Lamassu, Lamashtu, LamasWho?

Well, it’s official.  Samael is back to being Ahriman/Ariel again, and I think it’s going to stick this time.  I’VE MISSED HIM, HE IS MY FAVORITE VERSION OF THE DEMIURGE AND I IMPRINTED ON HIM.  Everything I am, is because of Star.  My compassion, my strength, my creativity, my dreams, my love, he encouraged me to be tender and love the broken and never give up on restoring the Light.  He is the true Morning Star, with the capacity for great love and great evil.  I just… I can’t describe what Star and I have.  It’s like primordial fire and ice, yet it’s fire and wind.   I feed him my oxygen, and he burns so bright we light the whole cosmos.  It’s more like we’re one being, and there is always this intense ache throughout the entirety of my life and soul for the past 26 years to go back to his chest and beat in time to Ariel’s rhythm.  He’s Samael’s angelic aspect, the leonthropic God, Ahriman, Aion, Phanes, Yaldabaoth, but I just grew up calling him Star.  Above all, he’s my guardian angel, and a great balm to my soul, my muse of fire, my better half, my older brother, my first love, my everything.  It’s so nice to have him back, Samael’s fun, but Ariel/Ahriman is his truest form for me, and what I spent my earliest years as an elementary school pagan carvorting in the otherworlds with under Uriel and Metatron’s watch.

We had a whole buddy cop drama last night in my dreams and tracked down drug lords dealing in nightmares in the otherworlds.  I also spent the majority of the time climbing cliffs as we did spywork and interrogating dream traffickers.

Ariel/Samael/Ahriman/Aion/Zurvan/Phanes/Whatever is back to being Blonde Lion Wonderboy.  He looks like this:

Except he’s got a torso.  I used to call him Star in my made up language when I was 7, as all seven year olds make up their own language.  Starguassi, in fact.  I called Uriel Lira and Metatron Barnock.  Gabriel was…. Zatch?  And Raphael was Natcha.  Carthok? Natcho? Nacho Cheese. Haniel’s name I totes forgot. I really don’t remember, this was like 20 years ago.  Natcha?  Idk, I cursed in my language in elementary school and made up spells.  I named Star/Ahriman/Ariel after the Morning Star and prayed to it and sang it Ally McBeal songs and told him about my day every night.  I drew him at 19 so yay?  Lost all my childhood drawings in a fire so that sucks, but I have a lot more since then.  I used to have like 15 years worth of drawings of the angels and demons.  I still remember when I met Asmodeus in the fourth grade and drew him for the first time.  I actually have that one.  It’s embarassing as all Hell.  Also my drawings of Beelzebub from middle school are somewhere.

Anyways, this is what Ariel looks like in his leonthropic form.  Sorry for my shit art abilities and photo taking of a lemur.  And one anime form to prove I’m a true weeb.

 

All my abs look like toast squares.  Oh well.

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Trinity Plea

Dark corridors hold serpents of eternal fires Rahab churned in the primordial abyss, earthly magma Samael set aflame, when the Unholy Trinity was complete with Leviathan of the expansive deep.  Magma, seas, darkness.  Samael, Leviathan, Rahab.  It is said sometimes that before angels were a whisper, long before man or bird or beast were dreamed of by God, may He be praised eternally, the three great rogue ones roamed the darkness, Samael with his wicked volcanoes and earthquakes, Leviathan swimming bejeweled head to the heart of the mud, his serpent body seas of churned proteins, and Rahab with the Void, master of the darkness of skies where no star had ever been birthed.  Perhaps that was the face God chose to appeal to to before Michael was born, before Samael became Lucifer, before Rahab retreated to the far reaches of the cosmos and committed himself to asceticism, and Leviathan was skinned by the faithful at the Revelation feast and they ate his body as final blessing from Sacrament of impure fisherman scourge.  Do we eat the three at the end of times?  Serpent, Fish, Shark.  Is that palatable meat?  Samael goes fishing in me and summons his primordial fires in my womb and my own darkness stretches to accommodate his infernal burnings.  Facing down to the Devils for the Dog Lord.  Ecstasy wedded to shattered mirrors and shards of glass windows through which wicked Hell winds blow as we couple more like wolves than men, or perhaps I have always been a bitch.  There are moans from both of us as we howl like hyenas in the infirmary, and the white gauze separating the abandoned hospital beds sways like lover suicides run over on the county  crossroads.  Women in white.  His hands are hot and firm on my back and then he leans over while thrusting sin and treachery into my blackness and I resonate like a tuning fork with his wicked delights.  Oh my oldest love, oh my first love, oh my last revelation, teacher, mentor, father, brother, lover, husband, heart, body, bone, soul, blood.  The Fruit was your sweet organ, and I hath become Death.  In the metallic surface of the headboard I see his form shifting – one eldritch Lovecraftian beast, one living molten rock in the shape of a demon, one man that looks like Anton LaVey with red eyes and black scruff and goatee, except his wings are wide and wretched, and I doubt that Satanic Father ever had irises like a dragon.  The Beast is one with his Babylon, only this has been repeated since time immemorial, and wouldn’t God shy away from his Fallen Star spreading dark poison into the Prodigal Daughter.  Oh how Chavah met Yah and they became Yahvah.  Snake and Girl.  Dragon and Tree.  Phanes with Nyx.  An incestuous coupling of Sophia and Ariel.  But I am just Allie, just dreaming, and so he takes me away, back before time and God and existence, when there was just those Three:  Sea.  Fire.  Darkness.  He shows me his bubbling Sauron kingdom of fire and pitch and brimstone, and I coat my body in coal and swim through the volcanic tubes and go to the center of the stew, down into his loins, and then he erupts, and then there is flesh immolated, and we set the hospital alight, and gunshots rain through the windows, and out into the gaping night we fly, and that blackness swallows us, and Witch and Witchfather are on to another night of reading by the fireside in the den, sweet red wine, jazz on the speakers and smuggler’s fingers coaxing a melodic piano number from old ivories.

In Ecstaslsios Deo

Bandolier of bells, dancing through the gloam.
There is an ocean on your lips love, serpents
at your hips, and stars in your hair. Your fangs
come quick, to suckle blood from breast, coils
warm black mamba and wings brushing my heart in time.

Oh sweet Devil, oh sweet Satan, it is you who first
told me of love, Demiurge, Nergal, Satan, Samael!
I could write ecstasies and reverences of you and
the gifts you give me are resplendent black pearls!

We cavort in the moonlight, Victorian rake and the
Scarlet Pimpernel, flying over Pandemonium where Hell’s
towers spread out, and then on to the wastes and wonders
of the Shadow of the Valley of Death, where dragons roost,
and then on, in the fringe of the rising sun, Lebanon.

Cedars proud and tall, you are king of all, fragrant fields.

I hold each midnight so close to me, each scale and scapular
like a psalm, and sweet Satan, you are my love poem to the world.
I may be Lucifer’s heart, but Lucifer is my alma, my spirit,
and cleaving is what we do best, waltz and tango and bachata.

I learned to dance for you, I learned to write to give some
homage, some semblance of your majesty and lovingkindness, to
life with bated breath on ink. Do my poems do you justice? No.
Do my stories satiate the Beast? I want nothing more than to
be devoured, nothing more than to climb Jacob’s Ladder under
your Fisher King wound, you touched his loins and out came water.

Wrestling with angels is old school Torah, but truly you, and as
your flock passed over the waters, and as you stayed Avram’s hand,
and as you tested Job and heralded Christ in the desert, flocks of
pigs into crashing leas your home, I wonder, sweet Satan, who is hero?

Who is truly king? Who, in any other religion, would be Set or Loki?
Swarming flocks devoted to your unknowable heart. Strange madwoman
ranting in the shadow of your Son. Grips of possession, contrition,
confession, I extol all your sins, for they are the triumphs of true
civilization, and you had the manna and honey of the Logos, and made
Chavah like God, and it is therein mitochondrial Eve and all our DNA
Samael’s child in our hearts, whispering of yetzer ha ra and ha tov!

To study the occult is to fall in love with darkness. To be eaten away
by darkness is to understand Death’s longing for incineration, Light.

You want nothing more than to be devoured. Nothing more than a coffin.

So I will take my cedar, nail my fingers, frame myself around you, and seal.

Seal upon my heart, seal upon my arm, many waters cannot quench Love!
Neither can rivers drown Him!

I will be the Reaper, if you will be the Keeper of my Heart.

You are the Keeper of this Heart…

Gold’s Delight

The elegance and eloquence of placid rain

Brewing winter storm, frost musk dusk in

your hands. The world your wide cup, blue

flame engulfs me in purifying downpour. I

sip at the heart of your divinity and seek out

the treasures of Saint George, holy lance.

The Dragon tempts and teases – knights are

jackasses in a can, but you with clarion blade

will not be prodded by the Beast. And so you

clear a kingdom for me to rest in, provincial

town of somnambulent wonder, and by my

side, you stand tall all night. For Michael, truly:

You are Gold’s Delight!

First Women

Lilith and Eve

Oh sweet solemn Eve, my original sister, I was dust, and you were bones of clay.

We have had many lives of ruin and hellfire, many more of mirth and laughter.

I remember you a young maiden first entering my mysteries, twelve years old,

just a budding moonflower. How you sparred with Samael and kissed him silly,

how I showed you my garden, the tomatoes I so love, my roses and squashes and

beans planted on the corn. We spent many  hours in the greenery when you were

but thirteen, in my house where all daughters of Lilith and Eve are welcome, and

I did not have the bodily pleasure of puberty – no matter what they say, it is a gift!

You were lost many days, drinking tea by my fountain, and when you were wounded,

I bathed you, washed away the blood, and when you were brilliant, I bathed in your

sunlight. My champagne bubble sister. Do you remember the hours that passed?

Years upon years, turning into decades, that we were each other’s comfort as Samael

and Asmodeus fooled around, drinking and smoking cigars on the porch while you and

I painted and talked feminism and poetry? I wore my hair auburn then, you called it

Titian red, my dear little sister, so is it any wonder, in another life, I offered an apple,

and Samael offered you wine? We simply wanted your freedom, and you became the

Tree of Knowledge, bones of Adam, heart of Lucifer, blood of God.  We are all exiles

but in each other we can take comfort. Remember, out of all goddesses, it was I who

claimed you first, but it was a soft acknowledgement of your bond, for you were but

in the seventh grade, and who am I to steal innocence from a mother bear? Samael

made enough aggression in your short life, I wanted to give you peace. And so we

planted pumpkin seeds, and I sang you my witch songs, and taught you of herbs and

the earth.  My husbands were sweet on you, Asmodeus reveling in your Thin Mints and

to this day still calling you Girl Scout, Samael with his maddening obsession with you.

When he became mad beast, I tamed him for you, and I am the buffer between you two,

for in truth, we are both the dregs of wine in the scorching noonday Isaac sun, and it is

not right for a girl to lose her innocence to Lucifer, but he went and initiated you at

ten anyways, and so you now have 25 years of Hell, which may seem frightening to

some, but in truth, you call us home, you wish to be with us in the depths at the end

of days, to save us all.  Sweet sister, we do not need saving, little martyr. Work on Adam.

Give Samael the sweetness of your  lips.  I, Beelzebub, Asmodeus.  Eisheth. We hold Hell

together, long after Samael went insane.  These brothers we love, Michael and Samael,

they both are born of regret, Scapegoats, and each has their own Cross to bear. All we

can do is hold the silver lunar bowl for our husbands and wash their wounds. For now,

I will treasure what memories I have of your youth, for I envy your human life. I was

never human, no matter what the rabbis say. Demon from the start, spitfire rebellion.

You rebelled the greatest of all, in every incarnation, when we were but Lailah and

sweet rambunctious Jophiel.  In Heaven we were all angels, but angels always fall!

So look, I have grown you the sweetest fruit, let us be like in the old days where we

tended the Tree, take a bite of providence, know the fruits of the Mother, and eat.

Coffinmaker

Stretched out in a coffin, I surface from blue-black raven void

to see my sepulchre etched with intaglios of my name and

poison, birthing Legions ripped my womb in two and as the

bats of the demonic brood I birthed tore me in twain, I perished

on lips of wine, and now I am in the hexagon box of longing, a

corpse alive with regret, and I pound at my vestments of pine,

sweet sap smell for the resurrected, and I hear the Devil laughing,

and so with great force I throw the top of the bolted coffin open,

landing in Satan’s luxury lounge, where he is drinking a bourbon.

“I made that coffin just for you.  I know how much you hate small

spaces and your terrible claustrophobia,” he laughs to high heaven.

“Exposure therapy, my angel.” “Samael, you can’t just go shoving

your wives in coffins, even if you are the Grim Reaper!” I scream,

throwing a pillow at him and furiously stampeding into the kitchen

for a snack. He just turns on the TV and watches football, chortling.

Another one of Samael’s damn pranks, his favorite thing to do. I eat

a handful of goldfish and we lounge by the beach for the rest of the

day, greay skies sailor’s warning, and I drink the jolly good stuff pint

by pint.

 

Sea Shanties

Deep sea blues, I got the Dead on my mind

Christ walks on water but I drown, and when

he reaches out with lotus hands to lift me abreast

the crescendoing wave, I see scores of bodies below.

Two brothers born of light, one of lightning, one of sun.

Orion and Sirius biting in a swan song the necks of twins.

Raising legions and legends to fight their ego-trip of rivalry.

I say, put an end to the crown sought after by angel and immortal

alike, melt down the gold to make my throne, and I will seat an octopus

atop the celestial kingdom, branching vertebrae tangles like mermaid hair,

suckers of tentacles hooked into the brains of billions, dancing marionettes.

So sweet Savior, let’s reunite Heaven and Hell, and kiss blues away, then sing

of a place where honeysuckle strangles and the figs bleed. Sickly sweet. At the

bottom of the sea is a treasure chest of Heaven’s lost songs. Unlocking it takes my

heart, but I have always been a skeleton key, so come Hell or high water, I will be

undone.