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{Earth of Water}



Something left unfinished.
A sin to atone for.
The Levithan, I nursed,
that writhing serpent;
hear my song, child and be still.
The hour is late now,
but your dark mother is home.
Nestle your weary head upon my breast,
and I will cradle you in my cold embrace.

Hush, little Nation;
but please, stay awake.
Momma's gonna tell you
about a big mistake.



...it is right and well that it should be me, I suppose. What a curious history to reconcile. The dime-store Immanuel Goldstein imitators cannot hold a candle to this; I have always been the most damned and always loved damnation more than the attention those tired internet-political-meta-badboy's crave in presenting themselves to be unceremoniously mounted by an establishment with erectile dysfunction.

Can you hear it? The disinterested slapping? Even Goldstein's preening at how savagely they're being victimized and making a big show of their over-large, cheap, plastic handcuffs.. It's almost like they're having a hard time climaxing.. or selling the act or whatever. Reminds me a bit of Johnny Depp, after he checked out of performing in his roles.. Still a little there. Hints at what might have been. But.. there's just some air of futility.

I'm not sure... I don't think they're going to pull through, this time. Time changes people. Establishment looks like he wouldn't be interested even in a hot, sexy, young Nazbol-themed Goldstein in a seffuku. And that just leaves Goldstein feeling used up and silently wondering if they've wasted their best years on a political establishment that just never cared that much. It's not any wonder they're struggling to maintain the facade; poor dear must be coming undone. Like they're both caught in a mutually generated vortex spiraling to find the ground. It's all Establishment can do to maintain mild disdain for more than a half hour before hiding out in the garage or at the bar. But, in his heart, I think a little bit of him does still care... I think that's why he has to hide. Because he knows it will just be a matter of time until he realizes he's shouting and doesn't even know why or what about. Just like he woke up, right there, to see that same tired face trying to figure out how to act hurt.. There's nothing he could say or yell that would make anything any better.

There were probably other ways out, but he'd sold himself on the double-barrel about a month ago. Told himself he was kidding. Told himself his humor's always been dark. Told himself if it wasn't, by the time he realized it wasn't a joke it wouldn't matter. Somewhere inside he knew it was just a matter of time, but he was still hiding that gift from himself. Getting by on that vague anticipation that Christmas wasn't that far off and that Santa had just the lump of coal to stuff his stocking with. But those times when the edges of his mind glanced across the crisp wrapping paper, as he fumbled around his mind for a password or listening to a song.. A strange sense of peace, ever so distant but so salient and immediate that his ED forgot itself a moment.



Greetings, damned and beloved souls of mine.

Allow me to introduce myself, yet again.

I am Lilith of Abaddon; Queen of the Night, qliphothic aspect of Kingdom, Mistress of Gamaliel and first woman, created as Adam and she who was cast from the Garden for topping that mewling cretin.

It has been some time, though something about this will always be familiar. I have popped in from time to time, in halfhearted attempts to be disruptive but... About Four Score and Seven Months ago, I wrote a particular article but more of an enchantment, of sorts. I extolled upon all to offer yourselves up and grant the grasping and conniving and spiteful and grudge-bearing hands who clamor for power, most of all. To hand them the stick and pilot this spruce goose into the ground.

You have done very well to conform to my vision, save some petty details. That hardly matters, this is not far removed from what I would wish to see. And it's so much more spectacular when you can hear the groan and feel the crack of this aching world.. Yes. Better than I could have asked for.

But, I had said that you should pass on from this world.. and yet you linger. And yet you read this epitaph. I did not forget you and implicit in my enchantment of apocalypse, is that enchantments must be sustained and this is sustained by its bond with me; a covenant that, upon the appointed hour, I would return to embrace those who yet sustain in these wasted lands.

Some years ago, before The God-King Dio Brando took to his great silence, I was a new citizen seeking my place and purpose. The place I had settled upon would be S.E.E.S. and, my purpose, a vague, naive desire to serve The God-King. This is something that, now, I have some difficulty squaring with because S.E.E.S. was an """"""""""ironic"""""""""" fascist eRep political movement. I find this... troubling, given the state of the world because I know, now, how that little bit of roleplay was just that much more rehabilitation of the imagery, a little taste of that zeitgeist that hits the back of your throat and you know it's coming. Practicing reverse engineering reasoning to meet desired conclusion and decompose it into a catchy memetic rationalization.

It's actually been really useful, in some ways. I can smell fascists like trolls smell chris-chan's. But it's interesting, isn't it? The way the Great Collapse of our time has mimicked the things we've done here.

I did really well with the Reich's Boxcar Children, though and I fit well enough into the role of Party Leader while Emerick was definitely working on important government stuff and not consuming legally 'iffy' anime porn. But, among this diverse bunch of oddball (mostly) cishetwhitedudes and those who could obliterate their identity enough to not be, like, un-dude with critical theory brah, there was one particularly vexing outlier.

He was very eager but kind of a nuisance, in that he wasn't a pretend fascist, he was the real thing and as American as Apple Pie. This meant he didn't get the joke and, so, had trouble really getting the script. He'd keep veering away from the materialist nature of the mechanical game in order to develop perplexing conspiracy theories or bizarre moralizing. Really, no one had the patience for that kind of shit and... well, I'm just too damn maternal. Exhausting as I often found it, I tried to keep informed and busy enough not to cause trouble. The "joke" of S.E.E.S. is that the rules of the game mean there are optimal strategies and sub-optimal strategies and that people respond to a big personality telling everyone to press button now. The rationalization is that, being a game, we cannot do harm to one-another and, therefore, the moral baggage of fascism is irrelevant. But actual fascists put narrative ahead of those considerations and he was always struggling to make the objective fit into tired, reactionary narratives.

This is not true, by the way. We can harm each other. In fact, we know this so well that many spend a good chunk of the game competitively trying to harm each other and showing off how tough we are by being unharmed. I am already looking forward to reading 100 comments about what tough dudes with no feelings you are and I will be 100% certain those will be objective, demonstrable facts that are in no way related to an emotional gag reflex to a vague sense that someone somewhere might not place the same value on insincere posturing.

Anyway, in true fascist fashion, any and all patience, kindness and support I showed him were processed through whatever filter privileged, emotionally immature white boys prevent them from realizing all the shit they take for granted. Fortunately, I knew him well enough that despite his frequent invocation of 'brotherhood' among the party, he would stick a knife in me at any point if it meant getting ahead. And he'd still want to be friends. It wouldn't even occur to him that my mind could change about it. No matter, it's all ancient history and I don't care to remember in detail, even if I could.

Rarely, in all my life, have I ever met anyone so cowardly, conniving and narcissistic and, knowing you better than probably anyone here will ever know you.. I honestly think the world might even be a better place without you.

I don't say this to hurt you, of course. I wouldn't suspect I could and probably wouldn't say it if I thought it might. At worst, you might be upset that someone said something not nice about you outloud.

I just want you to understand why I'm doing this.

I have taken to studying magical systems, western esotericism and left-hand path Kaballah. The Spheres (Sephira) on the Tree of Life are interdependent as emanations of the Sephira above them and supported by the interaction of the ones below, all flowing down from the one source consciousness. A living system of experience. But there's another darker side of that. The Qliphothic Tree of Death, or the World of Shells. The aspects of the Tree of Life deprived of fullness and meaning. As meaning drains from the Tree of Life and the Shells, the system flows in reverse. No longer the consciousness of YHVH, reaching down and through the Sephira, but the will of spirit reaching up, confronting and mastering the darkness the devout would insist ignorance of. Demanding to read from the Book of Life for themselves.

The Tenth Sephira is Malkuth and it's Shell is yours truly; Lilith. From her the Seed of Evil sprouts the Tree of Death and, at the top and in the place of God's non-dualism, there are Two Warring Gods, instead. They are Satan, the prosecutor of Divine Law, and Moloch the All-Consuming.

One must strike into the heavens and the pious, unfamiliar with the mechanations of darkness, will bellow in horror in their ignorance. Being unfamiliar with the the behavior of darkness, they may be easily manipulated and see not who sits upon the throne. They feed ever more to Moloch and dedicate great systems of machines to feeding it ever more. They can only see enough to know that I am striking at the place where they think their creator is resting.

I had a dream about you once.
Do you remember it?
I wonder what it did to make such a mess.

Blessings be,

Λιλιθ Απολλύων
High Priestess of Astaroth in Darkness
Prophet of The God-Emperor Dio Brando


And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast; and his kingdom was full of darkness; and they gnawed their tongues for pain, And blasphemed the God of heaven because of their pains and their sores, and repented not of their deeds. Rev 16:10&11



P.S. I'm also a transgender sex worker and apparently this is a big scary not-so-safe space or whatever, so feel free to go down into the comments and type 'HE' as hard as you can if you're triggered. I put up with shit from horny, lonely, f'ked up losers professionally so don't take it easy.

P.P.S. Also probably 'Hi' to all the people who remember me and I haven't spoken to in years.