THE BOOK OF VERBS

June 12, 2018

all that remains of Proverbs

listen
my womb

do not spend your strength on
kings

it is not for kings

crave
and
let
be

bring
life
like
food
is
food

consider
a field and
plant
strong
fingers

open
hands
when it snows

make
days

watch

do
not eat
praises

Katie Manning

Europa and the Bull

June 3, 2018

Bull and woman

Lust, in the beginning. A fire in the blood, merging and diverging, comingling in the brain of the Father of all things, mighty Zeus, at his first sight of the beautiful Europa, sister of Cadmus and daughter of Agenor, the Phoenician king of Tyre.

And, oh, that first fleeting glimpse of the maiden, so incendiary to the God, birthed the desire in his burning brain to have her at any cost! He would have her maidenhead! Would destroy it with his great God cock –

This pure, beautiful, slim and magic girl, this glowing gold beauty would be the most glorious fuck he had ever had.

Swimmy-headed with sex and madness, mighty Zeus plotted.

What to do about his sister wife, Hera? The first madwoman of the universe. Jealous Hera; eternally suspicious Hera. She knew of his addiction to cunt – knew that he would be irresistibly drawn by Europa’s clean, smooth cunt, her tiny flytrap now a God-trap that could make him cum and cum all night long. Hera would sniff that out. And her God-like rage over his horseplay would be beyond contemplation!

So much of her life had been dedicated to revenge on the nymphs who had enjoyed congress with Him –

True, she renewed her virginity each year. Gave herself to Him as an ‘innocent’ to ravage. But it wasn’t enough –

Had she not had Eileithyia’s legs tied together to stop her giving birth to mighty Zeus’ illicit child, Heracles. And, because Galanthis, assisted in that birth, Hera had turned her into a weasel, hadn’t she? Or was it a cat?

And consider Lamia, queen of Libya, who Zeus loved and royally fucked. Hera had turned her into a grotesque monster and murdered her children.

Hera must be deceived; must be diverted from these shady revenge shenanigans, her usual murder rehab programs, when it came to Europa. Oh, yes. Zeus would transform himself (not for the first time) into a – into a what?

Why, of course. Into a Bull!

And in the days that followed, his dreams became a life sentence, served in solitude, of smooth virgin flesh, of blood-letting, and of violent penetration. Dreams that dominated his God-slumber, but worse, ruled his waking hours. His God cock grew so stiff that it hurt, an old fashioned pain, an inner anguish so severe it dominated his entire being!

A Bull! Yes, yes. He would become a bull!

Oh, wouldn’t she want such a beautiful creature?

Immortality.

Mortality.

‘Please, please don’t think me weird, sir, but a bull’s cock is something to dream about – in my arse; in my cunt.’

Oh, little maiden, this cock is so engorged – and just for you! Only you!

‘Zee,’ Hera said, interrupting all mighty Zeus’ train of thought; his God fantasies of innocent girl flesh. ‘Have you been wearing my panties again?

Zeus feeling confused and disoriented, said, ‘What are you on, H? I don’t wear girls underthings. I’m a fuckin’ God!’

‘But my panties, the new black pair, have stains in them. Like pre-cum. So who’s responsible, if not you?’

Zeus, quietly whistling ‘Zorba the Greek’, held back the sunset with its brown and orange thunderclouds, looking like fluffed-up pillows on a messed-up sky of gray chaos, and said, ‘Mother of summer, you might be. But all the Gods know that Hades likes to gallivant in your lacy panties. He’s been doing it for bloody years.’

Hera retreated in an unusual silence.

Zeus had his chance. Finally.

Europa sat in the shade of an olive tree away from the dazzle of sun-burnished sea and sky. Glancing up, she saw a bull – a beautiful bull in the field beyond the silver olive grove. She stood and advanced on the creature. She had never seen such a beautiful bull before.

The bull watched her slow approach. It remained totally passive. Not the usual behaviour from such a creature.

Europa, hesitantly, reached out to touch the bull’s flank. She stroked its sleek hide. The bull remained quite still. And then, the temptation too great for her to resist, Europa climbed onto the great beast’s broad back –

Oh, what madness!

The bull started round. It bucked and charged towards the emerald sea. Europa clung on for her dear life. The bull carried the little black-eyed girl out into the silver surf.

Zeus in his bull form, bellowed his jubilation into the clear bright dome of the sky. He’d done it. He had Europa on his back. Crete would be his final destination. And there on a strip of burning white sand he’d have his prize. At last –

Poor Europa woke later from a troubled sleep. Half-undressed on the Cretan sand, she had a half-remembered dream of a powerful bull – its massive cock between her spread thighs. She sat up, and there indeed stood the bull before her.

‘Europa,’ it said. ‘Know you have been fucked by the king of the Gods. Mighty Zeus has opened you and filled you with his God seed. It will blaze forth from the fertile soil of your womb. You will provide me with three sons, and in return I will make you queen of this island.’

‘But you are a bull? A talking bull – can such a thing be?’

‘Unfortunately,’ said the bull. ‘You see me as a bull. Being mortal, if you saw my true self, you would go mad and die.’

And so it was Europa gradually lost her fear of the creature. Willingly offered herself to its mighty cock there on the sand. Wound chains of wild flowers round his horns in nearby meadows. And the ruler of the skies bellowed his happiness, his muscled neck bulging, as he came again and again deep inside Europa’s slender body.

AFTERWORD

“The dream dissipated, were one to recover one’s commonsense mood, the thing would be of but mediocre import – ‘tis the story of mental wrong doing. Everyone knows very well and it offends no one. But alas! one sometimes carries the thing a little further. What, one dares wonder, what would not be the idea’s realisation if its mere abstract shape thus exalted has just so profoundly moved one? The accursed reverie is vivified and its existence is a crime.”

D A F de Sade
Justine

Virginity traded for an island paradise. Did she regret? She swam, Europa, naked under water. She ran barefoot on the sand. Abduction and rape was a woman’s lot in this modern world. A woman’s worth, so it seemed, existed secretly between her legs –

Memories of bull breath on her body no longer disturbed. Nor those bull thrusts like hammer blows tenderising meat. And she, stretched out, like a newly slaughtered lamb for the delight of this God, this Zeus. Brother and husband to his own wife. She, Europa, cast in the role of victim, would give the God three sons: Minos, Rhadamanthys, Sarpedon who would, when they died, become judges in the underworld –

The Zeus bull had made this promise to her. After he’d said, ‘I’m sorry.’

But she hardly paid attention. She felt only fire and suppressed rage. Europa, whose hair smelled of wild flowers and summer meadows, was promised a husband, too, a powerful king – all these gifts to catch between her breath at sunrise. As if the God feared she might swallow his sky –

Or tell on him.

For mighty Zeus feared his sister wife Hera. He was pussy-whipped indeed. And he gave more and more gifts to counter each of Europa’s many silences. Oh, yes. Hera constantly looked for lipstick stains or hidden receipts in his clothing, evidence of betrayal –

And her rage was thousand-headed, apocalyptic, so great in fact that mighty Zeus knew what it was to be totally helpless before her. Like a quivering mortal.

‘Truly,’ he said to Europa, ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.’

Europa frowned and waved her slender arms in the air, as if she were trying to erase and recreate the universe.

‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Alright. I forgive you – for now! But I’ll never forget.’

I can see you

Religions may begin as vehicles of longing for mysteries beyond description, but they end up claiming exclusive descriptive rights to them. They segue the ardour and uncertainty of seeking to the confidence and complacence of possession. They shift from poetry to packaging. Which is what people want. They don’t want to spend years wandering in the wilderness of doubt. They want the promised land of certainty, and religious realists are quick to provide it for them. The erection of infallible systems of belief is a well-understood device to still humanity’s fear of being lost in life’s dark wood without a compass. ‘Supreme conviction is a self-cure for the infestation of doubts.’ That is why David Hume noted that, while errors in philosophy were only ridiculous, errors in religion were dangerous. They were dangerous because when supreme conviction is threatened it turns nasty.’

Richard Holloway
Leaving Alexandria: A Memoir of Faith and Doubt

Baubo2

Once the goddess Demeter learned that her daughter Persephone had been abducted by Hades with Zeus’s permission, the pain of her loss was even sharper. She left Olympus and withdrew from the company of the gods, and wandered on earth, hiding her divine beauty disguised as a woman beyond childbearing. One day she appeared in Eleusis and sat by the well where the daughters of Celeus, the ruler of Eleusis, came to draw water. Curious about the stranger in their midst, they talked with her and found that she sought employment as a nursemaid. They led her home to meet their mother Metanira who had given birth to a baby boy. When the goddess put her foot on the threshold and touched her head on the ceiling, momentarily the doorway filled with divine light. Awed, Metanira, who had been seated with her infant son in her lap, immediately offered Demeter her own splendid couch and finest wine, which the goddess declined. The sight of a mother and child must have stirred memories and longing for her missing daughter because Demeter became mute and stood with her eyes downcast, until the servant Baubo brought her a simple chair. She then sat in grief-stricken silence from which no one could draw her out, until Baubo cheered the goddess with her bawdy humour. Her jests brought a smile, and then, when she lifted her skirt and exposed herself, Demeter laughed and was restored. Then she accepted a simple drink of barley water and mint, and agreed to become the baby’s nursemaid (a temporary solace in the mid-portion of the myth).

Winifred Milius Lubell
The Metamorphosis of Baubo: Myths of Woman’s Sexual Energy

The spirit world

April 28, 2018

In ancient times the world of spirits was everywhere acknowledged because it was a matter of direct experience and open to all but the most insensitive. The world of spirits was as familiar to primitive man as is the dream world is to modern man. The spirit world became the later “spiritual” world after undue emphasis on mans’ mental development had obliterated the astral world in which he originally had moved with as much ease as in the mundane world.

Kenneth Grant
Nightside of Eden

pagan to the hilt

April 22, 2018

Bacchanal - Rosaleen Norton

From an early age she had a remarkable capacity to explore the visionary depths of her subconscious mind, and the archetypal beings she encountered on those occasions became the focus of her art. It was only later that Roie was labelled a witch, was described as such in the popular press, and began to develop the persona which accompanied that description. As this process gathered momentum, Roie in turn became intent on trying to demonstrate that she had been born a witch. After all, she had somewhat pointed ears, small blue markings on her left knee, and also a long strand of flesh which hung from underneath her armpit to her waist – a variant on the extra nipple sometimes ascribed to witches in the Middle Ages.. .

.. .She had no time at all for organised religion, and the gods she embraced – a cluster of ancient gods centred around Pan – were, of course, pagan to the hilt. She regarded Pan as the God of Infinite Being. Traditionally Pan is known as the god of flocks and shepherds in ancient Greece. Depicted as half-man, half-goat, he played a pipe with seven reeds and was considered the lord of Nature and all forms of wildlife. He was also rather lecherous, having numerous love affairs with the nymphs – especially Echo, Syrinx and Pithys.

Nevill Drury
Rosaleen Norton: Remembering Roie – the Witch of Kings Cross

Awareness grew stronger

April 21, 2018

A witch - Rosaleen Norton

If the Kingdom of Pan had always been with me, it had been mostly in the background, overlaid by what was called reality: Now it had begun to emerge and pervade the latter. Awareness grew stronger and stronger that the tedious world of childhood didn’t really matter, because this held the essence of all that called to my inmost being: Night and wild things and mystery; storms; being by myself, free of other people. The sense of some deep hidden knowledge stirring at the back of consciousness; and all about me the feeling of secret sentient life, that was in alliance with me, but that others were unaware, or afraid of, because it was unhuman. So my first act of ceremonial magic was in honour of the horned god, whose pipes are symbol of magic and mystery, and whose horns and hooves stand for natural energies and fleet-footed freedom: And this rite was also my oath of allegiance and my confirmation as a witch. I remember my feelings on that occasion well, and they are valid today: If Pan is the ‘Devil’ (and the joyous goat-god probably is from the orthodox viewpoint) then I am indeed a ‘Devil’ worshipper.

Rosaleen Norton
Thorn in the Flesh: A Grim-memoir

No beginning, no end

April 19, 2018

There is no beginning, there is no end,
There is only change.
There is no teacher, there is no student,
There is only remembering.
There is no good, there is no evil,
There is only expression.
There is no union, there is no sharing,
There is only one.
There is no joy, there is no sadness,
There is only love.
There is no greater, there is no lesser,
There is only balance.
There is no stasis, there is no entropy,
There is only motion.
There is no wakefulness, there is no sleep,
There is only being.
There is no limit, there is no chance,
There is only a plan.

Ultimate Journey
Robert A. Monroe

Candle black

April 17, 2018

Candle black
Of witch’s fire,
Hear my words,
Hear my desire.
Witch fire burning,
Healing flame,
Warm my heart,
Remove my pain.

A.V.