Magick is not magic.
You don’t get to just make a wish and expect it to come true. When I explain chaos magick to the uninitiated they always respond with, “Oh, it’s like Law of Attraction.” No, dear human, we do not wish. We do. We make the magick. We are the power, part of the power, connected to the power. I do not make wishes. I will my reality, not crave it and hope it comes along. This takes a monumental amount of effort because, right now, we’re all trapped in this cage called consensus reality. Therein lies the duality of the path, mirroring the duality of all reality.
Is it left-handed or right-handed, the path of the chaos mage? Both. Neither. It’s ambidextrous. We walk the line between all the things. We adapt not only to our surroundings but also to whatever paradigm is needed. Yes, we’re punks. Yes, we’re jocks. Yes, we’re politicians. Yes, we’re prostitutes. We are whatever is necessary in order to manifest our intent. We are the shadow, the spy, the friend, the lover.
In order to accomplish this feat, there are things that are necessary to undertake to be able to pull back the veil. A path must be chosen. You will either need to acquiesce to the consensus reality, the shared vision of all the people, or you will need to rebel and see things for what they truly are, the beginning to a very long game.
From the moment you are born, you are spoon-fed, literally and figuratively. You are dosed on a daily basis with a flurry of instruction. Be this way. Do this thing. Become productive. Consume. Digest. Produce. Die.
The reality you are subjected to is full of surrender. You are tasked to surrender yourself to authority. Trained like a dog to roll over and show your belly. And you do just that, every day you keep living in their lie. Think about that.
Get woke, motherfucker.
If you were born in the last quarter of the 20th century or in the first quarter of the 21st, I’ve got news for you…we are royally fucked unless we get off our collective ass and do something. To be perfectly fucking honest, we’re probably fucked no matter what we do. I believe in surviving, though. That’s what magi do. That’s what we’ve done since the dawn of humanity. We survive and tell the tale. We pass down the arcane history, the real history, to the next generation. We find those who can understand. We facilitate the handover to the next of us. We chronicle the eschaton.
Art is the weapon.
It’s a common refrain. It’s commercial and people grab onto it. They hunger for it. They want to understand so desperately, and for a few the magick will resonate. They will see through the veil and understand that there are other places than these, other realities than here, things that go bump in the night. Old things. The shadows of our predecessors. The living history of all that has come before us and the shade of what is coming.
Art is magick in tactile form.
The intent of the path is hidden in the very working of the designs. It matters little if the design is words, images, sounds, or craft. The intent of the magick worker is there. The message is up to the artist to put into play and the viewer to reinterpret into a truth. Once the truth is seen it cannot be unseen. This is how we flip their switch. We resonate across their entire existence. This is how you war against the monoculture that seeks to make you surrender.
Make no mistake, we are at war.
No, it’s not one of bombs, bullets, and guns, although it sometimes manifests that way. We see people dying just for being who they are – the color of their skin, the person they love, the gender they are. Slavery is rampant but sublimated in most cultures, bent on keeping those who can consume material excess in their own chains of bondage. The powers that be use us all as marionettes, twisting our strings to do their bidding and make them more powerful, the ultimate parasitic creation of the ego made real. Eventually, like a virulent disease, we will consume our home or it will consume us and then where will we be? The eschaton is now. It’s the slow death that’s been stalking us for centuries. We’re not waiting for it. We’re living it.
Which path will you choose?
You can embrace the familiar. There is no shame in this. The path of the chaote is not an easy one to undertake. You will face truths about yourself that you had hoped would be false. You will bear witness to things that will hurt your soul and haunt your mind forever. You will be tasked to be a survivor so that the next generation can open their eyes. Hopefully, the species will survive and you will pass that information on. You will become the shaman, the priest, the fortune teller. Your shadow will be both within and without. Perhaps, if we do not survive as a species, the art we leave behind, the art that speaks the truth of what we really were, will live on as our legacy. Perhaps, one day, another species may learn from our mistakes and not recount them as we have so woefully done time and again.
The hope is there.
However, time is running out. The path is real and it does not lie to you. It is the objective form of chaos taking hold in your life, showing you the true nature of reality, and giving you a glimpse into what we can become. It has been handed down many times and today it continues with us. There are many doors to gain entry to the path. We invite you to walk with us and become the ultimate historian, the shaman, the teacher, the chaote. Not all will hear this call but we’re not talking to them. We’re talking to you. We ask you one simple question…
Would you like to help us save the world?
I write the things. I make the things. I do the things. Enjoy the things.
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