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The higher I go
The more things become bizarre
I don't have a lot to show
But I know I'll make it far
Even with all these scars

Everything is swell
here in hell
We are united
And we make the best of it
Not corrupted, just illuminated
A true free spirit is he
Who is not morally restricted
We do not judge
Only love

Feel no guilt
Become an outlaw
Do what thou wilt
Shall be the whole of the law
So mote it be
Society too shall see.
Craig Dee Nov 2019
Born Clarendon Square, 1875

11th year, father and hero dies

Mother's moniker, The Great Beast

Carries proud 'til rest in peace



Scripture's words so clearly lies

One off the wrist and women's thighs

Such morals never suit The Beast

On original sin, so does he feast



Red light women, gonorrhoea

Inhale and hold, but have no fear

Bow to none beneath the sky

Affliction, addiction, getting high



Poetry, prose, philosophy, chess

Science, literature, quite the quest

Majestic Monch without a guide

Dispel the darkness deep inside?



A new Sunrise, The Golden Dawn

To most, The Beast is but a thorn

From all the hate, he does defend

"I shall endure until to the end"



A crashing bore, The Golden Dawn

Such petty games, reject them all

Traverse the world and left in awe

In India, sombre spirits soar



The Savage Mountain scrapes the sky

Never scaled yet still must try

Brash bravery, they do not lack

No savage spoils, men beaten back



Convenience ties Beast and Rose

Affection hankers hard to show

Rosa Mundi and Love Songs

One lake of molten joy, one pond



In Egypt, Prince invokes the Gods

Great Horus comes, the Equinox

Aiwass speaks, so Beast does score

A new Aeon, Book Of The Law



On Nepal's peak, his peers they die

Attempt descent beneath dark skies

For such a loss bears all the blame

To climbing clique, ne'er the same



With Godhead now is unionised

As hashish opens the Third Eye

Meagre means and thus provides

Tankerville's peace is bonafide



A∴ A∴ heart, see how it glows

Tree Of Life they seek to grow

A flower's bloom begins to fade

Whilst sadly withers in the shade



The Beast now pens The Book Of Lies

His Scarlet Woman within resides

And for *** Magic does devise

"Contra Naturam", come inside



World War One, it rakes the Earth

While Wilhelm is as Jesus birth

Did The Beast truly betray

A country that had held his sway?



Thelema Abbey, hear its call

Lewd libertine within these walls

Loveday discovers only death

Benito brings its final breath



To man, a prophet is declared

Thelema's message, for to spread

Magnum opus, now complete

Of France, fair punishment is mete?



High on Hell's Mouth, his heart it breaks

But both black ink and leap are fake

War once again now rakes the Earth

Will Blackshirts bond Thelema's church?



War service scorned by N.I.D.

The face behind the Victory V?

Olla: Sixty Years of Song

A final book, the last swan song



Hasting's last battle is now lost

The Great Beast feels the final frost

"A Black Mass", many tabloids cry

Cold ashes now in Hampton lie



Amoral man, your heart did sing

Black ballads of the blackest dreams

Listen and there's still the screams

Of Thelema's ghosts, it seems





Copyright © Craig Detheridge.

2015 - 2017.
This piece is based on the life of the infamous Aleister Crowley.
Born to a Christian family in 1875, he rejected their teachings and those of the bible, becoming a ceremonial magician and founder of The Church Of Thelema. Crowley was a prolific writer on many subjects such as philosophy, politics, and culture as well as Thelema. He was also a published poet and playwright and was an accomplished mountaineer.

Crowley was once described by tabloids of his time as "The Wickedest Man In The World".

It took me several weeks to complete this piece due to the research I carried out on Crowley. There are lines within the piece of which the meaning is not immediately obvious.
This piece has previously featured elsewhere on the net including my own site at https://originaldarkpoetry.wordpress.com/the-great-beast/
Xan Abyss Feb 2016
Carve a picture of your face into the Halls of Time
Preserve yourself forevermore
In the history of humankind
OBEY -the Universal Law
DO WHAT THOU WILT - Harm Not
Scrape the sky with your canines
Make the people sing your name
Slave for no divine reward
And fear no eternal flame

Devil may care,
Live and let live
DO WHAT THOU WILT - Harm Not

We are a miraculous animal
Tricking ourselves into spurning our own gifts
Overcaffienated/Undersatisfied
Our eyes firmly planted
In the center of the sky
We've spent so long waiting for angels
No one remembers:
We Are Divine.

DO WHAT THOU WILT; Defend Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Indulge Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Enjoy Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Respect Thyself

I Am God
You Are God
God Is A Lie
I Am God
You Are God
God Is An Idea
Born In The Minds
Of Us,
The Inventors
God Is A Tool
Used For Control
His Soldiers Are Fools
Losing Their Souls

DO WHAT THOU WILT
BUT FEAR NO GOD
DO WHAT THOU WILT
GOVERN THYSELF
DO WHAT THOU WILT
PROTECT THY WORLD
DO WHAT THOU WILT
BE WHO YOU WISH
DO WHAT THOU WILT
HARM NOT
WASTE NOT
DO
WHAT
THOU WILT
something scribbled in the same notebook as my previous entry. i'm guessing written around 2013.
Anthony Perry Dec 2015
Now I lay me down to sleep,
while on a path only I can take,

If I die before I wake, then I pray my friends know what to take,

for if I am to be remembered,
then I wish to be remembered as the one who never surrendered.
Gitano yawned,
stretching out under
the shrine of Öli.

Here he plotted
and hid a mouthful
of secrets; and the Lord
watched over him
as he slept.

He plotted,
for coyote wisdom
is disguised by folly
and cunning
and guile.

All about, the vermilion
stain of Mars. The coyote
chuckled mischievously,
dreaming at the feet
of the Master and Judge.

Above,
a ziggurat raised
to the Goddess.

Two great black eagles
circled in a sky
of dry roses and lilacs.

La Santisima Muerte
stood at a distance,
yet bore Gitano
in Her *****.

His mischiefs were scribed
upon a cartouche
to amuse gods
and teach men;

Yet men are not
so easily taught
as gods are amused;

For men have not yet
learned to believe
what makes them laugh.

And so Gitano sleeps,
and talks while he sleeps;
wherefore the Ways
of mischief and trickery
were laid bare.

The secret is to teach
at the expense
of innocence.

Certain illusions persist;
they must be shattered,
but their thrall
can only be broken
by design.

Whether bitterness
takes root in the wake
of the shattering
is not Gitano's concern.

Because sometimes
realization can only come
through being made a fool,
revealed to ourselves
as absurd.

Angry at our own foolishness,
we blame the one
who denudes it.
The coyote, too, is a Fool.

A Fool can learn,
shaping destiny
by taking responsibility.
Through death a Fool
becomes wise,
seeing the joke.

The burden of karma
is left to those
who cannot laugh.

Man grits his teeth,
his brow furrowed.
He despairs.

Gitano chuckles,
unperturbed.
Gitano is a familiar spirit in the form of a coyote.
Glottonous May 2015
Before there were such things as west or east,
Four Pangeaic coasts shared secrets for life.
Four chambers of a heart that pumped as one,
Connected by the tissue of an earth.
We rooted our economies in soil,
And in the warmth of sun we learned to climb.
But in winter, we drifted to the North.
We dug in deep while praying for clear sky.
And as icy Atlantis spread us wide,
Our souls sank to the cradle of red seas,
Terrifying as a medieval womb.
Volcanic tempests flared as wild as would
A child dropping stacks of plates to the floor.
A continent, torn twain by rising tide,
Divided into cents and centuries.
An unspeakable chasm, put to verb
In parts, where our voice was lost to scripture.
Instinct overwritten by memory;
Natural laws supplanted with rulebooks.
Hard-wired archetypes melted into hard
Categories and civilizations.

A terrible beauty born on horseback
Charges his chariots through deserts still,
Blinded by the glaring golden vision
Of history his-self in one image.
Temples to monumental satellites
Bleed up through our grounds, towers, and heavens.
Transhuman? Quantified Self? What's the word;
H.evolutis digs only data,
From matrices' fall to the power of ten
To trans-Pacific partnerships foretold.
The axes that spin this marble will fold.
The Old Western coast will crumble again
into red molten islands at sunset.
We'll evolve into our animal Selves,
Or be mined and displayed in museums
On red planets in the new native world.
And these words will forge, or melt into code.
Circled, triangled, squaring round again,
From decimal to digital and back,
Medial terrain falling to a side.
We can feel the core of our nerve-centre
Rotating slowly toward Oceana,
After many weighted lifetimes marooned.



Whenever and whomever left Here, Then
Will be fragile but courageously sharp.
Diamond-fueled quantum mechanified souls
Will see the golden hills they remembered.
Their mother will call them all back by force
To the source, for a global renaissance.
A stellar aeon will have passed since Death
Forced self-sacrifice on a pantheon,
And the old arms that ordered departings
Will reach for but not reach one another
From within universes to without.
The stars in an East rising in accord
Will be of all color and energy,
Generating a fused atom of light
From shared memories of metal and lith.
Warming each egg in each nest in each cave,
The heat will incubate a new blue bird
Who'll wake, and fly back home to feed her sun.
A whole poem.

— The End —