running on. In fright and haste I fell to the earth. Rising, I turned to face whatever attacker would come near me even though I was unarmed.

To my surprise, what I saw was no priest of ancient dread, no necromancer of forbidden arts, but rather black robes fallen upon the rocky mountainside with no presence of life beneath them.

I walked cautiously to the robe which was closest to me and using a long twig I lifted the robe from the cropping of boulders. All that remained of the priest was a pool of slime, like green oil, and the smell of a body lain too long in the sun to rot. Such a stench nearly overpowered me, but I was resolute to find the others to see if the same fate had also befallen them.

Striding back up the slope that I had so fearfully run down only moments ago, I came across yet another of the black priests in identical condition to those chasing me. I kept walking. Passing more of the robes as I went. I dared not venture to overturn any more of them. Then, I finally came upon the gray stone monument that had risen unnaturally into the air seemingly at the command of the priests. It was now resting upon the ground once more, but the carvings still glowed with unnatural light.

The serpents, or what I had then thought of as serpents, had disappeared, but in the dead embers of the fire, now cold and black, was a large, shining metal bauble. I picked it up and saw that it was also carved almost as the stone was, but even more intricately, constructed in a fashion that I could not determine.

It did not bear the same markings as the stone, yet I had the feeling I could almost read the characters as though I once knew the tongue and had since long forgotten it.

My head began to ache as though a demon was pounding on my skull, when a shaft of moonlight hit the metal amulet, for I know now what it was, and a voice entered my head and told me the secrets of the scene I had witnessed in one word: AZUG-BEL-YA.

In that moment, as though injected into my brain, I understood the characters cast into the amulet. Although these were not the signs carved upon the gray stone, I somehow came to the conclusion that the stone was the gate from outside our dimension which allowed all manner of horrid creatures in.

Of these three symbols carved into the stone, the first is the sign of our race which came from beyond the stars, and it is called ARGU in the tongue of the scribe who taught it to me. Yet, in the tongue of the elder city of Babylon, it was UR. It is the sigil of the covenant between humankind and the old gods made by the annunaki. And, when they who offered us the seal see it they will not have forgotten us.

They have sworn! Spirit of the celestial firmament, remember!

The second sign is the ancient glyph of the old gods and is the key whereby the powers of the old gods may be summoned when used with the proper words and geometric formula. Its name is AHNA.

The third sign is the sigil of the watchers. It is called DALBAR. This sigil is used to call down the watchers back onto our homeworld. The watchers are a race of beings sent by the old gods to keep the planet safe. They keep vigil while one sleeps provided the appropriate rituals and sacrifices have been performed. Otherwise, if called, they will turn upon us.

To be effective on our plane these seals must be etched in certain kinds of stone and then set upon an altar of appropriate offerings or laid upon the ground in one of many energy vortexes around the globe. Or even engraved upon one of the seven main planetary metals and hung about the neck as a lamen hidden from the view of the profane.

Of these three, the ARGU and the ANHA may be used separately, that is to say, by themselves. The DALBAR on the other hand must never be used alone. Instead it must feature one or both of the others.

The watchers sometimes need to be reminded of the covenant they have sworn between the old gods and our race or else they will turn upon us and slay us and ravage our cities until succour is received from the old gods by the tears of our children and the wailing of our women.


Nothing has Being hand of z0s Everything has Value

Audio Awakening

Posted in Articles, Collaboration, Linked, Musick, Writing on 2018-05-05 by eianorange

Our most recent article on the foundations, techniques, and theories involved in audible sigils.

Nothing has Being hand of z0s Everything has Value

Abomination through Desolation

Posted in Unlinked, Writing, Z(enseider)Z proclamations on 2017-03-18 by eianorange


Umbras of the Air, hear my call! As the Sylphs howl, the depth of my will explodes in an outcry straining my vocal folds, not in some vague internal dialogue that is greatly attenuated. I dance around the fire with wild medicine, praising what I’ve descried coming from beyond the hills in secret murmurs and sacred chants. The majesty of this elemental essence crawls throughout our DNA and, indeed, the entirety of our Genome. It is sometimes known as the akashic record. Hearkening back to a time before humankind roamed the earth. When our closest relatives were paramecium and other uni-cellular organisms toward an era where we find the most mammoth reptiles as our cousins; the latter of which have now grown virtually extinct through mother Earth’s decisive force of entropy. You are not forgotten, our dear first kin, you are revered as the first brothers and sisters on the planet who withstood obstacles of all kinds. And, we weep that your long dead carcasses are now being plundered by these corporate autocrats for your decayed matter to fuel our mobile machines and for other, more detrimental petrol products that we think we cannot live without, so that you may never rest in peace. Spreading your death into the atmosphere and among the lands and the oceans.

The vacuum interference of air on the material plane parallels that of the tendency towards dimensionality and dispersion on the metaphysical plane. In the tradition of Sylphs one should adhere to a few simple guidelines, to be quick and active, while eschewing frivolity and whim.

Umbras of the Trees, hear my call! Swaying in the wind, as the Dyads tend to your roots and prune your branches. Only they know which system grows downward into the nightside realm and which grows upward into the dayside domain. To the monkey minds of humanity it is little more than a mystery as to whether up is down or left is right or black is white. We have static thought processes. Dull and uninspired. We’re only guessing, flying by the seats of our pants, and, for the most part, hoping for the best outcome. Humans are often well intentioned creatures, but they have far too much cultural and societal conditioning ingrained in their meta-programming to make choices that benefit the plant, mineral, and animal kingdoms. Aside from the Dyads who inhabit the forests and woodlands, the element of Earth also has it caretakers in the form of Gnomes who expect us to be cheerful, industrious, patient, and generous, avoiding greed and grossness. Unfortunately, greed and grossness has subverted even self-preservation as the highest law(s) of the land, in some of the most well rooted, common sense individuals. The rat race has us all scrambling through the maze to find our piece of cheese faster and more efficiently than the other rodents.

The duality between these two elements (Earth and Air) can be summed up as thus: Earth is the materialized, magnetic form which seeks contraction (coagula) and Air is the medium of space, freedom, and dispersion (solve).

Umbras of the Water, hear my call! Crashing against the jagged, rocky tides of the shore in tumultuous tranquility. I invoke thee as a majority shareholder on Earth since Water represents the bulk of our planet. About 70% of the Earth is water, and a mere 1% of that is drinkable fresh water, while 2% of that 70% is trapped beneath ice, leaving 97% of the water on Earth as saltwater. We, humans, and our four-legged, six-legged, and eight-legged kin are on a crash course with the inevitable death that is coming to all species. All my relations. With no food source and no water, we are doomed to extinction through pestilence and famine the likes of which has never been seen before and will likely never be seen again. The scavengers will have exultant feasts in our honor, gorging on our flesh and bones until there is nothing left but remnants of once living creatures who formerly thrived on this planet in relative peace with one another; drone strikes, counter-terrorism tactics, intrusive domestic surveillance, slanderous politics, and the post-truth era notwithstanding.

The ever-adaptable, gentle Undines watch from below the surface of the oceans both pitiful of and angered at the destruction humankind reaps upon all species, but especially both mammal and fish undersea in the name of sport and industry. It is appalling to the Undines how we have left a trail of wreckage beneath the oceans in the form of sunken ships, submarines, airplanes, and petroleum made plastics, while maliciously spilling crude onto the surface and calling it an accident. How shameful. How repugnant and arrogant of one species out of the 8.7 million on the planet to inflict such injurious abuse of power. Undines revere flexibility and imagination, yet despise sloth and idleness.

Umbras of the Animals, hear my call! Our greatest companions on this Earth. From familiars and so-called spirit animals, to totems poles, rock carvings, and cave paintings: all are used to illustrate the intimate relationship between animal and humankind as humankind is just another animal (as LaVey says: sometimes better, more often worse than those that walk on all-fours) when it comes down to it. Animals don’t litter, don’t create trash heaps or landfills overflowing with garbage nor toxic waste. They don’t pollute the air with noxious fumes from industrial emissions, they don’t poison the waterways with deadly run off. Animals do not bomb their enemies, they eat them whole. The carcasses of their enemies are left to the scavengers, nature’s garbage men, until the bones are picked clean. Every animal serves a purpose in the kingdom of beasts. Nothing is wasted and then thrown away in trash receptacles.

The great bear would raid these hypothetical trash bins to forage for food if there were such a thing. Some animals have even grown semi-dependent upon humans to feed them, like alligators, who have no truck approaching a human in search of food. Since someone down the line has fed these magnificent creatures previously they will swim within proximity of a person expecting some scraps. The same can be said of birds, raccoons, squirrels, etc. Once they’ve been given the luxury of human food, they’ll keep coming back for more. We have ruined their ecosystems, making them docile, even domesticated to a certain degree. Animals are to be kept feral for their own sake. Not circus sideshows or clowns for one’s amusement. All animals should be set free of their cages and tanks, from reptiles and lions to dolphins and ‘killer’ whales. They do not belong in these jail cells. No where is it more evident than in wolves. They lose a startling amount of weight when in captivity and sometimes refuse to eat. This is not the natural order. This is not the natural chaos. Keeping pets is fine, but keep in mind that their ancestors were once part of the wilderness, maybe even their parents. It reminds me of a story from Natural Born Killers:

Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came upon a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake,

“Why have you done this to me?”
And the snake answered,
“Look, bitch, you knew I was a snake.”

Snakes are actually venomous not poisonous, but you get the point.


Nothing has Being hand of z0s Everything has Value

Early morning channeling

Posted in Gematria, Kabbalistic Endeavors, Memetics, Writing, Z(enseider)Z proclamations with tags , , , , on 2016-08-13 by eianorange

Cryptogematriac path function, as it is used in numerological encoding, causally relates to the arbitrary size of data strings applied to mapping mathematical algorithms in behavioral technologies such as genetic trait modification, advanced neuro-linguistic embedding, unidentifiable dream intrusions, or even the phenomenon quickly gaining notoriety as ‘psychic paralysis’ in certain circles of occultniks in the northern hemisphere.

Where the given collision resistance of any specific informational fingerprint either has or does not have the wherewithal to stand up against a malicious adversarial counter-function, one must assume that the logic of deniability rides high on the list of obverse claims among pseudoscience gurus and newage proponents.

Therefore, one may not supplant or mutate the initial input code without altering its host source. If separate functions possess an identical host source, one can be assured they are not unique. This is to say: a specific assignment of data strings does not have to equate to the same value as their idiothetic doppelgangers in order for them to be considered exclusive parcels from whence came the originating encryption key.

It is then left up to the Theriomorphs-in-Training to take up the reins, grab the helm, or put the pedal to the plasticine floorboard and venture out into uncharted territory in search of new meaning in this deteriorating aeon of occultural nuances and the whiff of esotericism as opposed to the engagement and practice of it.

The secret chefs must gather what tools they have at their disposal and accumulate their strength in numbers, attempting to centralize the hive instead compartmentalizing it allover the fucking place. The disorganization will not stand for it. It is an affront to all those who have revolved before us and taken casualties. The revolution will not be broadcast on social media. It will come as a noise-driven crescendo. Where all equal parts arrive and drop their respective loads at the same moment.

A private message board would make more sense, in the end. People come to social media to escape their problems, not to endure the reality of new ones.

So, what do we have in the way of weapons to fight this war? There remains one English qabalistic cipher which utilizes negative and positive integers, as well as a placeholder value for zero within its scheme, without adjudicating its agility to perform daily miracles given a willing participant wishes to be initiated into its mysteries. The system heretofore spoken of is known as the Gematria of Nothing or, at other times, the Ma’atian Atu.

This particular computation of alphanumerics was designed by highly illuminated Chaosatanists to provide future generations of Necrosorcerers with the means to conclude the Riemann hypothesis and put an end to the supposition of prime numbers as an endless stream of complex and unstable arrangements which hold the key to unlocking the grandeur of arithmetic. These future generations would effectively be tearing the very fabric of the Internet as we know it apart at the seams.

The pattern of primes one can detect from the zoom in/zoom out perspective of peaks and valleys represents yet another illusion conjured by the greatest of magician: the mathematicians. They weave their own tapestries of alchemical chimeras for us to marvel at. And only the intended can grasp the concepts written in long form upon these giant white boards in a secret language no layman can decipher.

The Zenwalker Seiderkin already have access to an enormous encyclopedic database of enumerations which will hold vital circumspection on the nature of Hilbert space.

It is simply a matter of time and persistence before Z(enseider)Z master semiotician, expert memeticist, and leading authority in the field of remote manipulation of the parasympathetic nervous system, Dr. Ayin R. Inch, locates the pivotal Lysergic 5-dimensional quasicrystals which, once and for all, compromises the debate on how zeros factor into multiple zeta functions.

The first piece of the puzzle is in place. The commissioned artwork has arrived and been hung in its appropriate place. The real magnum opus can begin. It will make for an astounding uphill battle, however there is commitment in Dr. Inch that sees no boundaries. For all the thankless work which he undergoes, never once has he asked for a pat on the back. Only recognition that this THING is moving forward.

Vagaries abound and the audience is unclear, but the message possesses an all too familiar ramble to it.

Nothing has Being hand of z0s Everything has Value

Fossil Angels

Posted in Essays, Linked with tags , , , on 2013-03-26 by eianorange

Fossil Angels was written by Alan Moore in December 2002 it’s an essay that was to appear in KAOS #15 which never actually appeared, and the piece has been without a home since then. (More information about KAOS and why this wasn’t published there in this article on Bleeding Cool.) Mad thanks to Glycon for sharing this masterpiece.

First brought to our attention via Brian Shaughnessy

An excerpt from Fossil Angels pt. 1

“…it was this moment in the history of magic, with content and function lost beneath an over-detailed ritual veneer, all mouth and trousers, which the later orders chose to crystallize about. Without a readily apparent aim or mission, no marketable commodity, the nineteenth century occultist would seem instead to lavish an inordinate amount of his attention on the fancy wrapping paper. Possibly unable to conceive of any group not structured in the hierarchical manner of the lodges that they were accustomed to, Mathers and Westcott dutifully imported all the old Masonic heirlooms when it came to furnishing their fledgling order. All the outfits, grades and implements. The mindset of a secret and elite society. Crowley, of course, took all this heavy and expensive-looking luggage with him when he jumped ship to create his O.T.O, and all orders since then, even purportedly iconoclastic enterprises such as, say, the I.O.T, would seem to have eventually adopted the same High Victorian template. Trappings of sufficient drama, theories intricate enough to draw attention from what the uncharitable might perceive as lack of any practical result, any effect upon the human situation.

The fourteenth (and perhaps final?) issue of the estimable Joel Biroco’s KAOS magazine featured a reproduction of a painting, a surprisingly affecting and hauntingly beautiful work from the brush of Marjorie Cameron, scary redhead, Dennis Hopper and Dean Stockwell’s housemate, putative Scarlet Woman, top Thelemic totty. Almost as intriguing as the work itself, however, is the title: Fossil Angel, with its contradictory conjurings of something marvellous, ineffable and transitory combined with that which is by definition dead, inert and petrified. Is there a metaphor available to us in this, both sobering and instructive? Could not all magical orders, with their doctrines and their dogmas, be interpreted as the unmoving calcified remains of something once intangible and full of grace, alive and mutable? As energies, as inspirations and ideas that danced from mind to mind, evolving as they went until at last the limestone drip of ritual and repetition froze them in their tracks, stopped them forever halfway through some reaching, uncompleted gesture? Trilobite illuminations. Fossil angels.”

          —Alan Moore ©

Glycon was lucky enough to be given a number of Alan Moore’s scripts by Alan himself a few years ago, and this was amongst them. Glycon asked if he could publish it and, when another publication which it was slated to appear in folded, Alan told Glycon he was free to go ahead. So, he is very proud to be allowed to present this piece here on Glycon for its first publication anywhere. This is, and remains, the sole property & copyright of its creator, Alan Moore.

Nothing has Being hand of z0s Everything has Value