Wide-Eyed Sigil Use through the Oughts

(Attributed to V.I.T.R.I.O.L.) The Sigil ov Three Liquids (read: Thee Grey book) was the atomic bomb passed to me through TOPY. As hinted at in prior documentation, I utilized this sigil process from the time I was 16 to 23. I typically performed these sigils within the larger framework of extravagant ritual as I struggled with my notion of external energies (god forms) and the concept that magick was to be ceremonial and dramatic. 

At the age of 23, I experienced a breakthrough (read: breakdown) that caused me to redefine my worldview and bring magickal techniques out of the spiritual realm and into the scientific. During this period I shifted from working with forces outside of myself to working with a more psychologically based internal system. Basically, embracing the random, chaotic nature of the universe AND giving power things outside of myself eventually bit me in the ass as chaos is want to do.

I began to focus upon Spare’s Alphabet of Desire and created a series of sigils that acted like a language. Between the years of 94 and 96 I manifest two or three of these alphabets. These were basically maps of my mind/psychology at the time and I worked with particular sigils to achieve or negate mental states. As I worked in this way I was also heavily reading Jung and his cronies. I bought into the Jungian concept of the “shadow” and began rendering dual meanings within all of my sigils. This work primed me for Grant’s work with the Qliphoth, the backside of the Tree of Life. 

During this period, sigils were charged on a daily basis. I collected all the sigils in my alphabet in a large spiral book and every morning I would charge one upon waking. Moving away from the three liquid sigils of TOPY, I now charged sigils by meditating until I achieved a deep trance/non-thought state (neither/neither state in Spare’s vernacular). I also began to string sigils together to assist in achieving particular effects. Much like using a diet of supplements to produce certain physical/mental results, I would put together a cocktail of sigils in the morning to prepare myself for the day. 

Towards the end of this period I became enamored with the Northern European Tradition and hijacked the elder futhark (runes) as a sigil language in the process. Rather than study other’s interpretation of the runes I elected to integrate my being into their system. Over the period of six months I worked a rune a week. I internalized each through ritualistically studying their symbolic qualities and allowing them to “speak” to me on their use and attributes. After gaining my impressions of each rune I began to research their traditional meanings and found a great deal of similarity. With the integration complete I used the runes in the same manner I used the sigil alphabets I created earlier, to great effect. 

In 96, I formalized my relationship with the  and began a dangerous series of renegade workings in the Enochian and Vodun systems. My use of personal sigils waned temporarily as the full emersion into these systems dominated my daily practice.

I pulled into the Oughts on a psychedelic steed fueled by the eschatology of the 2012 meme and a paranoia based on a failed millennial apocalypse. I’d reconnected to the universe and had balanced out my internal and external relationships. Theories on time manipulation became the catalyst for new workings and simplicity was the call of the day. Through years of practice I acquired the ability to instantly enter into the neither/neither state, charge sigils, and let them go on the fly. 

My current use of sigils no longer involves images or words, but rather hand gestures and facial expressions.  About 8 years ago, thanks to   and   , I dove into Neuro Linguistic Programming and it changed everything. One of the NLP techniques is centered on developing “triggers” or “anchors” to achieve certain mental states. Basically, one brings on a particular mental state through actively bringing to mind (and body) the auditory, visual and kinesthetic modes related to the particular state. When the state becomes very “real” a hand gesture or body/facial position is struck and linked to the state. I now use a battery of sigilized “anchors” on a daily basis.

Promethean Night, a curse on angels

I remember watching as the city burned amazed and awaiting ever august Detroit made devil’s night as she did Valliants and Galaxies

Burning Prometheus rising planting apocalyptic dreams in virile minds to seek vengeance and let loose on landscapes

I now watch crass angels in suits move clean machines across the lucid Vulcan dreamscapes of once infinite possibilities broken glass and pavement cracks allow breath, oxygen to burn

I curse sterile attempts to polish and smother and command Prometheus rise again!

*This was written in my cubicle while working at Compuware, ‘Angel’s/Devil’s Night’, October 30, 2003. It was either part of the impetus for, or grew from, my involvement with the Detroit Promethean Society, which is a story for another time. ~ ed. Sept. 2012

©EschatonLife

I pour blood like wine

January 29th 2000:

I pour blood like wine. Neither reading Durrell or thinking Foucault has saved me anything and I realize this when I lay in my bed mid-afternoons; when the voices kick in. There is one in particular, quite compelling, it says “everything you do is based upon destroying all you could be.”

When I am clear I know I live like a bee making honey. Of course, clarity has been slacking of late. There is a scene, a picture, so far back in the mind; the sun as it might be. Its brightness made me blind and so I moved through the world, as a would-be Oedipus, till I found distractions. False sight and a sense of being. God bless them, they were good friends.

The other possibilities are stained glass windows, filled with gold, and fulfilling all that is red in reality. The blood flows like wine, not like it would in a Bob Seager-4×4 reality. Frankly, fast-food is killing me and the realization of that fact might keep me around only slightly longer than Rimbaud. Why can’t I get over the mesmerism of a 99 cent value meal? It has so much more to do with religion that you would think. The hermit, the fool, the magus…. all coming into line at a drive-thru window where the cost is your flat-plastic delineation.

God, how I wish we were the cards I have drawn from the deck. My blood flows like wine because it is wine… and this is the answer I give to the voice that speaks most clearly: “I do it because it makes you go away,” that is what I say. But in doing this I trust nothing these damnable days. Do you know what loneliness is? I haven’t really, until now. Try this on for size: all the people you care about are all at least five hours away, the only romantic love you feel is for a woman that goes to bed with another man every night, and the only hope you have is destroying all that you touch, slowly, in a kind of numbing manner.

Like a silent virus, or would it be like the sea rolling up onto the shore? It is a slow death nonetheless. Yes, it is getting to the point where I talk back to the voices. What else can I do? Listen to them? Exactly. That is what I am trying to do now, listen to them. It might not be a Bob Seager-4×4 snuff film, but it will break something. Fuck “Like a Rock,” my blood flows like wine. “I do it because it makes you go away,” I say again, I say it again, over and over.

©EschatonLife

Harry Crosby, Prophet of the Sun

A collection of poems by Harry Crosby. Limited to 100 copies.

In 1991, when traveling through Austin, an associate of mine gave me a tattered sheet that held 3 nearly unreadable Crosby poems. They transfixed me. I traveled the country copying poems from libraries and rare bookstores and eventually moved to Carbondale, IL. to gain access to the Caresse Crosby papers at Southern Illinois University.

I created this online edition to commemorate the 2011 anniversary of Harry Crosby’s death. The project gave me a chance to look at Crosby with fresh eyes. I’ve always cringed at Harry’s contradictions and train-wreck levels of drama.

His misanthropy, worship/objectification of women and perception of non-Europeans as savage are considerable blocks to the potential of his inspired ‘life as art/politic’ rebellion against the wealthy Boston Brahmins and his creative quest for spiritual liberation.

https://issuu.com/detroitevolution/docs/prophet_of_the_sun

©EschatonLife

Eden Bloom – The Death of Bloom

Remastered versions of these songs are being released in 2021 through Eschaton Life.

Save the cover of Current 93’s ‘Ballad of the Pale Christ’, I originally wrote and played these songs with different iterations of ‘Bloom’ while traveling from Detroit to Arizona, California, Illinois and back throughout the 90s.

These versions were recorded July 4 & 5, 1997 at Goldsound Studios Chicago, Illinois

Titled “The Death of Bloom’ this session was intended to end the project though it didn’t. Great thanks to all who assisted me in bringing this chapter to a close.

These were digitized without much EQ from cassette October 10th, 2012.