satanism

It__ not a crime to wish for other worlds. You__l get taxed for it but they can__ throw you in jail for creating your own private world_yet. Dramatics are fun, an indulgence. __ou can__ go backward,_ __ou can__ live in the past,_ they tell you. Why not? __ou__e got to put all that behind you and move on to other things,_ they say. Bullshit! These are all expressions of modern disposability. It__ a mediocritizing technique__rying to get rid of what I call __ast orthodoxies._ It__ our past that makes us unique, therefore it__ our past that economic interests want to rob from us, so they can sell us a new, improved future. Society now depends on a disposable world__ut with the old, in with the new, including relationships. But how we weep and wish we could hold onto those cherished moments forever, to those long-whispered dreams, those tortured nights__ow we want to grasp them and stop them from sifting through our fingers. I say, __on__ let it happen. Keep things the way you want them and let the rest of the world be duped.

I dip my forefinger in the watery blood of your impotent mad redeemer, and write over his thorn-torn brow: The true prince of evil- the king of the slaves!

Christianity may be good and Satanism evil. Under the Constitution, however, both are neutral. This is an important, but difficult, concept for many law enforcement officers to accept. They are paid to uphold the penal code, not the Ten Commandments _ The fact is that far more crime and child abuse has been committed by zealots in the name of God, Jesus and Mohammed than has ever been committed in the name of Satan. Many people don__ like that statement, but few can argue with it.

Children and babies should be held in the most sacred regard. We feel that they're the most natural and true magicians.

A major determining factor by which a superior human can be isolated from his average counterparts is his very isolation__he degree to which he naturally removes himself from mass-media input and stimuli. You cannot be an elitist, a Magician, and be plugged into the system.

Once you familiarize yourself with your tools, you should forget about them. It will only throw you off-balance. In all these __olling shit into little balls_ types who spend hours of time and reams of paper saying nothing, literary masturbators, they concentrate on the vehicle more than what they want to produce. That impedes the end result and defeats the purpose. You must lose consciousness of the medium or mechanics to do the impossible. Like Nijinsky who explained how he gave the impression of hovering in mid-air _ __ just pause when I get there._ In a child-like way, real magicians innocently do the simplest thing. The objective is all they think about. I just want to make music the way I hear it. The ends justify the means, and the means become inconsequential.

Anyone without a sense of humor is too pretentious to be a good magician.

Something that once had importance might be forgotten by most people but because millions of people once knew it, a force is present that can be harnessed. There might be so much significance attached to a song, for example, or a fact, that it can__ die but only lies dormant, like a vampire in his coffin, waiting to be called forth from the grave once again. There is more magic in the fact that the first mass worldwide photo of the Church of Satan was taken by Joe Rosenthal _ the same man who took the most famous news photo in history _ the flag-raising at Iwo Jima. There__ real occult significance to that _ much more than in memorizing grimoires and witches_ alphabets. People ask me about what music to use in rituals _ what is the best occult music. I__e instructed people to go to the most uncrowded section of the music store and it__ a guarantee what you__l find there will be occult music. That__ the power of long-lost trivia. I get irritated by people who turn up their noses and whine __hy would anyone want to know that?_ Because once upon a time, everyone in America knew it. Suppose there__ a repository of neglected energy, that__ been generated and forgotten. Maybe it__ like a pressure cooker all this time, just waiting for someone to trigger its release. __ere I am,_ it beckons, __ have all this energy stored up just waiting for you _ all you have to do is unlock the door. Because of man__ stupidity, he__ neglected me to this state of somnambulism _ dreaming the ancient dreams _ even though I was once so important to him._ Think about that. A song that was once on millions of lips now is only on your lips. Now what does that contain? Those vibrations of that particular tune, what do they evoke, call up? What do they unlock? The old gods lie dormant, waiting.

Worshiping the Devil is no more insane than worshiping God...It is precisely at the moment when positivism is at its high-water mark that mysticism stirs into life and the follies of occultism begin.

Prayers are to men as dolls are to children.

My belief is that, morally, God and Satan are vaguely on the same page. According to the common understanding of Satan's origins, holiness must be in his blood: but a corrupted formula. The vital difference is that God is willing to offer grace for our sins; he delights in grace. God is the one and only holy and just punisher of sin, yes, but that is partly so because punishment for the sake of punishment is not something he loves. Whereas Satan, as the accuser, and as it is written, actually seeks God's permission to punish; he, being a seasoned legalist, delights in finding wrongs and will defy his own morality just to expose immorality. This is why both the anti-religious soul and the violently religious soul are, whether consciously or unconsciously, and sadly enough, glorifying their biggest hater: Satan is not only a lawless lover of punishing lawlessness, but also the greatest theologian of us all. He loves wickedness, but only because he loves punishing wickedness.

The degradation of most civilizations, contain a common thread. The 'synagogue of Satan' is behind all weaponized ignorance and hate.

More people have died in the name of religion than any other cause on earth. Is massacring God's creations really serving God - or the devil? And what father would want to see his children constantly divided and fighting? What God would allow a single human life to be sacrificed for monetary gain? Again, the Creator or the devil?

There is no difference between ancient and modern paganism. Christianity has five gods: three that band together against one who apparently has managed to stand his ground for millennia, and a mother of god who is worshiped at the same level as the other members of the quadrinity

Some religions actually go so far as to label anyone who belongs to a religious sect other than their own a heretic, even though the overall doctrines and impressions of godliness are nearly the same. For example: The Catholics believe the Protestants are doomed to Hell simply because they do not belong to the Catholic Church. In the same way, many splinter groups of the Christian faith, such as the evangelical or revivalist churches, believe the Catholics worship graven images. (Christ is depicted in the image that is most physiologically akin to the individual worshipping him, and yet the Christians criticize "heathens" for the worship of graven images.) And the Jews have always been given the Devil's name.

Old Hubert must have had a premonition of his squalid demise. In October he said to me, __orty-two years I__e had this place. I__ really like to go back home, but I ain__ got the energy since my old girl died. And I can__ sell it the way it is now. But anyway before I hang my hat up I__ be curious to know what__ in that third cellar of mine.__he third cellar has been walled up by order of the civil defence authorities after the floods of 1910. A double barrier of cemented bricks prevents the rising waters from invading the upper floors when flooding occurs. In the event of storms or blocked drains, the cellar acts as a regulatory overflow.The weather was fine: no risk of drowning or any sudden emergency. There were five of us: Hubert, Gerard the painter, two regulars and myself. Old Marteau, the local builder, was upstairs with his gear, ready to repair the damage. We made a hole.Our exploration took us sixty metres down a laboriously-faced vaulted corridor (it must have been an old thoroughfare). We were wading through a disgusting sludge. At the farend, an impassable barrier of iron bars. The corridor continued beyond it, plunging downwards. In short, it was a kind of drain-trap.That__ all. Nothing else. Disappointed, we retraced our steps. Old Hubert scanned the walls with his electric torch. Look! An opening. No, an alcove, with some wooden object that looks like a black statuette. I pick the thing up: it__ easily removable. I stick it under my arm. I told Hubert, __t__ of no interest. . ._ and kept this treasure for myself.I gazed at it for hours on end, in private. So my deductions, my hunches were not mistaken: the Bièvre-Seine confluence was once the site where sorcerers and satanists must surely have gathered. And this kind of primitive magic, which the blacks of Central Africa practise today, was known here several centuries ago. The statuette had miraculously survived the onslaught of time: the well-known virtues of the waters of the Bièvre, so rich in tannin, had protected the wood from rotting, actually hardened, almost fossilized it. The object answered a purpose that was anything but aesthetic. Crudely carved, probably from heart of oak. The legs were slightly set apart, the arms detached from the body. No indication of gender. Four nails set in a triangle were planted in its chest. Two of them, corroded with rust, broke off at the wood__ surface all on their own. There was a spike sunk in each eye. The skull, like a salt cellar, had twenty-four holes in which little tufts of brown hair had been planted, fixed in place with wax, of which there were still some vestiges. I__e kept quiet about my find. I__ biding my time.

If voting changed anything... I'd still laugh!

I cannot follow you Christians; for you try to crawl through your life upon your knees, while I stride through mine on my feet.