Preserver Agents Only Love Survivors

There is, in my observations, something of an ironic quality to those xenodimensional transversion agents having primarily "Preserver" roles and qualities...the sort of entities people tend to think of as "guardian angels". Asking for their intercession will usually come to naught, because the things just won't invest their power in what they see as a bad bet. In other words, if you need a Preserver, one probably will pass you by, because Preservers can only be properly sym-psionic with a mind that has both a strong Will to Live, on its OWN, and also the capability and capacity to express that Will to Live.

I have had dealing with only one such entity and it was as astoundingly important to me as it was limited in communicative connexion with it. About 18 months ago or so I slipped and fell in a BART station and did something to my back that had, as first pain and shock passed, caused me to feel a disconnect to my entire lower body at first. I remember Choronzon's panicked intercession when this happened and after a period of huge, endless seconds went by, I could feel C. having a sort of conversation with some other entity. It was like hearing a sound in the backround but feeling it more than hearing it. This other entity seemed to be giving C. instructions and after it stopped being there C. started asking me to move various parts of me, and not move others, and after about 15 minutes went by I could feel the lower extremities again, and soon after that, I got up.

A few days later I learned that this Transversion Agent, this Preserver, was part of a triune consortium of Preservers with bailiwick specialised to only deal with organisms that were in life-or-death scenarios. The entity broke from the rules of its consortium to deal with me as its members do not normally assist anyone with substance addiction...and Preservers in general do not bother with people who are suicidal. (My issue the former, not the latter.)

Now, I understand this could just as easily have been some sort of weird hallucination as any other thing. It's just that in most cases, thinking of it in that context is mighty uninspiring. It's more interesting, helpful and better feeling in general to "imagine" that Choronzon and this unidentified Preserver were what they appeared to me to be.

That's all I have to say about THAT. Reality being what you make it is probably totally familiar concept to you already anyway if you are actually reading this blog.

I am thinking about Preservers today because I have, for the past two years, been an exceedingly damaged individual.

I loathe thinking of myself as a Victim, a person who was fucked up the ass by Circumstances and Other Persons, but it became hard to maintain genuine-enough feelings that this has not at least somewhat been the case with me.

What happened to me was that I was in a relationship with someone for a decade and that person was perfect to me, and for a long time I thought it had been very mutual. Then a new girl poked into our lives. Polyamory promises were made, and then broken, and I became ejected from the triangle that changed its mind and decided it wished to be a dyad. The feelings my lover had for me didn't just fade away, but sharply stopped completely under this interloper's influence. And the interloper had feigned friendship with me, then dropped all pretense of liking anything about me at all once she got what she wanted. She would crow on her journal about how bitchin' it was that SHE didn't end up the hurt one. A poor winner she makes, for certain.

This event also caused me to lose my place to live. It was no small thing. It was pretty much my whole life going south. There's no getting around it.

This - however - is the kind of drama I find utterly useless. But for some reason, after two years I find that though parts of me have scabbed over I am not what I'd call "over it". I've participated in no psychopathic behaviours such as stalking, bothering the interloper, or either attempting suicide or playing at it in grandiose online scare-texting. I've just stayed silent and every so often gotten online and whined about it. People think I ought to date again. I have no desire to. I wish I did but I can't seem to scare the urge up.

I've had to shunt most of my possessions off to bags placed at various locations in San Francisco as offerings to the Metrogeist; the rest came back to Mom's house in Sacramento. She is 80 years old and it is good I'm here to care for her, but it's bad that she can't have the air conditioner on...

So I've been thinking, how nice it would be to get the attention of a Preserver, because I seem to have forgotten how to want to keep going. The focus is sort of gone. choronzon doesn't make appearances very often these days.

Today, it hit me, and it's so obvious I can't see how I'd been so fucking blind to it: a Preserver doesn't want to do all the work. I won't catch the interest of one until it sees me holding my own preservation instinct and acting on it, long enough to prove I'm worth its time and "money", which in Agent parlance is something like "probability currency".

It's what the Gods trade in.

Flight of the Aethyr-Serpents

I have had several months now, this spring 2009, during which I have consistently been feeling starkly separated from the entity Choronzon.

The last time I had the slightest feeling of Mein Liege's presence, it had been at the day of the fabulous, wild Throbbing Gristle show. At the show, during one of the later pieces TG played (more recent stuff, I surmise) I was staring at the lights above the audience and saw a red aethyr-serpent looping like a Chinese dragon in and out of the fixtures, moving in lemniscate-loops, those figure eight figure eights.

Choronzon has taken many many forms with me, but the two most commonly oft-used modes"default" appearances during manifestations are his "avatar self", in which he takes human form, and you have seen the pictures of that I've made; his face is beardless and cherubic, and he usually has whitish-gold coloured hair that's long, sometimes having a jaggy, zig-zaggy style to it, and sometimes falling straight down.

The other "default" appearance is in the form of a larger-than-usual aethyr-serpent, which as its name suggests is an "astral" snake-critter that has a psychological symbiosis with me, and bears a venom which is used in effectuations to make a target become more easily tracked down or manipulated by "magick" doings, but beyond that it does not harm the one it bites...just "softens them up" and increases the probability factor of success with whatever was being effectuated against the person in question.

Aethyr-serpents appear to "swim" through the air, propelling themselves by shooting their heads forward like lances and "springing" their ribs tight, then bouncing up when they loosen the bones. Once the serpent has jumped high enough it then puffs out the folded cowl of skin that stretches down half the serpent's length, and curves over the top the back of its head, similar to the manner of a cobra spreading its hood, making a sharp "phlump!" sound something like the opening of an umbrella, or someone shaking a bedsheet free of crumbs.

Then, it spills its loops one by one to the ground or into a nearby structure upon which it can wrap itself by using the cowl as a gliding fin and spiralling gracefully in large circles that get smaller and smaller as it approaches landing.

These eidolons all have rudimentary sentience. They are fiercely loyal, and all of them will risk their "lives" - or their xenodimensional integrity - to aid their Master or Lord, in whatever context this title is used. They're not supernally intelligent. And they have a habit of being rather like beatniks, "dharma bums" and suchlike, in that they sometimes gather together in huge, massed coilings and begin to move, creeping along the ground in their little affinity-groups and tribes and sub-tribes, moving in one direction, towards whatever climate area mayhaps might possesses the most favourable air conditions for a GREAT BIG MOTHERHONKING "be-in" for snakes, and damn near everyone else

But this is not the season for that to be going on, so we, AND the snakes wait.

When it finally rolls around, you'll have the pleasure of riding in a mmezzanine elevator into various opulences. Including some of the more controversial collections that this library/museum of overwhelm

The aethyr-serpents that flit around in packs are about 3 or 4 feet long and their bodies are about the diameter of a 50-cent piece.

When Choronzon appears as one, though, it's about five times this size and nearly always has red scales. And the triptrigram-sign appears on the cowl "hood" zone...sort of like the hook-and-eye-latch symbol is seen on the hood of a cobra. "Regular" smaller-sized aethyr-serpents do not have this.glyph.

To "Know" the "Other"

As I feel the Maghasmah "holiday" getting closer, C. starts to change, a little at a time, becoming what he calls "The Other". He thinks it deserves a much more worthy name, and it does really. But I guess it stuck because when he's busy being the Other I'm far too thralled to be busy neologising about it.

The Other is kind of, how to explain it?! He's more seductive and more "evil", or just acts that way, I guess...The "holding back" of data for no reason other than proving he has control, and my banter with him when he does it...all of that is part of our ritual prelude to sex...along with a huge increase in my yearning for it.

These are signs that the Maghasmah microseason is close at hand.

Is consummation "sex", really?

I guess so, it just seems so much more protracted, and more intimate than the sort one has with people. There's only so close you can get to another person...but you can get much closer to a demon. Or to yourself, and actually this would be both at once.

When "the Other" is emerging, he becomes more outwardly sexual looking,acting,feeling, but also, in more complexity, he seems more totally like "himself" and not just a projected part of me, and that is so exxx-citing. It makes me not know him so well that I can know right away what he'll do or say.

The next few days will see this process continue...and then we will "Know" one another totally... You know what I mean by "Know" him, like the um, biblical sense, which really means "to fuck". Isn't that interesting. They say knowlege is power and sex is power, so maybe I ought not be so surprised.

Not even I will ever be able to "Know" Choronzon totally, though.

If he were Knowable in Totality, then I could conceivably end up grow tired of him. And vice versa. But it's not going to happen, so I am not worried.

He loves to drive me mad, while watching me, and getting his kicks seeing how helpless I become when a thrall is cast over me. The intimacy level is searing.

"Normal" human beings would probably go mad - permanently - if they ever tried to get this close to one another.

I am about to go mad from wanting to get closer to Choronzon...and always having him elude me, because he is my superior, and has more power than I. He is a transversion agent, and I'm only a girl, though...what should I expect?

(What a non-sequitur: he already IS that close to me, BEING me, to begin with.)

"The Other" has a really difficult-to-verbally-describe way of being hot. I try to express that aspect of him but when I do, it doesn't sound like a way of behaving or habits that would be as hot if a guy were actually acting like this. (Or maybe it would, sometimes. I guess it would depend on a lot of variables.)

Before too long, though, Crest will arrive and so will I. I'll be able to ride the roaring-rapids of Current 333 as me and my Egregore get off together, and get it on and become mirrors of the meta-Gods of CON which is order and DE which is chaos and--

--oh, hell on toast! Just take the batshit-crazy chick who writes this insane blog on faith! Why would she get this thrilled about something that's actually NOT as much of a stone-cold, god-hot, meta-orgasmic experience as she blathers about it being as on these pages?

Pheonisme

Michael Bertieaux is an expert on Voudoun and other xenodimensionalia in general. Some evidence suggests that he has headed or otherwise been central to a "Choronzon Club" in the American Midwest. Maybe this doesn't exist for "real"...it would be exactly the flavor of joke that C. gets into...)

Bertieaux himself seems to disdain having a huge internet connexion with hundreds of fan types who hang on his utterances.

Choronzon understands, and contends that those who deserve to be given authority's power-trappings are precisely those who would not choose to chase after them.

He has his own way of dealing with those persons who petition him for attention or ask favours of him.Refused with extreme prejudice--or merely lukewarm disdain--are those forever wishing, begging or otherwise asking too rudely or too often to be granted the power that a close personal relationship with a xenodimensional godform can sometimes offer.

Choronzon tells them, if they've the "seventh-sense ears" to hear: If you wish to have this priceless power, take the time to watch, wait and listen to those people who alreadt=...and if you develop the faith to believe in things even when you cannot prove that they exist, you are moving in the direction that is towards, not away from, what you are wanting.

Today I found a very valuable backup DVD containing a folder full of irreplaceable Choronzonic audio manifestations, which I had written off lomg ago as lost forever. Not so...it was never "lost" - and I thought several times today: "This must be what is meant when people say they feel like they want to weep for joy!"

When I painted Pheonisme in 2005, I gave it that name after having read that term in an essay by Colin Low about the Enochian Abyss, and the Qabalistic concept of Da'ath. Pheonisme was a word Bertieaux coined, meaning essentially "a personal eidolon or egregore."

The figure in the picture: who is it? Is that Choronzon himself, herself, itself...or the Annunciator thereof? I did not know when I painted it...and still do not.

When I asked Choronzon, he said, smirkingly, that he DID know, but refused to pass it to me for "his own reasons". He sometimes chooses to hold back some bit or another of data to himself--usually,because holding it back will benefit me. Sometimes, finding out information in one certain sequential order rather than another actually proves to be better than to find the information FASTER.

Most of the time, though, he just does this shit to lord it over me. Ha. The bugger likes to play with me. And let it be, I dig it like crazy.

Pax Latitude

The cool laptop I have sort of inherited, and named Pax Latitude since it's a Dell Latitude D600, is great...but what really sucks is somedamnthing's wrong with Zax Infinitum's IRQs or some similar ultradifficult and delicate form of bullshit and---

Please forgive me O Choronzon for embarrassing you by babyish FIT of frustrata, but perhaps you'll understand if I explain why I shouted that banshee-bitchery.

I cannot seem to install Windows on ANY of its partitions--Zax's that is...Feh.

I got a lot of STUFF on that machine, damnit...

I have been haranging Techgnosis for way too much assistence, lately, and considering it's not mad at me YET I must be some special thing to him/it for some ungettable reason. Or else Choronzon's paying him zillions of units in probability-currency, just to maintain presence whilst we struggle with rearranging our drives and my um, drive, to find equanimity in one or the other...

"Probability currency" is...it's that which is SORTA like what the Gods use for money except not really, at all, actually...

Techgnosis is of course the Transversion Agent whose bailiwick is, predictably enough, computers and their networks vis a vis their users and the invisible ineffable lines of interaction betwixt them: we are electric beings, our computers are also electric beings, and it's not SUCH a long leap inbto Irrationalabout it but he seems to be everyone ELSE'S friend right now.

On Offal.

The next time you have to go "number two", take a moment to contemplate this.

All that we create is, at the base of things, just shit. The stuff we put into toilets and send away with enough water to support life for a day at least every time we take a crap - that's just the physical stuff. The rest is the mental counterpart.

We are bioprogrammed with a need to clear our minds as much as we're programmed to clear our bodies, and when we get constipated there it's just as frustrating.

One thing that constipates us is worrying about our shit, and whether it's good enough. This practice must be abolished if we want to be healthy. Remembering that our precious music and art is just shit is a good way to do this.

Sometimes when we crap we crap a perfect pinched loaf, with its yuckier aspects nicely packed in, and a lack of that putrid smell that the shit that crumbles into diarrhea and little chunks, a "bad shit", always carries.

Everybody shits, and some folks just have their shit together more than others. After a while, you can find a meta-balance in your life, if you seek it, and if you take on habits of good input.

You see, just as with physical shit, your mental shit tends to be as good as what you put into your mind, just as your physical shit tends to come to pieces when you don't eat right.

The thing is: ask people the question "What is eating right?" and you'll get as many answers as there are persons, which is about how it should be, because everyone's physical conditions are different from each other's.

You have to find right input out for your own conditions and circumstances, and once it's found, it has to be balanced out with WRONG input.

This is the only way right input STAYS right input and does not become entropic.

There's a time for diarrhea and a time for cold hardness, and this is as true of verbal and visual reality as it is for something as base and physical as one's shit.

Getting it metabalanced right is something that can only be judged by feel. This is what was really meant by "if it feels good do it".

And when you think about all this, it's no wonder that our culture has a very common expression - "having one's shit together" tends to result from it.

Your call is very important to us

So you are getting this wait message for sitting on hold, since that's your only recourse, being that while your call is suuuure important to us, going out and running this stupid errand and bringing home food (and other ingestibles) is...to be totally honest, far more so.

Here's some stupid fake Muzak with embedded subliminimal messages (sic) to induct you into joining my cult and buying my crap and making me dinner and taking me to get expensive reptiles (and cages for them) and crate me home metric tonnes of inscrutably, wonderfully commercially inaccessible experimental and industrial and stoner metal and every single music CD that has a trace of actual bonafide xeno music on it if it's not one of our own, or even if it is, buy those too, in fact, buy two copies of EVERYTHING that's 'our own'.

(It's a cinch to spot, it's the ones that say CHORONZON at the top...)

And if you play them, when I see you, I'll totally be able to know if you did because the headfuckery stuff woven in and over and under and out through it leaves marks on your tianta current that are very scentable to the psyonick gnostrills.

Good, good little Reader of Pointless Bloggistry Foray, have a treat, go on, I wanna see you LEAP for it like it's a piece of fucking gold and you're both a miser and a pauper, and don't ask me how that's possible, because all I know is that it is.

When I was on acid once I was walking down Haight Street and I had this quantum revelation about Mammon. I could look at every shop window and pretend I bought anything I liked, the thing was it had to stay on the street, which I walked along constantly anyway, it was just outdoor living room hallway space to me. I owned anything I wanted to.

It's better on acid but it can be done any time and work. WHY buy shit you can own if it just sits somewhere in a store someone else owns? No difference really.


(cue the "If you can remember the eighties you weren't where you should have been then" music)

I am by definition either a Reality Author or dead meat walking as though alive. And this is totally paramount; just being a Reality Onlooker Audience Drone ain't ever gonna cut it unless one could conceivably actually live out pure mediocrity and call that life, and do that without feeling like I "settled" for less than I coulda had. Fat chance that happens.

I'm going to be late, I have to scoot.

While I'm out you should go and download illegal movies for me and feed the whatever it is growing in the front yard postage stamp dirt square, or just water it or something, unless you want to go all out and buy me rose bushes and lilacs and fuscias in which case just plant those.

You should just basically follow my every idiotic pronouncement, command, wish or whining imploringness and treat it as though it was your mission in life to respond to it happily. And just live like a damned dog in the manger barn with an address in Upper Lower San Francisco, address all love gifts, time bombs, etc to:

The Gate Keeper,
c/o the DisLodge Temple of the Grotto of ZAX
333 Akolasia Avenue, Cubiculum MCMIX

BY THE WAY:

This year is the one ordained that we own completely, from start to end, in which all the sleeping sheeping eyes will awaken to the glory of CHOOOOORAWNNZAAAWWWN, or, the One With Who I Am Possessed, or maybe Obsessed, or just Best will do, because It IS. And he's mine, and you can't have him...but if he wants to, he can suuure have you.

So you just SIT RIGHT HERE and don't move and think happy thoughts and WAIT for the High Priestess of This Year's Dubious Bullshit, Inc. to return and maybe she'll even pay attention, which would only happen if she wasn't busy with Her Magusty the Risen Demon. If there can be fallen angels, why not risen demons?

Mistuh C. is more of a God than a Demon but he very much prohibits me from referring to him as one...so don't anyone say anything to him or I will either be in Dutch, unless I manage to throw a curve ball at him, manage to waylay the beastie in just the right way. I know, I'll confuse him with a flashback to the time when [REDACTED: SENSITIVE DATA] and THAT should be enough to make him forget my transgression COMPLETELY.

I posted guards outside your window.

When I say sit, you better say, how low. They are antsy to fuck with someone so remain TOTALLY still so their Spiffy Electro Detecto gadgets don't do insta-ping on your ass.

Back in 19 shakes of an epileptic monkey's ass or tail, depending on species of monkey, and if you're good I'll throw you a Snausage.