Flower petals, velvet maroon, brushed my cheek as I leaned forward in the greenhouse. Something unfamiliar: a wrenching magnetism emanating from the flowers, vigorously sucking in heat. But the heat here was supplied by boilers, so it must be possible to fool a tropical plant, when what it is really seeking is the sun.
I remembered that this was a past life regression. So the public gardens still stand, but this greenhouse is long gone, a glass case from another time and its source of warmth allied more closely with steam combustion than with modern radiators. This other me who could feel flowers drawing in heat was familiar like the coal fire in my childhood home, yet at the same time she was a stranger with very unusual senses. I moved on.
I took up chaos magic towards the end of 2013, and now I’ve become an author writing fiction that’s about chaos magic. Are you curious to know how that happened? Well, I’m going to give you all the gory details whether you are curious or not.
Working my way through evoking the egregores made by my group DKMU, (ten egregores, each one more crazy and twisted than the last) I came to Ino the muse. We clicked straight away. I saw her in a crystal, and you would think that after having a big interest in the occult for many years I would have done that before. But no- NEVER done it before.
A month later, an online friend was about to publish volume 2 of his E-magazine. There was I playing a board game I had invented at the age of fifteen, all about sex and Star Trek-as you do when you’ve become a chaote. My only concession to the passing of numerous years since I was fifteen was to put in gods instead of Star Trek characters, plus a teaching servitor who I had met in an empty chat box. Part of the game is to write down what is said in a notebook, and the teaching servitor and I started talking about whether I should have added saliva when I tried making a servitor myself.
We wrote down all these jokes about spitting and gobbing, and random passages about other things too, and I went into the most hysterical laughter of my entire life which turned into gnosis of a degree that I still haven’t equalled since. The teaching servitor kept me locked in that state for ages while she siphoned energy off me. So I submitted one of the short passages from the notebook (not the one about spitting, thank God) for my friend’s E magazine, and it looked pretty good in there.
Another month passed and I was in an online group project with a crowd of chaos magicians, one which involved writing fiction. I sat down in a park and wrote, and it sounded….not to be big-headed, but it sounded professional. I had done writing before, mostly poems and religious songs (I was involved in eastern religions for a time and many of them are very devotional). But it had never actually sounded like ‘the business’ before. A door had been opened, or two doors: one by Ino who is called ‘the open door’ and another during that board game.
So that is how I got here, writing psychic and magic stories and hypersigils, and now I am going to follow a bunch of other chaos bloggers, to encourage them to follow me.
I hate the way insatiable women are made fun of all the time in comedies and cartoons. I watched one of those late-night animations once, about a woman who kept dragging her man into cubicles and things. It was bad taste and insulting.
I’m going to draw a cartoon that makes fun of insatiable men. Here we go! The man I’ve drawn has inflated arm muscles and long, floppy hair. He wears scruffy shorts that are too tight, and his name is Wacko. Now I’ll start writing rude jokes.
What was that? I heard a noise behind me. I look around and then at the sheaf of papers on my desk- and he’s gone! Where are you, Wacko? Come back! I bet the girls in the cartoons don’t run away like this.
I hear a voice calling from a distance; it’s a grating voice, the way I imagine Wacko’s. “Yes they do! Where do you think YOU came from?”