Lilipucik – An Antinomian Bedtime Story

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Today, my auntie told me a diabolical story she read in some shitty tabloid newspaper. It’s a true story, she said, and of course, I believe her. I don’t remember the title but the story illustrates in the best way the sinister spirit. So here it is:

There was once a man, called Johnny, who spent many years in prison for killing his wife. Not that he didn’t love her. In fact, he loved her so much that he got terribly jealous. One day, thinking she betrayed him with another man, in the surge of emotions, he smashed her head with a hammer. When he realized the horror of his deed, he wept and moaned but it was to late. His wife was dead and he found himself behind the bars. In prison he was so kind and humble that he was released earlier for good behavior.

When he came back home, he became a nature lover. He fed hungry birds in winter and started keeping hens. He also cared for stray dogs. But he had one favorite pet he loved fiercely; a little, nearly miniature cock, he called “Lilipucik”, which is a Polish diminutive name for a midget.

One winter morning, on his way to work, he met a homeless man. He was so hungry and looked so miserable that Johnny took pity on him and decided to take him to his home. The homeless man was really grateful and did all the work around the house. Every day, Johnny came back home, there was a hot meal waiting for him.

You know what I long for? – Johnny said to the homeless man – a good hot chicken soup. Kill one hen and cook the soup for me.

So the homeless man got up in the early morning, took an axe and started wondering which hen is most suitable for his benefactor’s dinner. Suddenly, he noticed a tiny thin cock staggering in the yard. Meh – he said to himself – this cock will be dead in no time. Why waste its meat?

And he chopped off Lilipucik’s head.

Johnny came back home and at the doorstep he felt the delicious smell of a soup. Oh how horrified he was when he saw his beloved little cock boiling in the pot! He didn’t listen to the homeless man’s feeble explanations, he wept and shouted at him. “What did you do?! How could you kill my Lilipucik?!” He threw his things out of the house and told him to go away.

The homeless guy shrugged his shoulders, thought the man was crazy, and went his way. Meanwhile, Johnny stopped weeping, looked again at the pot and felt his own head getting hot with surging fury. He took the axe, still stained with Lilipucik’s blood, got on his bike and followed the homeless guy. Finally, he reached him.

You know what it is? – he said showing him the axe – It’s the same axe you killed my little cock with. My dear Lilipucik, whom I loved so much. Now this very axe will chop off your head.

And he smashed the homeless man in the head.

A few months later, Johnny stands before the court.

It’s your second crime, your second murder – the judge says – you deserve the life sentence. Do you have anything to say in your defense?

It was love, Your Honor. – Johnny says – I did it all for love. I loved my wife so much that I killed her. And I loved my cock so much that I killed the motherfucker who dared to take his life. Without my little cock, life is worthless to me.

Bye my Lilipucik. Bye.

And little Johnny, totally devastated, rots in his hell cell.

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Guilt and Honor

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The Mind, that broods o’er guilty woes,
Is like the Scorpion girt by fire;
In circle narrowing as it glows,
The flames around their captive close,
Till inly search’d by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
One sad and sole relief she knows,
The sting she nourish’d for her foes,
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain:
So do the dark in soul expire,
Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;
So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,
Unfit for earth, undoom’d for heaven,
Darkness above, despair beneath,
Around it flame, within it death!
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Honor, according to and as defined by the sinister-numen, is a specific code of personal behavior and conduct, and the practical means whereby we can live in an evolved way, consistent with the sinister perspective, and aims, of our Sinister Way. Thus, personal honor is how we can change, and control, ourselves
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This blog is a response to a friend who asked what the hell (pun intended) the very notion of personal or kindred honor has to do with the Devil. If one’s aim is to break the taboos imposed by the society, then shouldn’t one break one’s own rules? Go against one’s principles? Behind it there is a flawed belief that those who call themselves Satanists or Niners are somehow different from other people, that their minds work differently.
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What Lord Byron describes in “Giaur” is nothing else than Hell in its purest form; the state of the mind tormented by perpetual guilt, the fires of remorse that can never be quenched. Is there the torment more painful than guilt? You can get over it but what if you cannot? It’s the matter of integrity. It’s not only having strong moral principles but also your self-image being whole, integrated, undivided. It’s easier to go against the morals imposed by the society, which you don’t agree with, because they don’t hurt your self-image. Going against your own principles, on the other hand, disintegrates your self-image, leading to the feelings of guilt and shame. It’s all relative and depends on how important your own principles are to you. Does it make sense to go against the self just to see how it feels? What if you can’t put together the broken mirror?
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Now, moving on to this cloak-and-dagger troll club called the ONA, let’s pretend for a moment and for the sake of this blog that it is all for real, that there are some sinister tribes out there culling people and what not. The code of honor is something that binds people together. How can you have a well-functioning tribe if its members don’t share the same set of core values? How can you trust someone if they are not loyal to you? The focus is on self-control, putting the Tradition before giving vent to your compulsions. This is where guilt and shame kick in. If you act dishonorably, you can either be shamed by others or flog yourself for your own failure. Obeying the ethics is a way to avoid the pain of guilt.
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The reason for the ethics behind “culling” is basically the same. Without the ethics, it would be plain murder. It’s easier to kill someone if they are first dehumanized and shown as worthless scum. If you are led to believe that you help the evolution of mankind by removing the undesirable elements, it’s even more comforting. The aim is to combat guilt that can prove to be destructive. It’s hard to be defiant if you are devoured by remorse.
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That doesn’t sound very *Satanic*, I know. Anyway, the dirty work is not for Adepts, but it’s something reserved for the pawns. Is it really all about defiance and crossing one’s limits? Or is it rather about understanding how we are all emotionally wired, behind all the lies we tell ourselves? Empathy in its darkest sense is nothing else than understanding the human nature, manipulating and exploiting it to your own advantage. If the Devil is the accuser, then his job will be trying to awaken in you the creepy feelings of guilt and self-contempt. What’s the better way of paralyzing one’s enemy if not by the poisonous sting of remorse?

On Being Eco-Sinister

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My buddy, Darryl, has recently shared The Temple of the Earth’s blog post, “David Myatt on Animal Cruelty”, thinking that it somehow proves his hypothesis that the ONA betrayed David Myatt’s heritage. Browsing this nexion of vegan nature lovers’ WordPress, the reader might get an impression that the ONA internet subculture, influenced by Myatt’s latest hippie writings, has turned into tree-hugging Wicca, having the sugar-coated vision of nature as something harmonious unless disturbed by humans. Turning its back on Satanism, the ONA virtual society has largely forsaken the more complex and realistic vision of nature, as depicted in the icon of Baphomet, the image of the nurturing and, at the same time, destructive Mother. But for now on, let’s focus on this particular blog, which mainly is a quotation from Myatt’s essay, “Honour, Empathy and the Question of Suffering.”

Myatt writes:

We should treat animals as we ourselves, as individual beings, would like to be treated. Would we wish to be subject to pain? To suffer? Would we wish to be captured, and held in captivity, and experimented on, and breed for food and for slaughter? No, of course not.

Now, who wasn’t moved, at least once, by all those tear-some Yahoo stories about faithful dogs and fluffy kittens abandoned and tortured, and murdered by all those cruel and heartless humans? Who didn’t shed a tear at the sight of Facebook campaigns to raise money to rescue a poor sick dog or adopt a lonely cat? Perhaps, we aren’t that bad since we feel for the poor suffering animals?

Now, what about bedbugs and cockroaches? Can we empathize with them? It’s not bedbugs’ fault that they bite our asses at night. Why are cockroaches to blame that they look so disgusting to our eyes? Why do we mercilessly fight with them? Why do we swap mosquitoes and flies? So what is the thing with our human empathy?

The nature lovers love the animals, sure, but only those which are… cute. Like the ones you see on Facebook photos. When it comes to the rest, which is less visually pleasant or is in some way bothersome, it’s the dog eat dog world.

Then Myatt goes on:

Thus, we need to feel and know – to accept – how we are but one small manifestation of Life, connected to all life in the Cosmos. What we do, or do not do, has consequences for ourselves and for other Life. To have empathy – to be empathic – is to be an evolved and evolving human being: it is to be and behave as an adult, a rational human being rather than as the children we have been for so many thousands of years with our tantrums, our squabbles, our pride, our need to fulfil our own desires regardless of the suffering we might or do cause to others, to animals, to Life.

Does anyone remember Michael Jackson’s famous “Earth Song”?

Did you ever stop to notice
All the blood we’ve shed before
Did you ever stop to notice
This crying Earth, these weeping shores
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Aah, ooh
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What have we done to the world
Look what we’ve done
What about all the peace
That you pledge your only son
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What about flowering fields..
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All right. I’d better stop at this lest I get sick. But seriously, what about all those animals killing their young or mates? What about predators and parasites? What about the merciless nature regularly waging the war with humans through natural disasters? The eco-sinister nature-lovers would surely repeat after the Green Religion gurus that the animals don’t have reason like humans and that floods and tornadoes are the result of the global warming. That we should invest more money in solar or wind energy, become vegans or, like Darryl writes, close down the zoos. It doesn’t matter that an animal has a higher chance of survival in captivity than in the wild and that the veterinary care and captive breeding helped to save many animals and occasionally entire species forsaken by oh so cute Mommy Nature. But hey, there is not such a thing as natural selection, let’s sweep that dirt under the rug.

Fuck A Pony

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I follow the Satanic Views WordPress for shits and giggles. Sometimes, you can count on a good comedy and this article made my day. The blogger writes how some ponies were attacked in the Preston area in the UK and slashed with a knife. One pony died from injuries. You would think it’s nothing special since there are plenty of cuckoos roaming the Earth but don’t be fooled. The Satanic Views blogger has connected the dots and has come to some fascinating conclusions:

A pattern: targets of horses or ponies; nine victims; and the event of the solar eclipse; suggests the attack was motivated by religion.

So the event of the solar eclipse, according to the author, suggests the ritual sacrifice and since the number of the attacked horses is nine, it’s only logical to conclude that the perpetrator was someone associated with the Order of Nine Angles.

Just imagine what these fuckers occupy themselves with when they are not on WordPress, talking shit. They murder innocent animals. What would Anton LaVey say?

Anyway, the Satanic Views author goes on to write:

Unfortunately, it would seem an individual or individuals gain religious release from the injuring, murder and rape of horses or ponies; this latest incident being one of a series of incidents of attacks on equine targets by such people in the last ten years around the UK.

So it turns out that the poor ponies were not only wounded with a knife but, oh horror, they could have been raped. Whether the foul Niners buggered them or only sucked them off is yet to be determined by the police investigators. The ONA Satanism is all about taboo breaking and what is a bigger taboo than screwing a horse?

The author’s final thoughts are quite pessimistic:

Putting aside moral and emotional outrage over the unnecessary harm to innocent animals, one has to accept such delusional and twisted predators exist in UK society…

Yeah, the British are fucked up. Let’s hope the internet pornography ban will put a stop to the all-round perversity.

The Sinister War of the Sexes

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I find most of the blogs and articles about “sinister feminine” pretty nauseating. Wouldn’t it be better to admit that one sucks at writing stories and creating complex characters? If some alien who knew nothing about the Earth laid his hands on some piece of sinister fiction, he would think we have matriarchy here and all the males are forsaken by nature and evolution troglodytes born only to serve some clique of female chauvinists.

When one reads Deofel Quartet or other ONA tales, one can see that nearly all the male characters are pretty shallow and one-dimensional, incredibly stupid and naive, devoid of free will, thinking with their dicks, not heads, which inevitably leads them to being abused by their female superiors. An example of such a male troglodyte can be Thorold, ensnared and manipulated by Lianna, who plays the role of the Black Widow, seeking the male to impregnate her and then (when his task is complete) probably sacrifice him to ensure that her crops will grow. That would certainly improve her finances. Business is business. But I’m not really interested in victims. The depiction of a sinister initiate is what I find intriguing.

No Room 101 or Falcifer Unproven

To those not well-versed in modern British literature, let me explain that in Orwell’s “1984”, the room 101 was Winston’s final stage on his way to self-degradation or self-liberation if one prefers the interpretation of the scene by Dr Mikey Aquino. Therein Winston faces his greatest fear – the fear of rats – and under its pressure he breaks his most important principle, his biggest life taboo; he betrays Julia. Only in this way can he be reborn with a new identity, that of the loyal servant of his tormentors. He can either choose this or die eaten up by rats – his greatest nightmare. In either case he loses. It seems Orwell doesn’t free his protagonists from facing the most crucial choices… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

So let’s come back to our “hero”, Falcifer. Much like the main character of “Gruyllan’s Tale”, who is ready to have half of London blown up in order to get laid (talk about desperation), Conrad is largely bewitched by a hot-burning pussy. As an archetypal Anti-Christ, he’s a rather disappointing and dull figure. Throughout the tale, he’s constantly led by the hand, as he realizes himself, the events happen through him rather than by him. That means he’s less doing the magic himself than the magic is done through him, with Aris, the Master, being the agent, the Magician, and Conrad being merely his magic wand. His passive role of a vessel for the forces of chaos is even visible in a way he does sex. He doesn’t fuck, he is fucked. Note the passive.

Susan kissed him as they lay on the ground and Tanith kneeled beside them to caress Conrad’s buttocks and back. In the excitement of the ritual and Tanith’s touch, Conrad’s task was soon over, and he slumped over Susan, temporarily exhausted from his ecstasy. He did not resist when Tanith rolled him over, and watched, as the dancers danced around them still chanting and the light pulsed with the beat of the drum, while Tanith buried her head between Susan’s thighs. Then she was kissing him with her wet mouth before she stood to kiss each member of the congregation in salutation.

So why there is no room 101 in “Falcifer”?

Because Denise escapes.

The whole story should get a prize for its wasted potential. If Denise hadn’t managed to flee, Conrad would have faced his most arduous ordeal. He would have had to decide whether to commit real evil and kill an innocent woman who saved him (which is much different than harming the villains who well deserve it) or ruin his wedding ceremony, disappoint his mentors, possibly waste his promised destiny and be forced to leave the group he so desired to be part of. To his credit, he refuses to rape her but never makes an effort to free her. How would he behave if ordered to sacrifice her during his marriage ceremony? In which case would he get a cookie from the Devil? Should an Anti-Christ set some limits to the Evil or not?

That would complicate the whole story, right? So I started with sex and finished on conformity and the nature of good old evil. After all, they are connected.

Anatomy of V.K. Jehannum

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Here, put some bread crumbs for the birdies, please 😉

Since V.K. Jehannum dedicated some blogs to me, I would be an ungrateful bitch if I didn’t even mention him. I observe with interest, and even participate, in his ongoing polemics with those diabolical Wyrd Sisters, whoever the hell they are. The guy has a sense of humor, for sure, so I quite enjoy his blogs and videos, though that kind of debating style is not really my cup of tea. I’ve just noticed his latest videos (you can watch them here if you’re interested) which are the response to one of the WyrdSister’s propaganda essays. One thing that caught my attention was the funny way he’s reading the article. I remember that one day I was talking to my buddy, who goes by the nym of antikarmatomic, and I showed him an article written about me. He said: “Come on dude, it’s written in a full retard mode. Just try reading it aloud and see if you can resist the chortle.” Then he suggested some funny way of reading it, which unfortunately I don’t remember, but when I saw V.K. reading it aloud, I thought: “Yeah, this is it.”

One thing that I pity the guy for… (Or wait, I don’t actually pity him because I’m doing exactly the same thing. Only I enjoy endless debates while he says he doesn’t) is that he’s talking to the fucking wall. Or better, he’s talking to some wound up artificial bird, which persistently chirps the same song. It kinda reminds me of the almost surreal conversation I once had with the lady suffering from Alzheimer’s in the nursing home I work in. The poor thing didn’t know where she was and what was happening to her, although she’d  been there for more than three months. When I answered her questions, she asked me the same questions over and over again, saying that I didn’t want to answer her questions and that I had some secrets I didn’t want to reveal. Everything I said was lost on her. She behaved as if I didn’t say anything to her or said something else that existed only in her imagination.

Another thing that caught my attention in one of his videos was him saying that he didn’t believe Kerri Scott aka WyrdSister could be that stupid and that she was simply disingenuous. Then one of my acquaintances, Beldam, commented that she only wanted everyone to talk about the ONA. The more, the merrier. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. On a more serious note, I’m rather tired with random people claiming to be on the inside of some vague joke. Unless you are sitting in someone’s head and reading their thoughts, you’re basically in the dark like everyone else. It’s as if I said “My former friend hates me and is mean to me because she’s jealous.” She might be jealous but this is what you assume, not what you know.

But hey, let’s go down the rabbit hole and let’s try to figure out what Kerri Scott’s agenda might be because I don’t believe she’s merely hypocritical or asshurt. What if this is a test? A kind of social experiment? Remember MKULTRA? I will don now my tinfoil hat. Kerri Scott might be a Magian government agent in disguise examining the effects of bullshit propaganda on the guinea pigs who yearn to be sinister. Imagine that some mad scientist locks you up in a room where you have to debate an automaton which repeats the same nonsense over and over again no matter what you say. How much time would pass till you went crazy? Or she tries to convince you that you are an initiate of some ancient esoteric tradition, the bits and pieces of which she got from various sources she read, only to see how easy it is to create a loyal adherent of a new religion? Or she invites you to a super secret barbecue party, only the chosen ones can attend, to see how deep you shoved that stick up your ass? Or she talks shit about one of your friends and associates only to prove that you are spineless and easily giving in to the stick and carrot treatment?

That’s all for today and if I have ever hurt anyone with my posts, I’m really fucking sorry. I didn’t want to. It’s because I sometimes forget to take my meds. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a liar. Everyone is and the only thing I can do about it is to compete with other liars so that I don’t occupy the last place in the liars’ pecking order. One thing is sure, I will never outsmart Ms SIN Jones.

P.S. This blog was inspired by V.K. Jehannum’s article, “Anatomy of a Czereda” and one by Chloe 352, “Psychic Card Readings.”

A White Bunny in the ONA Hole

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The poem below is dedicated to my dearest friend, Darryl Hutchins, who is on his noble way to fight the Old Geezers and Magian pseudo-initiates, defend the truth, enlighten the ONA kids and reform the grand sinister cyber kollective.

Don’t be put off by the silly wording of the poem as the wisdom lies therein. The message is a secret key to the ONA sinisterly-numinous mysteries. Sort it out and don’t lose your heart.

Jabberwocky
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By Lewis Carroll
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’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
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 “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
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He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
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And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
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One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
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“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
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’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.