It is surprising the number of practitioners of the magical arts and witchcraft who were involved in military and intelligence work during the Second World War. Perhaps the best known ‘occult spy’ operating in the Second World War, and in fact long before, and whose intelligence career has been well documented, is Aleister Crowley. Author Dr Richard B.Spence believes that Crowley began his journey to being a secret agent when he took an oath of allegiance to the British Crown. This was at the Malvern College boarding school in 1891when he joined the cadet corps of the local Worcestershire Royal Artillery Volunteers. Later in life Crowley was to say that despite his problems and issues with the British establishment he had always felt that he was bound to that oath. In fact it had strengthened his link with England. It is possible he meant on a magical and psychic level as well as the physical and patriotic one.

As a young man, through an introduction by his aunt who was a member, Crowley joined the Primrose League. This was a semi-secret, quasi-Masonic, right-wing group within the Conservative Party whose aim was to protect it from its political enemies. Dr Spence suggests that Crowley’s Jacobite sympathies in support of the return of the Stuart dynasty to the British throne to replace the Hanoverian usurpers, could have been used by the League to persuade Crowley to spy on potential enemies of the Crown. This however would suggest that his Jacobite inclinations were not genuine or a passing teenage phase.

Crowley was lucky enough to come under the patronage of the Marquess of Salisbury, the Grand Master of the League. It has been suggested that Salisbury helped Crowley to enter Cambridge University and was grooming his young protégé for a lifelong career in the Diplomatic Service, which might well have involved spying for his country. However Crowley had other ideas, although it was at Cambridge that he met the future artist Gerald Kelly and later married his sister Rose. Forty years or so later both men were to serve in the wartime British Secret Service.

In the First World War Cowley was living in New York and he was accosted by a stranger on an omnibus. During their conversation about the war in Europe the man handed Crowley a business card.Printed on it were the addresses of two pro-German magazines and subsequently Crowley wrote anti-British propaganda for these publications.

Naturally the British government took a dim view of this anti-patriotic, traitorous act. They labelled him a traitor and the police raided his magical temple in London and closed it down. Crowley always protested his innocence. In fact he said he had been working for British Intelligence and written the satirical articles at their request. The aim was to ridicule the pro-German movement in America and discredit the magazines. This has never confirmed by the British Government, but it has also not been denied.

Michael Howard
THE OCCULT WAR
Secret Agents, Magicians and Hitler

shadows

L E A H S U B L I M E

Leah Sublime,
Goddess above me!
Snake of the slime
Alostrael, love me!
Our master, the devil
Prospers the revel.

Tread with your foot
My heart til it hurt!
Tread on it, put
The smear of your dirt
On my love, on my shame
Scribble your name!

Straddle your Beast
My Masterful Bitch
With the thighs of you greased
With the Sweat of your Itch!
Spit on me, scarlet
Mouth of my harlot!

Now from your wide
Raw cunt, the abyss,
Spend spouting the tide
Of your sizzling piss
In my mouth; oh my Whore
Let it pour, let it pour!

You stale like a mare
And fart as you stale;
Through straggled wet hair
You spout like a whale.
Splash the manure
And piss from the sewer.

Down to me quick
With your tooth on my lip
And your hand on my prick
With feverish grip
My life as it drinks –
How your breath stinks!

Your hand, oh unclean
Your hand that has wasted
Your love, in obscene
Black masses, that tasted
Your soul, it’s your hand!
Feel my prick stand!

Your life times from lewd
Little girl, to mature
Worn whore that has chewed
Your own pile of manure.
Your hand was the key to –
And now your frig me, too!

Rub all the much
Of your cunt on me, Leah
Cunt, let me suck
All your glued gonorrhoea!
Cunt without end!
Amen! til you spend!

Cunt! you have harboured
All dirt and disease
In your slimy unbarbered
Loose hole, with its cheese
And its monthlies, and pox
You chewer of cocks!

Cunt, you have sucked
Up pricks, you squirted
Out foetuses, fucked
Til bastards you blurted
Out into space –
Spend on my face!

Rub all your gleet away!
Envenom the arrow.
May your pox eat away
Me to the marrow.
Cunt you have got me;
I love you to rot me!

Spend again, lash me!
Leah, one spasm
Scream to splash me.
Slime of the chasm
Choke me with spilth
Of your sow-belly’s filth.

Stab your demonical
Smile to my brain!
Soak me in cognac
Cunt and cocaine;
Sprawl on me! Sit
On my mouth, Leah, shit!

Shit on me, slut!
Creamy the curds
That drip from your gut!
Greasy the turds!
Dribble your dung
On the tip of my tongue!

Churn on me, Leah!
Twist on your thighs!
Smear diarrhoea
Into my eyes!
Splutter out shit
From the bottomless pit.

Turn to me, chew it
With me, Leah, whore!
Vomit it, spew it
And lick it once more.
We can make lust
Drunk on disgust.

Splay out your gut,
Your ass hole, my lover!
You buggering slut,
I know where to shove her!
There she goes, plumb
Up the foul Bitch’s bum!

Sackful of skin
And bone, as I speak
I’ll bugger your grin
Into a shriek.
Bugger you, slut
Bugger your gut!

Wriggle, you hog!
Wrench at the pin!
Wrench at it, drag
It half out, suck it in!
Scream, you hog dirt, you!
I want it to hurt you!

Beast-Lioness, squirt
From your Cocksucker’s hole!
Belch out the dirt
From your Syphilis soul.
Splutter foul words
Through your supper of turds!

May the Devil our lord, your
Soul scribble over
With sayings of ordure!
Call me your lover!
Slave of the gut
Of the arse of a slut!

Call me your sewer
Of spilth and snot
Your fart-sniffer, chewer
Of the shit in your slot.
Call me that as you rave
In the rape of your slave.

Fuck! Shit! Let me come
Alostrael – Fuck!
I’ve spent in your bum.
Shit! Give me the muck
From my whore’s arse, slick
Dirt of my prick!

Eat it, you sow!
I’m your dog, fuck, shit!
Swallow it now!
Rest for a bit!
Satan, you gave
A crown to a slave.

I am your fate, on
Your belly, above you.
I swear it by Satan
Leah, I love you.
I’m going insane
Do it again!

Aleister Crowley

From Crowley’s diary:

Cefalú, Italy
MONDAY JUNE 21 1920
5.25pm to 5.15am

Against all principals, and in breach of two promises, I have sat up all night in the

snows, writing a poem to Leah.

One long poem – an occasional publishable line thrown in when I weakened.

7.00 am: I think I’ll collect all my filth in one poem and mark H Leah in plain figures.

10.00 am: 1 think 1 did.

#

At the time of this poem’s composition, Crowley was living in the Villa Santa Banhera Fust outside Cefalu in Sicily with two mistresses, a small group of “disciples” and enough drugs and hallucinogenic substances to sink a battleship.

Comprising 156 lines and 666 words, the numbers of the Whore and the Beast, it was often recited to those aspiring to join Crowley’s group. If the excesses it describes were too much for the newcomer – then they would be turned away (unless they had plenty of cash!).

Needless to say publication of the poem was banned in the UK.

Ultimately, Crowley was deported from Sicily (following the unfortunate death of Raoul Loveday) in 1923.

The Leah of the poem’s title was Leah Hirsig, Crowley’s mistress who helped him set up his “Abbey of Thelema” in Cefalu. She was Crowley’s Babalon, his Scarlett Woman, who took the name Alostrael – the womb or grail of God! In 1921 she confided to her diary:

“I dedicate myself wholly to The Great Work. I will work for wickedness, I will kill my heart, I will be shameless before all men, I will freely prostitute my body to all creatures”.

A common room in the tiny villa became dedicated to ritual practices and held a scarlet “magick” circle marked with the sign of the major Thelemic deities. Crowley’s own bedroom, which he called “la chambre des cauchemars” (or “the room of nightmares”) was entirely hand-painted by the occultist with explicitly erotic frescos, hermaphroditic goblins, and vividly coloured monsters. This private room was used for specific night initiations involving psychoactive drugs which gave terrifying cinematic life to these Bosch-like visions of hellish debauchery.

Crowley would feed himself and his “disciples” doses of opium, hashish and peyote which enabled them to “see” beyond our “mundane reality”. Crowley’s Magick was often little more than drug induced hallucination, of course.

While living in the villa Leah became pregnant by Crowley, as did his second mistress, Ninette Shumway. Leah miscarried but Ninette gave birth to a daughter on the 11th December 1920, at two in the morning in Palermo. They named her Astarte Lulu Panthea, but unfortunately she died in 1928.

It is hard for us to imagine today, but there were children living in the Villa Santa Banhera Fust at this time! During January 1920, Crowley, then living in Fontainebleau with Leah, was joined in a ménage à trois by Ninette, and also by Leah’s newborn daughter, Anne “Poupee” Leah. When they relocated to the villa in Sicily, Leah’s son, Hans Hammond accompanied them, as did Ninette’s three year old son, Howard.

While living in the villa Crowley continued to write, to paint, to perform rituals. He also offered a libertine education to the children, allowing them to play all day and witness acts of sex magic at night. He occasionally interrupted this routine to travel to Palermo. There he’d purchase more drugs and visit assorted rent-boys. By this time Crowley was addicted to Heroin and his cocaine usage was eroding his nasal passages.

In a diary entry for 12th August 1920, Crowley wrote the following:

“Her breasts itch with lust of Incest. She hath given Her two-year bastard boy to Her lewd lover’s whim of sodomy, hath taught him speech and act, things infinitely abhorred, with Her own beastly carcass. She hath tongued Her five-month girl, and asked its father to deflower it.”

This terrible entry seems to suggest Leah and Crowley, both under the influence of cocaine, and peyote, molested Leah’s son, Hansi and that Crowley deflowered his five month old daughter?

Is the entry true or false?

We don’t know. However we do know Poupee died two months later, October 14th 1920. We also know the death was so traumatic to Leah that she suffered her miscarriage six days later.

source of pleasure

December 12, 2016

beyond-what-eyes-can-see-dan-verkys

Keep on acquiring a taste for what is naturally repugnant; this is an unfailing source of pleasure.

Aleister Crowley
The Book of Lies

normal sex instinct

December 10, 2016

i-saw-it-honest

It is a terrible error to let any natural impulse, physical or mental, stagnate. Crush it out, if you will, and be done with it; or fulfill it, and get it out of the system; but do not allow it to remain there and putrefy. The suppression of the normal sex instinct, for example, is responsible for a thousand ills. In Puritan countries one inevitably finds a morbid preoccupation with sex coupled with every form of perversion and degeneracy.

Aleister Crowley
Moonchild

catlight

Diary 29th November

A vague trembling of stars behind the eyes this morning. Indicative of a hangover, perhaps. Still dark outside. Winter morning, cold – very cold.

#

Melancholy may be found at the heart of most great art. Or so it seems to me.

#

And of the water witch? What of her? Smelling of salty deeps, wearing rags, burlap and pearls, and with those misty-grey eyes that see so very deeply inside of you. Soul deep, she can see. She has the ocean for her heart. Listen carefully for the rolling beat of her tides. She traps your tears and keeps them in little crystal bottles for her spells. Her head is full of the crashing of waves, and she overflows with such dark magic…

#

Do you hear them? The whispering voices, when you are alone? Hidden presences that have crossed the line between dark and dawn. Eerie and inexplicable, but terribly real for all that. You may not realise it, but you have called them over to be with you.

#

And in that climatic moment, she will do all in her power to steal the breath from your lungs. That is the simple truth of her wild nature…

#

I thought we might become lovers, or, at the very least, indulge in a variety of sexual acts together, even if only on an infrequent basis. But no. Une baise sauvage. That and nothing more was all she wanted.

#

Recently seen on the internet HERE:

Aleister “Crowley was adamantly opposed to such manipulative tactics and strongly against rape of any kind. He upheld the right of every woman to be the master of her own sexuality, in strong contrast to the prevailing mores…”

What total nonsense. As to Crowley’s “manipulative” nature one only has to see what the young William Gray had to say on the matter:

“…Seemingly Crowley could hypnotise Victor (Neuburg) with ridiculous ease and especially liked to do so before company in order to impress them with his evident ‘powers’. He would make Neuburg behave like a dog, barking and groveling at his masters feet. Then he would order poor Victor to empty his pockets of money and hand it over immediately. Since his father was usually generous there might be as much as five pounds on his person. Crowley would throw back about half-a-crown contemptuously saying: ‘Get yourself some fish and chips. We’re going to the Savoy with the rest.’ And forthwith do so. In those days it was perfectly possible, and there could be change left over. “

As to Crowley’s views on women, let the great man speak for himself:

The real inferiority of women to men is shown by their hate of pederasty, which they regard as unfair competition. Men on the other hand rather approve of Sapphism, as saving them trouble and expense.
Aleister Crowley
Diary Entry, March 9th 1929

Practically all women ought to be chloroformed at 35.
Aleister Crowley
Diary Entry, January 3rd 1931

In Berlin all the whores look like ‘respectable women’; in New York all the ‘respectable women’ look like whores. Reflection: they’re all whores, anyhow.
Aleister Crowley
Diary Entry, January 4th 1931

And so on and so forth. One could build a complete website containing Crowley’s outpourings on the subject of women. He really didn’t have a very high opinion of them despite what his advocates and revisionists may say to the contrary.

victims of a delusion

November 28, 2016

shoes-and-rails

I’ve often thought that there isn’t any “I” at all; that we are simply the means of expression of something else; that when we think we are ourselves, we are simply the victims of a delusion.

Aleister Crowley
Diary of a Drug Fiend

Druids Temple - Martin Black

We may therefore admit quite cheerfully that Magick is as mysterious as mathematics, as empirical as poetry, as uncertain as golf, and as dependent on the personal equation as Love.

That is no reason why we should not study, practice and enjoy it; for it is a Science in exactly the same sense as biology; it is no less an Art that Sculpture; and it is a Sport as much as Mountaineering…

…Magick takes every thought and act for its apparatus; it has the Universe for its Library and its Laboratory; all Nature is its Subject; and its Game, free from close seasons and protective restrictions, always abounds in infinite variety, being all that exists.

Aleister Crowley
Magick in Theory and Practice.

Magick takes every thought

December 2, 2015

woods3

We may therefore admit quite cheerfully that Magick is as mysterious as mathematics, as empirical as poetry, as uncertain as golf, and as dependent on the personal equation as Love.
That is no reason why we should not study, practice and enjoy it; for it is a Science in exactly the same sense as biology; it is no less an Art that Sculpture; and it is a Sport as much as Mountaineering…

…Magick takes every thought and act for its apparatus; it has the Universe for its Library and its Laboratory; all Nature is its Subject; and its Game, free from close seasons and protective restrictions, always abounds in infinite variety, being all that exists.

Aleister Crowley
Magick in Theory and Practice

Sacred Sex…

October 10, 2015

wolfwoman

Sex is the sacred song of the soul; sex is the sanctuary of Self…

Aleister Crowley
The Revival of Magick

seekers after truth…

October 2, 2015

twilighttrees_Photo by Amber Maitrejean

I admit that my visions can never mean to other men as much as they do to me. I do not regret this. All I ask is that my results should convince seekers after truth that there is beyond doubt something worthwhile seeking, attainable by methods more or less like mine. I do not want to father a flock, to be the fetish of fools and fanatics, or the founder of a faith whose followers are content to echo my opinions. I want each man to cut his own way through the jungle.

Aleister Crowley
Confessions