The night time is the rite time.
Come walk with me through endless time.
See what has been and what the future sees.
Share the wisdom of the old world that has passed,
Step in a life that's yet to be born.
You spill the blood,
I'll show you sights that you would not believe.
Experience pleasures thought unobtained.
At one with evil that has ruled before.
Now smell the stench of immortality.
You spill the blood,
Spill your blood, let it run on to me,
Take my hand and let go of your life.
Close your eyes and see what is me,
Raise the chalice, embrace for evermore.
You've spilt the blood.
I have your soul.
- Slayer, South of heaven.
This song has been my anthem for most of my life. This entire album is satanic, and Lovecraftian in the extreme, evoking images of death and mysterious otherworldly abyssal gateways to outer gods and forces of dread terror.
It is with this song I prepare to embark tonight on my initiation with Nyarlathotep. My bloodletting blade is ready, a wicked and vile talon like Karambit made of glass sharp D2 steel, I am an avid weapon and knife collector, and this one just felt so right.
Today has been a day of constant Jungian Synchronicity. It seems like every subtle message of the cosmos is related in some way to my working.
From Beloved occult/political Youtubers, suddenly doing videos about HP Lovecraft and the validity of chaos magick artes associated with him and his mythos, to 23 current oriented occult groups I attempted to join weeks ago and had given up on, accepting me, and more.
I am spending the day in contemplation, but I cannot deny the palpable sense of excitement, the jittery feeling of a star-crossed swain going to meet the object of their devotion for the first time. making sure their attire is suitable, and their perfume is not offensive, but alluring.
I have no expectation of earth-shattering changes or revelations today. I have no illusion that tonight will compare with that night down in Arthur's basement. Tonight will likely be solemn, uncomfortable and silent. Even if something IS going to happen, tonight is the first of 3 nights of initiation, and I expect that if anything physical or psychic is going to happen, it will build or happen on the last night.
I will likely document anything and everything before and after, at least a few photos and thoughts.
My only concern is that I have a real adult life beyond this, and will not be able to sit for hours in meditation while the candles burn down as the rite suggests. Being a Chaote means I am ok with this, but the concern means my intuition is telling me it's an important part of things. If I am truly showing my devotion to this current, should I not sacrifice my time and risk being late or in trouble at work?
But these are 9-hour candles!
Then again, candles tend to burn out in outdoor spaces without much prompting so I won't stress. If I am sitting shirtless in the dark and the mosquitos eat me alive and the time for bed arrives, I will put out the flames with a respectful wave of the hand and put it out of my mind. The intent is what matters here, and every fiber of my intuition is telling me this is a thing that must be done.
If there are dark outer gods calling to me, I must heed the call, I am already a willing companion of them in my heart, I know if a concrete and terrifying visage of Nyarlathotep appears like in a horror movie, I will be a cautious and willing participant in whatever he has to tell me.
Obviously, things don't work quite like this... I don't expect that, but I must be aware and willing for that possibility... As I have said countless times before when talking about the supernatural with people...
I've seen some shit.
Not the darkest, or the blackest, no human sacrifice or cannibalism or anything, but terror, violence, and blood... yes.
I have denied these memories and experiences too long. Time to spill the blood, time to embrace for evermore.
I would ask that you wish me luck, but I won't need it, and if the old gods are real, luck will be of no use... Lady luck would have her sanity raped and willingly reach in and tear out her own intestines to craft a wreath of gore in devotion to the most ancient and strange forces of Lovecraftian currents.