Archive for 352

Pima Penal Colony

Posted in Sinister Perspectives with tags , , , , on August 30, 2009 by cosmion

Altar 1

Editor’s Note: It seems as if the boys over at the Pima Penal Colony haven’t been too discreet with their activities. Shame on you guys!

These photos of the strange Altar we found while investigating the stories of SkinWalkers in the Canyons near Alamogordo New Mexico
We Are working on getting the footage we shot of the unknown entity we filmed moving about on the ridge above us. More details coming

We are also working on getting the footage we shot of the unknown entity we filmed moving about on the ridge above us in the early morning. At about 4am we started hearing weird howls from the ridge above us. The footages show something large, estimating 14 ft tall moving on the riverbank/ridge above us. We ended up firing on it as it kept coming closer and closer. It then moved off over the ridge.Altar 2

We have now interviewed several eyewitnesses who have testified that The Order Of The Nine Angles is active and practicing in New Mexico in a canyon near Alamogordo, New Mexico.

The oldest and most influential is The Order of the Nine Angles, or ONA. This group has its own website at. Based in England, the ONA appears to act as a sort of “mother church” for Satanists who describe themselves as “traditional.” (The more popular, “Gothic” types of Satanism are often disparaged as “American.”)Altar Stone (2)


The ONA’s beliefs, and some of its documents, are mirrored in the Internet material relating to the Order of the Deorc Fyre, formerly known as the Order of the Left-Hand Path. This group is based in New Zealand, though contact information is provided on the Web for other places in the world. Its documents suggest that it is more interested in recruiting than are other groups of this type.

The White Order of Thule, formerly known as the Black Order, seems to be pan-European. The only contact information I found was a mailing address in the United States, where this kind of thing is constitutionally protected. It has by far the smallest amount of Internet material. It is also almost pedantically Nazi: its literature even reflects something of the style of German “völkisch” groups of the early 20th century. Such material as there is suggests an acquaintance with the academic literature on the subject, such as Nicholas Goodrick-Clarke’s “The Occult Roots of Nazism.”We also note the WOT has since become inactive (link).


A Sinister Sport

Posted in 352 Stories of Sinister Fiction with tags , , , , on August 22, 2009 by cosmion


A Sinister Sport

Leeds, 1973

It was nothing unusual, at least for Steve and his chosen three skinheads, to loiter in the sodium-lit night, on The Headrow or the streets around, waiting for some unwary mundane to pass them by to be followed to be relieved at knifepoint, or the threat of a kicking, of whatever money or possessions they carried or held. But it was for The Plumb, the young lad of slim physique and shaven head whose new swastika tattoo, on his forehead, still itched.

Plumb was a novice at this sporting game, and, knife ready, somewhat nervously waited for the test that would – that might – begin to make his name among Steve’s crew. It was not a long wait, that early evening of light drizzle where the slight warmth of late October had given way to the dreary coldness of November, and they – at Steve’s gesture – followed the middling aged suited briefcase holding man for only some yards when Plumb’s stiletto blade stuck him in the back. He groaned, slightly, before he fell, gasping – but they wasted no time on him, for only his money, his watch, any saleable goods mattered, and he was left there where the cold wet dirty pavement became a pillow for his face as they laughing scampered back to the safety of their den.

It was a single third floor room in a block of rented office rooms whose grimy small single un-openable window gave at least some view of the Infirmary across the street, and it was there, on the bare un-carpeted floor where thieved goods lay stockpiled almost to the ceiling, waiting, that they divvied up their share. Plumb got the cash, such as it was; and Steve and his crew the rest: a watch; a gold ring; the leather briefcase; perhaps a saleable newish wallet. But their value was incidental, purely incidental – at least that time.

Later, the darkness found them mischief-heading westerly, after a bevvy of beer had been downed at their favourite haunt where the relative wideness of Woodhouse Lane gave way to the narrower streets that north-easterly lay to sedately tumble down in terraced houses toward that tall-chimney of the quaintly-named “Leeds Corporation refuse destructor” on Meanwood Road, and where in a nearby house Steve spent the occasional night in the confines of a stuffy garret, with young shop-girl Lesley. He did not know then – and would not have cared even had he known – that centuries before, and only a gunshot away, Royalist forces had been bloodily defeated at the Battle of Meanwood Valley during his ancestors’ Civil War.

So, steadily but never furtively, they – buoyed by beer, youth, hate, and pride – made their way to serried terraces southwesterly between Woodhouse Moor and Burley Road. At Steve’s instigation, Plumb knocked on the door of a house, and it was not long before a skinny young man in black leather jacket, dirty T-shirt and jeans, opened it. Plumb punched him in the face, and he fell over backwards to where a discarded newspaper lay upon a lino floor near and steps led upward to dank, small, upper rooms.

“That’s for grassing, you cunt!” Plumb shouted as the skinny young man tried to get to his feet.

But Plumb pushed him down before kicking his head three times, and the young man was unconscious when Steve and his crew entered.

Steve threw a leaflet over the prostrate now bloodied body before they all left, laughing. On the leaflet – only a swastika, the letters CoC, and the words: “Violence purifies and makes the man.”

The stolen car took them recklessly fast out from the city of Leeds to near where the rocks of Almscliffe Crag rose beyond the Harrogate road and gave, in daylight, views toward the Vale of York. And it was there on the top of that rocky outcrop they assembled in that drizzle-filled darkness for Plumb to take his oath.

It was a simple oath – a personal pledge of loyalty to Steve, his comrades, his crew and their new Clockwork Orange Cult – and soon was over, so that they scampered, laughing, lustfully, satiated with feral life and memories of violence, down from their eerie to head back eastwards where Steve, as promised, had prepared for them a surprise.

The girls were waiting in that rented well-furnished well-cared-for Woodhouse terraced house above the fringe of Meanwood Ridge, and Mark, their pimp, greeted Steve – as the friend, and comrade, that he was – there where joss sticks perfumed the houseful-air and Slade’s Look Wot You Dun played loudly, beatingly, through speakers wired to some Hi-Fi system, recently liberated from some city-centre store.

There was some dancing then – or what passed for dancing – among the crew and the girls until they paired off to upstairs rooms leaving only Steve, Mark, and Ruth. Ruth the dark haired – older than the others, whose young son was in the so-called care of Social Services; Ruth the voluptuous, who sat, skimpily if fashionably dressed, waiting curled up on a sofa; waiting, for Steve her favoured lover to take her to her bed. But it was to be nearly an hour before her desire became fulfilled, and so she sat and watched him as he and Mark schemed, plotted, and dreamed.

At first, their talk was of Eastman, the non-family traitor who had betrayed a friend to the Police. Would that warning of the evening suffice?

“If not – ” Steve said harshly, and gestured death with his hand.  They both knew that had Eastman been a part of their crew, or even if only the person he betrayed had been, then his fate of death would that night have been assured.

“Plumb? How’d he do tonight?” Mark asked.

“Good. He did well.”


“Yep. I’m going to team him up with Phil at the Depot. He starts there Monday. He’ll be our runner. There’s a shipment due Friday.”

“Usual stuff?”

“Nope. Electrical goods, this time.”

“I’ll let Jamie know.”  Jamie was their fence, a small rather portly middle-aged man of vast experience and canny if mournful countenance who had thrived in the rationing post-war years and who, though well-known to the Police, had never ever been to Court, for although his second-hand emporium in a back-street by the Wharf regularly received visits from The Plod, they never ever found anything suspicious, or stolen. Or, at least, that they could prove was stolen.

“Usual divvy?” Mark asked.

“Yep – but small bonus for Plumb.”


“Yep. He might even spend it here!” Steve laughed.

So they talked, laughed, planned, plotted, schemed, until at last Steve came to take her hand, leading her gently – almost lovingly – toward and into her room where they lay, naked, entwined for quite some time, gently touching, kissing, feeling the warmth, the soft human warmth, of each others’ bodies. It was for this – for such as this – that she almost loved him. Almost: had she not by the experience of her past stopped herself. And so they lay together, warmly warm, and silent, with only the distant sound of music below; the sounds of their lips touching; their breath breathing; and his fingers feeling her moist waiting wetness.

At first, he had seemed such a contradiction to her. But she no longer cared. It was his company and his body that she craved; even needed; and she would listen to him speak, for hours, in his almost accentless voice as he spoke of his plans, his visions, his passions, his theories, his interests and his hopes. Thus did she listen to him again later that night after their passions had flowed and flowed to ebb with the passing hours of their intimate, sexual, embrace.

“It’s the essence of the sinister, you see, ” he was saying to her as she lay naked, propped up on pillows in her bed, smoking one of her small cheroots while soft light from a bedside lamp bathed them and the glow of Dusk began to dully glow, as dark retreated beyond that window of their world.

“Experience. Going to, beyond, your limits. Transgressing laws, all limits. Learning. Exulting in life, and treating the mundanes as the idiots, the expendables, the resource, they are.”

Then, quite suddenly, his tone changed. “I’d like you to leave, here, this house,” he said. “And stay with me. We’ll get somewhere.”

“Don’t be daft!” she said in her broad Yorkshire accent, and slightly laughed.

“I mean it. I want you to get more involved. Assist me.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yep. Very.”

“But I don’t know anything about the Occult and Satanism.”

“You don’t have to. They’re just words. Words which obscure the essence. Useful – sometimes. But otherwise irrelevant. Like the current name my crew use – CoC. I’ll change it; maybe soon for something maybe permanent. It was only temporary, anyways, that outer name.”

She finished her cheroot, and lit another one, and he continued.

“It’s essentially just a way of living. A way of life. It’s not really about rituals and all that crap that the mundanes think it’s about. It’s about us – individuals – excelling; enjoying. Taking risks. Changing ourselves. Evolving. Exulting. About creating a new way of life; freeing ourselves from the tyranny of laws; from the tyranny of the Police; of governments; of The State. Being ourselves.”

“And making money,” she laughed.

“Of course!”

“But -” she began to say.

“Mark agrees.”

“You what?”

“About you leaving here. He – and I – want you to take over running the girls.”

“So what’s he going to do, then?”

“He’s gonna open a new branch of our venture, in York.”

“I see.”

“Naturally, I’ll have some lads stay here to look out for the girls.”

“Naturally!” And she laughed again.

“What’d you say, then?”

Aroused, she said all that then needed to be said with her body, until satiated again, she lay beside him as, outside, the Sun rose into a strangely cloudless early Winter’s sky.


There was much that Steve wanted to do, and he had invited Plumb to join him for a drink in their favoured Pub in Woodhouse. Ruth was there, in the dimness of that traditional haunt, and Plumb could not help but ogle her breasts as he sat down beside Steve. But he knew better than to let his gaze linger or address her by name, and so he sat sipping his pint of beer.

“You’ve got someone interested, I hear?” Steve said to him.

“Yeah, mate of mine. Will.”


“Shipley skins.”

“Enough said, then.”

“You wanna meet?”

“Yep, set it up. It’ll be a test.”

Plumb smiled. “Like mine?”

“Yep.” And both Steve and Ruth smiled. For she had come a long way in the two weeks since she and Steve had shared a house.

That day of the test was a mournful if British one – for weather. For the wind was cold; the sky overcast and dull with cloud; and the slight persistent drizzle of that middle morning lent meaning to Julius Caesar’s long dead desire to live in far more sunnier healthier climes. Steve was there, with Plumb, and Will, the heavily-tattooed, waiting in the stolen car outside the shop. It was a kind of non-descript shop, selling jewellery, not quite in the city centre, and its décor and display seemed as if to say that its owner could not quite decide upon the intended clientèle. For there were some quite expensive items, among the rings and watches, and then some much cheaper tat while a middling assortment of second-hand items completed the rather mixed collection.

“Ready?” Steve asked Will, as the young skinhead of stocky build sat in the backseat of the car, clutching a sawn-off shotgun.

“Let’s go!” Steve said, and he and Will were swiftly out, masks on.

Steve pushed the one male customer aside, his right hand brandishing his revolver, while smashing displays with a hammer.

“Fill it!” Steve demanded of the customer, as Will thrust a small bag at him, and – obedient, like the trained mundane he was – he obeyed, stuffing it full of rings and watches. And then they were gone, outside, to where Plumb waited, ready and revving the car.

Ruth’s old haunt claimed them, after the necessary change of outfits and cars, above the fringe of Meanwood Ridge, and Will and Plumb sat on a sofa in that well-incensed house while Steve inspected the haul.

“Good,” he said. Then, to Will: “You’ll get your cut in a couple of days, OK?”

“Yeah, sure,” Will said.

“You got a job?” Steve asked him.

“Nah, only thieving,” and he laughed, showing two teeth broken from fights.

“From now on, no freelancing, understand?” Steve said.


“You do only the jobs we give you.”


“Got some regular work, if you’re interested,” Steve said. “Right up your street.”


“Protecting our assets, here. Could be a rough, at times. Oh, yeah of course, you haven’t met them, have you,” Steve smiled. He called out, and, one by one, Ruth’s girls came in, all five of them.


Introductions over – as was his hour with the girl of his choice – Will was taken in a convoy of three crew cars amid the light of that day, such as that light was, to the rocks of Almscliffe Crag which rose beyond that Harrogate road and which gave, in better daylight, views toward the Vale of York. And it was there, on those topmost now rain-spattered rocks, that he gave his solemn pledge of loyalty to that crew.

“You’re family now,” Steve said. “Understand?”

“Sure.” And they all knew he meant it.

“We have some simple rules. First, we don’t betray our own,” Steve said to him. “Anyone who does is killed. No questions; no quarter; no delay. You’re in this for life, and if you ever show enmity towards us, your family, we’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

Steve paused for a moment before continuing. “Second, we all have equal shares of whatever we take or whatever our enterprises earn. No favouritism. Third, we care for our family. We respect them. We look after them; look out for them. We will risk our own lives for them, if required. All of them – women, children; they’re all our comrades. If you disrespect any member of our family, our kindred, you’ll suffer – you’ll be put on trial, before us, you’ll say your piece, and be judged and, if necessary, punished.

“Fourth, it’s the mundanes and us. Our folk, our kindred, our band of comrades, our family, against the mundanes. The mundanes and their property, all they have, are our resource. Fifth, the laws of the mundanes are irrelevant to us. The government, and especially the Police, are our enemy, servants of the mundanes – we expect no favour from them, no quarter, and we give them no favours, no quarter. Understand?”

“Sure,” Will said. And they all knew he meant it.

“Also, there’s only one leader, one chief. Currently, it’s me. You got a grievance, something to say, you come to me, say it to me to my face, in full earshot of others. We don’t ever talk about one of our brothers, one of sisters, behind their backs. If you’ve got a grievance against me, you face me with it, in full earshot of others.

“If you ever have a dispute with any member of our family, our crew, you bring it out into the open. If we can’t settle among ourselves, then you’ll settle it between the two of you, by a fair fight.

“If you don’t like my leadership, challenge me for it, openly. If necessary, we’ll settle the matter by a duel with deadly weapons. So, for leadership it’s a duel; for other disputes, a fair fight, in front of comrades.

“There’s no leaving your family. You’re part of us now for life; you’re our brother, for life. If you want to settle down with someone, or get married, she has to be either one of us, or become one of us. No exceptions. Same with our women-folk, our sisters – if they are serious about someone, wanting to settle down with them, maybe even get hitched, then he has to be either one of us, or become one of us. No exceptions. Same if you move away for some reason – you’re still family; still bound by your oath; our rules; and we may ask for your help, anytime; just as you can ask for our help, anytime.”

“And one last thing,” Steve said. “We have our own, small, tattoo. Our mark.” And he smiled, saying, “although I don’t know where you’re going to put it.”

Steve laughed, Will laughed; everyone laughed, for Will’s arms, hands and neck were already covered with tattoos.


S. Brown
ONA (Nexion One)
120 yf

Inside the Underbelly

Posted in Sinister Perspectives with tags , , on August 19, 2009 by cosmion


The thought of transgressing against the current forms and structures, the “powers that be” is an alluring concept, to say the least. I have attempted the Presencing of the Dark, particularly that of the Sinister Feminine through the performance of real-world deeds and solo rites.

Since I was considered as someone who had a “problem with authority,” I decided to undertake the Insight Role of Police Officer in my hometown of New York City back in 2005. I had little difficulty applying since I only had one offense as a juvenile (12 y/o) for graffiti. I met many in the Police Academy whom to this day, I consider to be friends, even if I was only “on the job” for “selfish” reasons.

The Police Academy was what I consider to be semi-rigid. There were strict haircut and uniform policies and academic requirements that I felt wasn’t overly difficult, maybe penal law material that would be considered dry and boring. The physical fitness requirements were feasible, which was designed to increase in difficulty as time progressed.

My first assignment was the 108th Precinct in Long Island City, Queens. Like many “houses,” it had its good people to work with and not-so-good. The good ones were the ones who didn’t rat you out to the supervisor for even the smallest discrepancy and whom you could count on to watch your back.

For my first three months of service, I was assigned to a foot post (“foot patrol”) on the streets of Long Island City, Woodside and Sunnyside. If there were any major jobs, a sector (patrol car) would pick me up for the run (assignment).

I found out that over a period of time, cops would look at other people who weren’t cops as almost a different species. Non-cops that were encountered during a tour (shift) would be treated with indifference because these were people that were not empathetic with you, they just couldn’t relate. People that we knew were perps (perpetrators of crimes) were referred to as “skels.” To this day, I have no knowledge as to the origin of that word.

The job also wreaked havoc on a good percentage of marriages because cops only confided with other cops and found themselves being more and more distant from their spouses and significant others.

My fiancee’ also had no knowledge of my personal philosophies and we grew even more distant because of my line of work. I could not bring myself to share the grisly details of the whole family killed in a car accident or the DOA’s (dead on arrival) discovered in dwellings or the various arrests.

I was tempted to renounce my quest and my role due to my deteriorating relationship with her. I then thought of how this society possessed a plebian quality, a society that lacked true Satanic excellence or honor. I aspired to do my part to contribute to the heresy against the mundane. 

One night about a year and a half ago, we busted these three teenage boys for vandalizing a church. These profane “Satanists” spray-painted  pentagrams and even went so far as to quote John Milton’s “Paradise Lost.” All the cops at the “house” were talking about how this society was fucked up because it produced these anti-Nazarene “Satanists” and how they would sacrifice babies next.  I commented on how I didn’t think real Satanists did that and that these kids were just misguided, rebellious and going through that common teen angst melodrama. I probably said that in those exact words because everybody, cops and perps within earshot alike froze and shot me this look as if I had taken a shit on the floor. I smiled as if I was just kidding and everyone just waved it off.

Many cops become cops because they think that it is a “noble” or “honorable” profession (according to the Magian principles, of course) and that they are contributing to society as a whole by enforcing its laws. Of course, there are the few that are referred to as “buffs,” the ones who only see themselves as cops and are unaware of their own nature, who are too ignorant to see that they are just being used Then they become disenchanted and “burned out” from the job’s rigors and the thanklessness. Most of us went to work just trying to get through the tour safely and immersing ourselves in the camraderie, the seemingly impregnable “Blue Wall.” Just trying not to end up as ashes sitting on the mantle of a rent-controlled apartment.

As of last week, I turned in my shield and gun to the precinct commander after four years of being “on the job.” Surprisingly, it hurt but I felt myself becoming almost too immersed in the job and almost impeding my true intention. This I write with a heavy heart.


DarkCon Nexion352,

-Order of Nine Angles-


Posted in 352 Stories of Sinister Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , on July 14, 2009 by cosmion



They patronize me here, they smile at me, they call me “Mr.” They don’t treat me like an idiot. I make it a point to go to all their little groups, I don’t go against the staff, I participate in whatever they have us do. They do sense that I have a semblance of articulation and intelligence, but it matters not. I’m still on the wrong side of the Plexiglas in this psychiatric facility.

During the 10:00 am morning group, the social worker [Quite attractive , I must say] conducted an art therapy class. “Draw, create a collage, whatever you fancy, and let’s have a discussion afterward.” She said. I could only render one thing: What I “saw.” It is probably so deep-seeded in my psyche that I would never rid myself of it in all the remaining days of this life.

No one understood it. To them, it looked to be a strange Dark world with three suns. Yes, three suns and this land looked as if it had never known the bright illumination from any of those three suns. I drew the formless “things” that I “saw” that converged upon me. Their Sinister laughter drowning out my prayers to God.

How did I end up here? First in that strange place and now in the psyche ward? I’m an architect by trade, carving out an exquisite lifestyle. I designed two of the area’s sports arenas, a bank and that bank’s large business structure that reached the heavens. I had the world and especially women, at my feet.

The bigwig who wanted to discuss the plans for another proposed skyscraper downtown had canceled our dinner at the pretentious and overpriced seafood establishment ironically named plainly,  “The Crab Shack.” I did not want to go home to my wife because I was in the city and I was dressed in my favorite Brooks Brothers suit and did not want to leave here empty-handed, meaning that I wanted to find someone and “hook up.”

I walked the crowded streets and a few women smiled at me. They knew someone with power when they saw him. I decided to pick and choose and there she was. She was walking towards me and looking at me with the most alluring green eyes that I’ve ever seen. If I knew what would have happened next, I would have just went home. She smiled at me, an almost knowing smile. Her name was Jenna, a name that I would soon not forget.




Jenna took me to a huge, affluent highrise apartment building somewhere midtown in the 50’s that would most likely cost $4,000 a month to rent. I paid no mind to where the cab took us because of the drinks at the yuppie bar. I remember all the men at the bar staring at us and feeling like the luckiest man alive. Jenna was about 5’6″, long, jet black hair and the most voluptuous, sensuous physique that I had not remembered ever seeing. Then she suggested that we “go back to her place” and off we went.

The apartment was luxurious, furnished with only the finest. I admit that even finer than my exquisite tastes. She lead me to her abode, which looked as if I had died and gone to heaven. I wish that I had died.

We kissed passionately and she almost tore off her clothes as I took mine off. She pushed me into the bed and I eyed her body. She grabbed my wrists and then straddled my erection. Her wetness and warmth overcame me. Her esoteric scent made me almost dizzy. She smelled like an orange grove on a sunny day. I have never felt as much ecstasy in my whole life when I was inside of her. Then it happened. I felt immense pain and I screamed. When she got off of me, there was blood everywhere. My erection was gone but then again, so was my penis. I cried out in shock and in pain, and then I blacked out.

sailorsong2 2

It was a fuckin’ cell. Somebody threw me in a fuckin’ cell. The cement floors, the small dimensions, the iron door with a tiny slit that they slipped trays of sparse amounts of food through. I screamed for hours on end and would just pass out from exhaustion and the pain in my groin. I thought about my wife and how much I loved her. I say “loved” because I didn’t think that I was ever going to see her again.

Then the dreams started. I couldn’t even differentiate if they were dreams. I pinched myself and I felt it. That land. The forms. They told me things. Things that I didn’t understand and still don’t. They were terrible. I said the Lord’s Prayer as I walked through this land and those things laughed at me. I cried and they laughed even louder. They called me “profane” and a “Magian” as epithets.  I was introduced to a world that I was in no way prepared for.

I had never been so glad to see cops when they busted through that cell . Then emergency workers threw me on a stretcher.  I heard that I had been in Jenna’s apartment for only two days.

There was talk that Jenna was still at large. I’m scared and I told the police, doctors, nurses, anyone who would listen. Everyone had that same smirk of disbelief. The “formless ones” said that the Darkness would converge. They said something strange like “Vindex” and “Baphomet.”   

The social worker talked to me after the art class. She let me cry on her shoulder. My wife had left me because I had betrayed her and because I could no longer satisfy her.

I know now that something had gone wrong. I wasn’t supposed to live and the things told me that I was just “food.” Jenna’s food. There’s something out there beyond any of our understanding. Something terrible and it’s coming. I’m here telling my story and no one believes me. According to Them, the New Aeon of Fire is here.

The Widow

The Hard Reality of Satanism

Posted in Secret Tasks of the Sinister Way with tags , , , on July 10, 2009 by cosmion


The Hard Reality of Satanism

The hard reality of Satanism is that it is very different from both the media image and the more recent image pedalled by imitation Satanists in both Europe and America.

I. What Satanism Is:

a)Satanism is a quest for self-excellence, involving real danger, real challenges and requiring real courage. It involves taking your body to and beyond its physical limits of endurance. It involves real action, alone: without the support of friends, comrades, lovers, relations or anyone. It involves accepting challenges – physical, psychic, intellectual and triumphing solely by one’s own efforts. It involves the triumph of pure, individual will and desire.

b) Satanism is, in part, an Inner quest, an exploration of the `hidden’ (and overt) aspects of consciousness: a discovery of the darkness within and beyond the individual psyche. This involves ‘magickal acts’ – such as rituals. This magick, however, is a means, not an end.

c)Satanism involves ordeals, both physical and magickal. Those who are suitable triumph; the others fail. [One such ordeal is the Grade Ritual of Internal Adept – where the candidate lives alone and isolated, bereft of everything except the bare necessities for physical survival, for a period of three months.]

d) Satanism requires the practical experiencing of all moral limits, and then a mastery of the feelings, desires, pleasures, terrors, pains and so on that these imply.

e) Satanism involves the individual defiance of all subservience: a Satanist accepts guidance only, and refuses to be dominated or intimidated by anyone. This guidance is toward practical experience, and it by this experience that the novice learns and develops a genuine Satanic character.

f) Satanism involves sacrifice – this is a necessary test of character [qv. the MSS, “Satanism, Sacrifice and Crime – The Satanic Truth”, and “Satanism – The Sinister Shadow, Revealed” for more details.].

g) Satanism is a means – a method, or way, and the purpose of this means, method or way is to produce a specific type of individual: the next stage of our evolution as a species. Satanism is thus an expression of evolutionary change – on both the individual level and in respect of `societies’ and ‘history’. The individuals so created often inspire in the supine majority a certain terror/awe/admiration/fear/jealousy.

h) Satanism is elitist. It does not compromise – its tests, ordeals, methods and character-building experiences are severe and will never be made easier to make them acceptable to more people or easier to undertake.

i) Satanism is esoteric by nature and intent: it is both a ’secret’ way, by virtue of its methods etc., and it is not nor probably will be suitable for the majority for many, many centuries.

II. What Satanism Is Not:

a) Satanism is not, nor can ever be, a religion, nor just a ‘philosophy’. A religion means acceptance of authority, the rigid structure of a ‘Church’ or a ‘Temple’, and a unified dogma (with the consequent schisms and claims to ‘authenticity”). The religious attitude is the antithesis of what Satanism really is – for Satanism is a way of living, a way of experiencing, in the raw, whereas religion abstracts, limits endeavour, behaviour and moralizes. In short, a Satanist plunges into reality, without any supports (moral, psychic or human) whereas a religious person has that reality prescribed by dogma, authority and such like, and is supported by a `Church’, its members and their attitudes. Satanism is an ecstatic affirmation of existence – a taking of existence into new and higher realms, as well as a plunge into existing darkness and the creation of new darkness.

b) Satanism cannot have anyone impose upon it any structure, authority, or institution of any kind by claiming a ‘dark mandate’ or some kind of ‘revelation’. There can be no such thing as an, infernal mandate’ of whatever kind because the only thing that really matters to Satanism is experience, its accumulation and the highly individualized learning that results from such experience. A genuine Satanist, for example, confronted by an entity which exhibited all the powers attributed to Satan would not even accept what that ‘entity’ said and would most certainly not show any submission – instead, they would a defiance, a reasoned assessment of what was said, and then a judgement made from experience. A Satanist never surrenders to anything – and would rather die, proud and defiant, than submit. This applies even to ‘Satan’. If and when a Satanist accepts guidance, it is from someone of experience who has explicated Satanism by their life and thus who can offer advice based on that experience. The aim of Satanism is to create wilful, characterful, defiant, unique individuals who have or can fulfil their potential as gods – it is not to create followers or sycophants. An `infernal mandate’ implies sycophancy.

c) Satanism does not involve discussions, meetings, talks. Rather, it involves action, deeds. Words – written or spoken – sometimes follow, but not necessarily. The ideal candidate for Satanism is the individual of action rather than the ‘intellectual’.

By the nature of most Satanic actions, they can seldom be mentioned and thus remain esoteric. The essence that Satanism leads the individual towards, via action, is only ever revealed by that participation which action is. Words, whether written or spoken, can never describe that essence – they can only hint at it, point toward it, and often serve to obscure the essence.

Satanism strips away the appearance of ‘things’ – living, Occult and otherwise by this insistence on experience, unaided. What is thus apprehended by such experience, is unique to each individual and thus is creative and evolutionary. Discussions, meetings, talks, even books and such like, de-vitalize: they are excuses for not acting.

A Satanist will sometimes use such forms as he/she may use the form of a Temple – to enhance and/or provoke experiences. But they are then actively manipulating, actively creating experiences – the others involved are being used by that person. That is, there is only one Satanist at such gatherings (usually) – the others may believe they are ‘Satanists’, but they are deluded.

d) Satanism does not apply moral absolutes to real-life situations and forms. This may best be explicated by two examples. First, politics. Satanism does not affirm or deny any political forms or type of politics – it does not, for example, announce that ‘fascism and Satanism are incompatible’. Such announcements/pronouncements arise from a moral bias and a lack of insight into both Satanism and `society’ and thus Aeonics.

A Satanist, concerned with experience, may use a political form for a specific purpose – the nature of that form in terms of conventional politics and morality (such as `extreme Right-wing’) is irrelevant. What is important is whether it can be used to (a) Provide experience of living and the limits of experience, and/or  (b) Aid the sinister dialectic of history. Thus a Satanist may become involved in, or set up, an organization of the extreme Right – this is dangerous, exciting, vitalizes, provides experiences `on the edge’ and should thus aid the development of the character and insight of that Satanist (1). What is important is that this involvement is done for an ulterior, Satanic, motive: what others think and believe about such actions is totally irrelevant. Anyone purporting to be a Satanist who criticizes such an action, whatever the political hue of the group/organization, reveals by that criticism that they are not Satanists – but rather, moralizing curds lacking in insight and real Satanic understanding.

The second example concerns the formation and use of Satanic ‘Temples’ and groups by a Satanist. A Satanic novice, in order to gain experience of magickal rituals and people manipulation, usually forms a group to perform Satanic rituals The people recruited are for the most part used – and the novice often assumes a specific Satanic `role’ for this: the role of sorcerer/sorceress. He/she may dress in a certain way and so on, as he/she may use fables to impress and/or manipulate. This, however, for a genuine Satanist, is only a stage – and one which lasts a year or two. After that, experience and mastery of ceremonial and hermetic magick gained, they move on to new challenges and experiences, as all good Satanists should. Further, the individuals of this ‘Temple’ or group are not Satanists, although they may believe themselves to be – they are       simply being used to afford the novice pleasure/excitement/experience and so on. Had any of them any Satanic character or potential, they would rebel to undertake their own quest by forming such a group/’Temple’ and experience the limits of themselves.

Sometimes, the group has another aim – an Aeonic or supra personal one, in which case its life may be extended. But whatever, genuine Satanic guidance by an Adept or Master/Mistress to a novice always occurs on an individualized basis, never within the rigid and constraining form of a ‘Temple’.

Thus, there is not nor can be any constraining rules applied to the conduct of such ‘Temples’ and groups – there is no ‘moral code’, no bounds which cannot be overstepped. The rules, such as they are, are made by the Satanic novice according to their desire and goals. That is, they can do with that group and its individuals whatever they desire to do and no one – not even the Adept/ Master/Mistress who may be guiding them – can set limits or prescribe their behaviour, They must learn for themselves – and from their mistakes, should they make some.

This naturally leads to the obvious Satanic deduction that a group like the Temple of Set may contain one, perhaps two, Satanists – who are using the ‘members’ for their own Satanic goals. This person (or persons) would of course deny this, and if that denial was sincere, they could not be Satanists. What is certain, is that that group cannot contain more than perhaps two Satanists – for the members accept the constraints  imposed upon them from above, and are servile, in both theory and practice. They are also not being led into real experiences, but accept a sterile, sanitized and safe ‘Satanism’ as pedalled by their leader.

e) Satanism does not seek any form of official recognition as it does not seek to become respectable or the prerogative of a majority. Rather’ Satanism operates’ and must operate’ for the most part in a clandestine or ‘underground’ manner. ‘Official’ recognition mean someone or some organization is granted some sort of “status” and thus assumes both in theory and in fact an ‘authority’ and an organizational structure to support it. This authority and this structure mean followers, sycophants – and contradict the essence of Satanism.

‘Respectability’ means a moral stance broadly in line with that pertaining at the time – that is, it means a restricting morality, ethics, as well a limiting of action to what is deemed broadly ‘acceptable’ by the ’society’ of the time.

Both of these – official recognition and respectability – also mean that the self-appointed authority which is recognized and becomes or seeks to be respectable, sets its own limits: there is ‘proscription’ of other groups, a peer hierarchy and all the many trappings of herd conformity; the triumph of illusive forms over essence. In brief, the deluding of others, rather than their liberation.

Since the experience of the essence that Satanism brings is unique, this uniqueness is totally contradictory to all forms that seek to constrain, define and restrict – two of these forms being ‘official recognition’ and ‘respectability’.


Some other hard facts about Satanism are in order – to be placed on record

Satanism is hard and very dangerous. This danger is much more than just a ‘mental’ or a psychic one of the kind sometimes experienced in magickal workings. It is a personal danger of the ‘life or death’ kind. If it is not, then it is not tough enough, it is not Satanic. For far too long the pathetic imitation Satanists, such as those in the Temple of Set and the Church of Satan, have had no one to contradict their sickly, wimpish versions of Satanism – they have tried to deny the darkness and evil which are essential to Satanism because the frauds in those organizations are fundamentally weak: they have never gone to their limits, never experienced the realness of evil. They have tried to make ‘Satanism’ safe and ‘respectable’: they have intellectualised it because they are typical products of this present intellectualised, peace-loving, “we need to be safe” society.

A Satanist is like a beast of prey – in real life, not in fantasy. A Satanist may be and often is an assassin, a warrior, an outlaw – in real life. The imitation Satanists, however, pretend to be these things – their fantasy-life is greater than their real experiences of such things. A Satanist seeks and makes real his/her fantasies and then masters the real-life situations and all those desires/feelings which give birth to those fantasies – they live them and then transcend them, creating from those experiences something beyond them: a new individual. Often, things go wrong – but as always in life, the strong survive and the weak perish, are written off. The Satanist creates the dreams, standards of excellence and spirit which others often later aspire to emulate. This creation is in real life, by deeds and deeds alone.

Because of this, few indeed are the genuine Satanists. Sometimes their lives (or aspects of them) become public – but often they are hidden, working their darkness in secret, for the benefit of evolution.

1. It can also aid the sinister dialectic – here, an understanding of Aeonics is important.


1991 e.h., Order of Nine Angles

[Hostia I]


Posted in 352 Stories of Sinister Fiction with tags , , , on July 10, 2009 by cosmion

Florida. April 30th, 161 yf.


We drove down to the old dilapidated structure where we parked our truck. Richard had relocated there 12 years ago from New York when he retired from the force to get a way from the big city. It had been a while since we were in the area.

” Seems like only yesterday… “

I smiled in response to Chloe’s reflections. Just looked at her. I couldn’t believe were were sixty or something. I still loved her:

” Help me with her Lamar… David. “

My son David and his father pulled out the old woman from the back of the truck. My husband Lamar still had gusto in him after all these years. She had a sack around her head… we put her in a white wedding gown.

Richard was patiently waiting inside on his wheel chair. I noticed he had a nervous look on his face… clutching a black box and looking into my eyes for reassurance:

” You’re 70 something Rich… Time to go…”

” Yeah, I know… It’s just hard… the feelings… after all those years on the force. “

Chloe nodded and gave the old bastard a final shoulder massage:

” Don’t think about it… it was just a job… just do it… you were working for the 10 percenters. “

” Here, I brought you your last bagel. ” Lamar chuckles to himself as he hands a bag to Richard.

” Who is she? ” Richard heard the old lady whimper and cry. I was afraid of this. Chloe and I looked at each other, knowing inside he knew.

” Richard…” Chloe was still massaging, ” You don’t even know her any more… she made the best years of your life miserable. “

I looked at him for a moment, then went to the truck to get things to prepare the place.


“Did I miss the party?!?”

It was Cathy. The old hag was always late for shit.

“Cat! Shhh, you wanna get us busted?”

“There isn’t another building around here for the next 20 miles honey, besides…”

She pulls out her gun. Cathy never goes anywhere without it.

Kayla left to give her a hug. Last time she saw Cat was 7 years ago when we were in Malta, helping Frank preform his Hohes Opfer. He’s floating somewhere in the stars now.

She gave Rich a kiss on the forehead, and kissed me looking into my eyes.

“Sorry I’m late sweety, I thought somebody was following me so I took a detour. So fucking hard to drive around here with no street or lights,” She looks over to the lady on the ground and gives her a kick, “Doing O.K Dee?”

She frustrates me sometimes, it’s like she can’t feel the atmosphere:

“Jesus Cat, please,” I kinked my head towards Rich with that look trying to get her to get the drift.

“Oh… yeah, I’ll go help Kayla get ready.”

“It’s a nice day for a white wedding…”

David was singing some ancient song by Billy Idol called White Wedding and snickers with Cat. His mom squints her eyes at him and slaps him across the head:


Kayla was setting things up around the barn. She’s been awful quite lately thinking about Rich.

“Still remember the longs talks you and Kayla had Rich?”

He smiled, “Yeah… I’ll wait for you two; school… yeah,”

“I’ll be a cheerleader, Kayla’s best friend. You can have her in the next life…sloppy seconds. Hopefully you won’t be a nerd, or she’s not gunna give you the time of day.”

He laughs, “Stuck up bitch. Always was. We’ve come a long way huh? Built a small empire. Good game.”

“Yeah. Game over for you.”

I looked at him as I knelt beside him looking at his black box:

“Can I see it?”

Richard unlocks the box with his old hands and pulls out black satin and unwraps it. The Obsidian Blade was shaking in his nervous hands:

“Moose horn. Me and Cat went to Alaska when we were still young. Younger at least. Had a hell of a hard time trying to kill the thing with my home made bow and arrow. Of course Cat gets impatient after the 4th day. She pulls out the fuckin’ nine she was hiding and shoots the damn thing 6 times!”

I was admiring the sharpness of the shiny black blade while he was laughing and reflecting. I don’t even think I was paying any attention to him. I saw Frank’s face in the blade as he was gasping for his last breath.

It’s indescribable to see a man die in front of your eyes. One moment he’s there talking to you, and the next he’s lifeless. You realize standing there over the empty shell that something that was once there, left.

I cried. Knowing that I’ll see that scene again, and watch the blood of an old beloved friend soak the ground.


ONA-NXS:352, 120yf

Adeptship: Its Real Meaning and Purpose

Posted in Adeptship and Beyond with tags , , on July 8, 2009 by cosmion


Attaining real Adeptship is more difficult than being selected for, and training with, a ’Special Forces’ unit (such as the British SAS). I shall explain why this is so, but first will describe what genuine Adeptship is.

An Adept is an individual who has undertaken an Occult quest and who has, as a result of that quest, the following abilities/attributes: a) a real understanding of esoteric, Occult matters, and a deep esoteric knowledge/insight; b) esoteric skills – chief of which is empathy: with both. natural and ’Occult’ forces (energies. An important aspect of this empathy [an intuitive understanding of things as those things are in their essence] is with living beings and that species mis-named Homo Sapiens; c) a unique character – formed via experience d) a unique ’philosophy of life’ attained via self-discovery and self experience – by finding answers unaided.

Adeptship results from a transformation – a transmutation of the individual. This begins at Initiation, whether that be ceremonial or hermetic [i.e. as part of a group or alone]. It is an internal alchemical process of change, and occurs on all levels – the psychic, the magickal, the intellectual, the psychological and the physical. It is the birth of a new individual who has skills, knowledge, understanding and judgment not possessed by the majority.

The changes themselves arise from a synthesis – there is an evolution of the individual and their consciousness because of a successful response to a challenge. Or rather, because of a series of such successful responses over a period of some years. In essence, the Initiate undertakes a challenge, strives to achieve a certain goal and if successful, grows in character, maturity, knowledge esoteric skill and so on. They then move on to new challenges, until the process is complete and Adeptship attained The challenges themselves occur on all the levels mentioned above – i.e. the psychic, the magickal (or Occult), the intellectual, the psychological and the physical.

Quintessentially, the path to Adeptship is a quest which involves ordeals, the achievement of goals and so on. Furthermore, the quest is individual and involves experiences in the real world: not just ’in the head’ or of a ’magickal’ nature. By its nature it is solitary – it involves the individual overcoming the challenges, undertaking the ordeals, alone. If certain ordeals and challenges and experiences are not undertaken – and if all of them are not done alone – then there is no real achievement and thus no genuine Adeptship.

The nature of the experiences, challenges and ordeals which are necessary, and the fact that they all must be done alone and unaided, makes Adeptship difficult to attain, and is the reason why real Adepts are rare, even though there are many who claim the achievement.

Returning to the example mentioned above – that is, real Adeptship is more difficult to attain than being selected for and successfully training with a Special Forces unit. The selection procedures for such a Unit are tough, and the training likewise. But the individual undergoing them has a definite concrete goal – and that individual is with others: there is a camaraderie a desire not to ’lose face’ in front of others. Also, the individual is in a definite environment – usually a training camp with Instructors and other members of the Unit. There is a ’tradition’ with its special signs: a uniform, a beret, an insignia. And everyday concerns – food, shelter etc. – are taken care of *.

In contrast, Adeptship is mostly intangible: it seems ’magickal’ and Occult; part of another world. Further, the Initiate is on their own and still for the most part, in the ’real world’ – they have responsibility to clothe and feed themselves (at the very least, and find or have some shelter).

But there is more. The physical challenges alone which an aspirant Adept must undertake are, in fact, more difficult, tougher, than those used by any Special Forces unit. They are more testing, more selective. Only the strongest, the most determined, survive them. Add to these physical challenges the many others that are required – intellectual, magickal, psychological and so on – and it is easy to understand why Adepts (or genuine ones at least) are so rare, and why they are part of an elite.

Of course, there are many – in fact, most – who call themselves Occultists of whatever Path or none, who maintain that such things are not required for Adeptship to be achieved. [I shall describe in detail the actual challenges themselves, shortly.]

These Occultists maintain that Adeptship is actually one or more of the following:
(a) amassing a great amount of what passes for ’esoteric knowledge’ by, for example, reading a lot of books and magazines, and by attending various meetings/discussions/conferences/participating in “Magickal” forays;
(b) being given the title ’Adept’ by either (i) someone else for services rendered or whatever, or (ii) undertaking a self-written/published “Rite” after which one congratulates oneself and uses the title Adept;
(c) achieving an “enlightenment” during some ceremony/working/ritual/discussion/induced stupour/trance/communication with a supra-personal entity/extra-terrestrial intelligence;
(d) being “chosen” by someone/some entity/some extra-terrestrial intelligence;
(e) hanging around the Occult scene for so long that one feels entitled to call oneself an Adept.

All of these are merely delusions of attainment. I do not expect this article to shatter the delusions and illusions of the deluded – for they need them and the false Adepts will continue to fantasize about their achievement just as many individuals will continue to fantasize about belonging to or having belonged to, various Special Forces units. What this article will do, is to present the real meaning and significance of Adeptship in a way which is not open to mis-interpretation: to reveal, for once and for all, the illusions of Occultists for what they are, and thus what is really necessary for genuine Adeptship.

Among the challenges an Adept has successfully undertaken, are the following:

1.  Several physical (and mental) goals of which the minimum standards are (a) walking 32 miles carrying a pack weighing not less than 30 lbs. in under 7 hours over difficult, hilly terrain; (b) running 20 miles in less than 2 and a half hours over fell-like/mountainous terrain; (c) cycling not less than 200 miles in 12 hours.

2.  Having organized and run for not less than six months, a magickal/Occult group/coven/Temple of not less than seven people and performed ceremonial and hermetic rituals regularly.

3.  Having found and loved (and probably lost) at least one ’magickal companion’ and worked with them in a magickal and personal way over a period of many months.

4. Having attained an understanding and mastery of esoteric magick – external and internal – via practical workings over a concentrated period of time lasting at least two years. And, following this, have begun to understand what is beyond external and internal magick – i.e. Aeonic magick and processes.

5. Having experienced in real-life situations, danger involving one’s possible death.

6. Having faced many and severe dilemmas of a personal and ’moral’ nature the resolution of which required a choice and which consequently brought a maturity of outlook and a sadness.

7. Having spent at least three months living totally alone in an isolated area without talking to anyone and without any modern comforts and distractions.

8. Having developed one’s intellect by mastering a complex and abstract subject hitherto foreign to one: e.g. advanced mathematics, The Star Game; symbolic Logic.

Show me someone who has not done the above (or very similar things) alone and who claims to be an Adept, and I will show you a liar – be that liar aware of the lie, or unaware of it. For too long, the intentional and unintentional liars have had no one to challenge them – and their character less version of ’Adeptship’ or ’Adepthood’.

All the challenges enumerated above breed character. They are formative; they create the Adept. And those mentioned are only some of the challenges an Initiate must successfully experience and triumph over – there are many more.

There is no easy way, no easy path, to Adeptship. The journey takes years, and involves self-effort, self-discovery, unaided. It involves triumphs, and mistakes – and learning from one’s mistakes But perhaps most of all it involves a commitment and a learning from practical experience.

However, it should be remembered that Adeptship is not the end of the quest. There are stages beyond, which require even more difficult and dangerous experiences – which need even more self-honesty. For, conventionally, Adeptship is only half-way between Initiation and the ultimate goal, sometimes described as the gateway to immortality.

As with Adeptship, there are many who claim to have been to the stages beyond Adeptship – who claim to be ’Masters’ or Grand Masters, or even the stage beyond! Like most ’Adepts’, these are liars, both intentional and unintentional, and they will be exposed in another iconoclastic article.


1992 CE

* Except, of course, during training exercises of the survival kind – but these are limited in time and space, and part of the course which is real and known