Winners Don't Shiver

I don’t deny I shiver. When the cold shower sprays down my neck, I turn the faucet over and increase the intensity of the cold temperature. It makes me feel awake. It’s like a thousand knives stabbing into my

body, and truly introduces meaning into the phrase “mind over body” and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t still tied to the carnal, the part that seeks comfort & warmth. But I do it anyway.

Transcendence is a word that was introduced into my brain by the local black magician Diabolus Rex, magus of the Chaos Imperium. I never believed there was something “out there.” But in his interviews I’ve never been so thoroughly informed about the Left-Hand Path in a form that I instinctually understood through personal verification and plain understanding of what I’ve read. I think the inertia of sexuality determines spirituality, in the direction of this force. Dedicating your Qi to things beyond the flesh, brings brightness into your eyes in an unspeakable way. There are no words to describe this phenomena, it is beyond definition or mathematical calculation. The thing that is important to understand is that individual choices have importance.

I think it was Aleister Crowley who said that every act, intention, is a magical act.

Little by little, I turn the faucet a little bit colder. In these days I find cutting to be despicable, and I think physical fitness is the path to true development. Both methods are the same, accomplishing the purpose of catharsis by inflicting pain, but one will leave you weaker and the other stronger. There is the deepest level of respect for the U.S. Navy Seals in my soul, facing death in their training sessions. 

In the darkest dawn, turning in push-ups in the fierce dark beach finding strength through pain. Not to mention they are the first responders to an urgent “diplomatic” mission. Their brutality leaves them with the option to shiver internally only. It’s the desire to overcome and push beyond physical limitations to protect.

There’s pride in me sucking off strong men, but it is difficult quenching the thirst of obliterating the desolate and weak. The tearing of flesh, destroying skinny bones in desperate thirst to obliterate decadence

in the garden of Darwin and to continue the paint it has coated over the plants and nature. I’m desperate for competition, seeking those stronger than I am. In fact, I praise them. I thirst for the more intelligent, to be impacted and obtain virtue through force. To look into the eyes of a man better than me and force him to bow.

In the direction of this force, I’m desperate for competition. I seek those stronger than I am, in fact I praise them. The plants, the animals, that inner instinct that transcends and penetrates through the nothingness into a defined being.

I opened the shower curtain and looked directly into the mirror, and just like the instinct of a boy kissing a girl for the first time I unconsciously raised my arms like a dying corpse on a cross and insultingly looked into the mirror. It was blasphemous. This unholy frown was too intense to be incorrectly seen as the mocking & duplicitous smile it was intended to be; I became shocked.

This look looked scary but divine.

There’s something in it that was truly beautiful, but it felt like cutting into my own personal spirit. It felt wrong.

I felt it.

I’ve been numb to the presence of things in the beyond that I’ve felt cutting others, or following this philosophy, is the only path to being in touch with the divine. But I think instead of looking for this thing outside, I’m forced to admit that I shiver in the cold water. There’s soldiers that finish and pass their tests, but do not finish in perfection. I shiver. Just like push-up that is imperfect.

There’s always going to be limitations in life, this is the direct purpose under which you were designed for. It won’t ever happen - pushing beyond the divine, but I understand transgression. I’m not interested in doing that look in the mirror again. He was someone who understood that people fuck up on their test. It is intelligent to understand pain because injury differentiates from discernment. It’s direct perception that instructs, but it is subjective and inevitably you’re going to fuck up. There's objective judgement.

I shiver.

But I turn the cold water temperature colder, because I want to learn and go to church.

Hawthorne (Flashforwards)

It occurred in my room back before my soul was tested. In those weeks, I was intrigued by the blonde shocks and lightning flashes of her lust-filled lips breathing, biting, and fucking my face and neck. In a block away from where I lived, I knew she was a trophy and in need to be utilized. That face wasn't being appreciated enough. In a flash, I gave her my number and took her soul from an inadequate mate.

But in the walk to my place, after many weeks (months?) of intense love and passion, it felt like an inevitable funeral that was meant to be a sign of respect for her. I was unable to love, but still did. It was more than lust, and it didn't need to grow beyond that, but it did. In those precious eyes, an innocent affection stared back at me and I couldn't deny the thrill of needing to protect her in a brutal display of truth.

"I can't love. Not right now." It hurt to display those words, but I remembered the tattoo on the back of my right arm, and the imperative need to do what is necessary. She burst into tears, and screamed in my face, as if this didn't hurt me more than her. I think she thought something was wrong with her, which couldn't have been further from the truth. If anything, I would have loved to produce a marriage with her. I didn't think that was possible, after what I lost. But it wasn't time for me to love. I couldn't.

In a burst of instinct and intense emotion, I dropped to a knee and held her hand and implored her to understand that there were things beyond her understanding, and I just couldn't be involved in a romantic relationship in this period of my life. But her insecurities overtook her, I could detect it, and no amount of begging turned what was intended to be a protective break-up into another traumatic episode in my life. Before she left the room, she took a glance back at the love poem taped to my closet door, and angrily tore it before departing into isolation.

On the floor, I tried to decipher what just occurred in the air, this moment in time and space. Since the age of 16, I've tried desperately not to hurt girls and be dear and a knight to a beloved. But it is here, again, another broken girl, bleeding memories and a destroyed dream. It felt necessary to travel into this decision, in her best interest, but yet again - lonely crying girl in the aftermath. In rebirth people transform into something stronger, I just wish there was a way to drain the pain and block it. The destroyed poem on the floor, it occurred to me to just pick it up again, tape it to the wall and line out the Wolfsangel.

This time, at least, it wasn't on a ribcage, across a tattoo dedicated to me. This time at least, I didn't need to stop a suicide. It looks like I'm learning, isolated. A born villain in the end, though. Obviously.

--------------------------------

7 years later, and I'm staring at a music video, preparing myself to meet up with a girl who traveled through half of Oregon to see me. I'm not even turned on. "Just say you remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe." It hurt reminiscing the last drive in Orlando to the airport, holding the hand of the woman intended to be my wife. What was meant to be a death and resurrection show turned out to be a long dragged out death (yet another), but without the resurrection. "Red lips and rosy cheeks," masculine teardrops isolatedly dropping, this time from me, as the blue expansive sky transformed into a infuriated but despondent orange-red incinerating peacefully. "Say you'll see me again."

In the window, I saw my reflection and it looked like a shadow on the other side of a necromantic divination, the soul who refused to die and was forced to see the remaining world transform. In a Portland studio. Like I imagined. "I thought heaven can't help me now." But I put myself together. "Nothing lasts forever."

This girl I am spending tonight with is my lust desire, but I intended on also treating her in an incendiary trend. Ignite a fire within her, to drape her in confidence and inject joy and friendly love into her. It felt fun fucking girls in the past decade, and distracting myself with men and boys, but this was different. It felt intimate, like (ha!) in the beforetime. I wanted her to use me to build her confidence back. I was bewildered how such an incredibly lush and beautiful precious blonde didn't rejoice in her innate sluttiness and sexual tenacity. It was a drag, like a fountain of precious water being stopped by a douchebag or bad situation, I don't know what happened. But as I watched the wilderness and beasts in the video, it occurred to me if the same had happened to me.

It was a pleasant night, and talking with her and traveling downtown and the waterfront inspired me to open a bit, and in her eyes, I could see she liked that. This girl enjoyed tearing me open. Like a predator. In the hotel room, is when I involuntarily turned. It felt vulnerable, unlike other situations in the past few years. This was uncomfortable.

But our bodies spoke, and as we trashed in the bed, the scent in the air took me back to the girl from high school. I was intending to perform a gentle, loving gesture, unlike previous escapades with other people. This time, it was intimate. I looked in her eyes, inhibiting tears internally, and she looked at me warmly and sweetly said,

"you really loved them, didn't you?"

It felt as if for the first time in my life, a person truly believed me, but it wasn't in words, but in my indeliberate body language that spoke on its own.

"Sorry, I was just having some flashbacks...."

"That's okay. Let's make some flashforwards, then."

It was at then that I turned into the other side of relationships, time, and dimensions. Not the previous transforming chapters that I thought were necromantic turning points, but in that sentence, that point in time, that this almost unknown girl said. As I bowed my head to taste her delicious pussy, my heart was content and it was a lively and joyful fun night. The intensity and trauma was off, and like I intended, I was able to make her quiver, ignite, and unleash her sexual confidence. But in pure honesty, in her predatory lustful eyes (the pupils don't lie) I think I was the one being devoured, all in blissful good fun.

--------------------------------

It's my hope she fucked well-mannered handsome guys, perhaps begin a relationship with one, but it finally seemed like I learned to be intimate. In a different time, in a different dimension, we could have been together, but it looks like it was my role within this timeline to ignite and awaken her confidence again. Healing is produced in the most unexpected areas, and I learned that. Debauchery & sexuality are the Devil's realm, and it's fascinating how it proves to be therapeutic.

If heaven isn't going to help me, it won't prevent me from dispatching the call in the shadow of Hawthorne just to let a high school lover know and say "I love you." And it didn't. It won't stop the chants of "HONOR, COURAGE, COMMITMENT" from a bursting guitar screaming in fury. It didn't stop me from taking that girl into my room, and breaking up with her. Drenched in perversion and sin, distractions of lust candy and debauchery, doesn't change the fact that intimacy is found in unlikely circumstances. It doesn't darken and extinguish the light of the inner soul that is known as love. It doesn't matter what they say and it won't deny, and it won't hide - because what this girl said, in that line, is true.

What is Lesser Magic?

Satanic Magic as defined by Dr. LaVey is "the change in situations or events in accordance with one's will, which would, using normally accepted methods, be unchangeable." There are two kinds: Lesser Magic, day to day social manipulation, and Greater Magic, introspective manipulation in a fantasy state of mind to be therapeutic psychodrama, which some people believe (including the author of this blog through empirical evidence) to cause effect in the real world. The latter will be covered in a future post, but today's writing will be about my respect for the natural practitioners of Lesser Magic...

Most people don't realize they use Lesser Magic in an almost daily basis. If you ever dress nicely for a job interview, or wear a handsome particular attire when going on a first date, you are using social manipulation to reach a specific result. Satanists and De-facto Satanists (those with Satanic attributes that either do not know about the religion or chose not to apply the label to themselves) are adepts in this art either consciously or unconsciously.

They don't just wear a nice shirt when up for an interview or a short skirt when they are trying to seduce - they speak, act, give scent, and position themselves to best enchant and manipulate the victim to their Will. You can be hideous and exaggerate your appearance to the point in where you can frighten someone into acting a particular way you want them to, or if you look "sweet" and "innocent" capitalize on that and make yourself look as harmless and sentimental as possible, making ulterior actions much more hidden.

Say you are a healthy fit female looking to seduce a man - a sexy set of clothes isn't the only tool you can use for your magic. Scent is another powerful tool. A healthy and fit human gives off a natural sweat that the opposite sex or homosexual will be turned on by. Or say should you desire to intimidate someone to do as you want, positioning your neck slightly upward and widening your eyes and looking at your prey with a blank look (as if you are looking through them) is a scientifically proven body language maneuver assuming dominance. The Satanic Witch gives more information and tips about LaVey's personal "bag of tricks" should this subject interest you further.

My respect for these magicians is grand, especially if they are self-aware of their actions and hold no remorse. Humans have always lived in a social darwinistic struggle for survival, and just because we are no longer beating each other with sticks and rocks (in the Western world, at least) it doesn't change our inherent combative nature. The AT&T salesman downtown is given bonuses for the more regional programs he is able to support with customers ("make 'em buy this phone, or buy this package"), the Fortune 500 employee can get a quicker promotion against equally skilled employees by gaining favoritism from his supervisor, or escape a speeding ticket by manipulating the police officer the right way. The examples are limitless, but a Satanic magician is one who is self-aware of this power and works to perfect it as a skill.

Women by nature are most often adepts in this skill as their best mode of offense in the natural world has been through the control of emotion rather than brute force. This is not to limit their gender to "social manipulation" but rather applaud a naturally occurring talent, such as a man has a naturally occurring talent of stronger muscles than his opposite sex counterpart. We all use Lesser Magic to an extent, and better understanding our nature and worshipping it, rather than condemning it, will provide the aspiring magician advantage over people still trapped in self-defeating guilt and shame.

The Face of God

‎"The strength of women comes from the fact that psychology cannot explain us. Men can be analyzed, women... merely adored." - Wilde

"To be loved, feelings must be rationed. To love, the doors of hysteria, fantasy, and madness may be flung open." - Anton LaVey

Androphilia

I will always stand by my strong belief that there is a essence of homosexuality between the narrator and Tyler Durden in Fight Club. 


"We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need." - Tyler Durden


Steven is Brad Pitt and I'm his Edward Norton.

"The world, like a wolf pack is not all the licking of pups and howls by the moonlight. Sometimes there just needs to be a gnashing of teeth and a ripping of flesh to put things back into the natural order of things." - Magister Lang

Devil In A New Dress

I just got finished getting my cock sucked. There's something about women that makes me so submissive to their seductive charms and atmospheric femininity. Every three and a half seconds I fall in love with a new girl, and every minute I imagine a new dream of marriage.

Their love bites on my chest and neck are recognitions of dominance and ownership, and my willingness to be a slave to their erotic malevolence always arrives with an underlying misogynistic distrust and an almost hateful resentment for their power over me. I break her face with every flirtatious act, and her nose bleeds estrogen which is my savored cocaine.

"So fucking cute. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. Darling, I want to destroy you."

My ex-girlfriend called me yesterday and as always my compulsion drove me to say that I would have stayed with her in California if she asked, but of course that was just my adrenaline speaking. After some of the batshit crazy and disturbed people I have encountered  in the past few years, it feels great to have someone in my life that isn't immature or passive aggressive, but I wonder if I'm holding myself to the same standard. Probably not, my hellmouth can't stop itself from spitting seductive charms out of a lustful adoration to every girl I meet.

"I'm making love to the Angel of Death."

My fingers drip of a different carcinogenic nectar, and instead of nicotine-stained fingers they now are covered in the most obvious sexual acceptance, their sacred honey, my addiction. I savor all the precious that is female and to watch her squeal in delight is a beautiful dream of heaven. There's a stripper in there too. I've dated the nymphet of a stripper, along with a musician, blood-painter, college girl, and cute girl next door. Always do I bow down over their pink and purple atmospheres in the blue shade. Some I fuck furiously and imagine with other men, others I cuddle and claim and want nobody to take them from me. But I adore all.

Wolf monster satisfied by the women of Portland.

Exquisite is when you choke on your own breath as an absolutely gorgeous princess gives you a seductive smile. "I'm sooooooo your slave" I plead to her, and hold her hand to kiss. Bending over for her is fine, fine just fine.

Addiction is such a thrilling demise when the magnificent girl of your dreams cuddles with you on the couch and discreetly whispers her most fragile secrets and opens her gorgeous neck for consumption. I want her, her war, her disaster, her lust, her vanity, and her adoration. Sitting next to her on that couch made the hotel party seem like a precursor to some sort of sexual heaven and the intoxicating perfume still has not left my mind.

Vices

I have two vices in this world:

alcohol & women.

And I don't break 'em for no one.

"Relationships are such a bore."

I'm starting to lose complete interest in relationships. Being an observant of the people around me, most of the time it doesn't seem like love, but rather confining traps of insecure people too lonely to be by themselves and projecting their desires and hopes for their future into another person. Those who are not in a relationship are automatically placed in the category of "looking."

What's wrong with promiscuity? I don't see anything wrong in accepting the sheer honesty in that biological infatuation that lasts for a couple of months isn't love, but rather just a high that everybody experiences as a normal part of life. And I'm fine with it. I love the feeling of "loving" while fully understanding that it isn't too different than a blowjob.

Just the human body saying "I'm totally getting a rush right now."

Love is defined by me as strong friendship and allegiance. It is people playing on the same team for the same goals. That doesn't mean a guilt and pity filled relationship nor a completion of a social game and making her completely infatuated with you, but intense attachment that stands the test of time. Love for a person's complete personality, including their flaws.

You know as I keep getting older, I'm more adept at organizing my thoughts and being able to figure out why I feel a certain way about a person. For example, with the next person I choose to call my girlfriend, it's not going to be for her image or how attractive she is (as I have mistakenly done in the past couple of years) but rather because I enjoy spending time with her and would like to align myself with her as a part of a team. But that doesn't mean I'm going to allow myself to decline into the position in where I think she is "the one." I'm going to feel that way, I know I will, because I'm twenty damn years old and my hormones are going crazy and jumping from one place to another.

But like Dr. Anton LaVey said, "there is a beast in man that must be trained, not tamed." You need to fully be aware of your instincts and utilize them as tools, instead of submissively letting your biological fires guide you into anarchy.

Back to relationships however, love won't be a word that is going to be used very lightly. Wasting it on people that you no longer feel for in that respect, or worse, getting fucked up and high and whispering it into a girl's ear so that she'll lick your abs and cock in the next room, just makes it less meaningful.

Evil Seducer

At the party she crept up close to me in the couch. I didn't stand a chance, this gorgeous thing was just brilliant. Cute, adorable, yet still sexy. She called me an "evil seducer" and I said I can't be held responsible for the things that come out of my hellmouth. Her hand resting on my thigh we started talking and one thing led to another and there we were, tasting the taste of her lips, the scent of her neck, the softness of her hands...

Drunk I fell victim to her feminine charms and her cheek against mine brought me higher than any drug that night. Apparently she did as well, biting her lip at every word of Spanish I whispered lovingly into her ear. I told her that I didn't want to fuck her, I wanted to see her, alone, tomorrow, and be able to get to know her better outside of the environment of a hotel party.

So, to the judgmental jury that so passionately loves to smash my spirit down with inevitable guilt & low self-confidence, explain how I am the evil seducer when all I've done today is check my phone, hoping to see the warm and inviting message "1 Missed Call from Deanne."

Monster

Sometimes I hate myself. Why am I not surprised that this is not the first girl to tell me the following?

"I asked my girlfriend if she'd seen you around before. She mumbled something while we got down on the floor: "we might've fucked, not really sure, don't quite recall, but something tells me that I've seen him."

"...You ate my heart and then you ate my brain."

Vicious fucking wolf. You don't know how to treat a girl's heart with respect.

Love You More

The best way to describe my relationship with my ex-girlfriend is conveyed in the song "Love You More." There was some sort of sexual attraction to the anger and stress of the relationship, to the point in where it actually turned me on when she made me jealous. When she did, it gave me all the more desire to dominate her in bed, ravage her, and fuck all thoughts of anybody else out of her head. I've been more aggressive with her than with anybody else I have been with, to the point of even painting my adopted symbol on her skin with blood.

But underlying the "fun & excitement" of sexual anger was the need to prove myself in terms of masculinity, self-worth, and morality. Her opinion meant everything to me, and it changed me as a person as well. I partook in things I didn't feel comfortable with, and continued on even when I thought we were best separated. It's amusing - despite the fact that I fucked her roughly with her hair in a clenched fist, and torso held tightly, she always held the dominant hand over me.

I highly doubt she cares enough about me to read this blog, so it's safe to be frank and honest. I still care very much about her. One of the hardships of intense relationships is that emotions can get so high that it leads to rough fighting and what Eminem describes as "spitting venom in your words."

I'm sure in time we will both grow as people and exercise more maturity in the way that we deal with people, but now that I'm on good speaking terms with her, I'm just afraid of either of us screwing it up.

The Apartment Ritual

An old poem I found that I wrote during the summer. As I have invited many of my personal friends to visit this site on leisure, I'll continue to post more archived writings I find.

The Apartment Ritual

Anxiety flashes in the shape of a twitch

Every inch of skin glowing at the sound of the phone

Vibrant and attentive like pupils

and asphyxiation as her lust flashes in my ear

Yesterday I held a thanatophobia shape

but tonight she's a corpse

"When you breathe in the fumes,

does the Holocaust elucidate your violent mind?"

I question as I obey natural course

"Pretty As A Swastika" in the stereo system and it starts

With every lick and every kiss I burn a Christmas picture

Burn offerings for the night of June 7th

Reflection on fangs, not a whisper

"let me show you where it hurts" is intended

A thrust, was her moan to be attentive?

Every guitar riff, every synth drum, she drives further.

And I fuck furiously burning like the heart of anger

And heart beats, and beats, and beats,

Until I end the ritual with "So it is done."

1:17AM

I want to lie shirtless next to a beautiful woman after we've made love, listen to the album Democracy by Killing Joke, while we smoke a blunt and enjoy each other's body and the music.

Don't Get Comfortable

♫ I'm not saying this to shake you up. I'm just saying this to wake you up. It's all good when we're making love - all I ask is don't take our love for granted. My love for you is real, and baby, if you don't love me, somebody else will. So don't you ever get too comfortable. ♫

In Memoriam

I grabbed your hair roughly and thrust myself into you violently. There was no denying your lust and immediate orgasm as your cheeks blushed the most vibrant red. "You're my bitch, and I'm your man. Tell me how much you love my cock." You tried to mumble a word but only a moan was able to escape the mouth that was covered by my aggressive hand. A bite into your neck and I couldn't tell whether it was one of pain, pleasure, or a combination of both.

"You wanted PERFEKT. You got your PERFEKT. But now I'm too perfekt for someone like you."

My misogyny stems from the fact that they never love you, they love the way you make them feel. These vampires thirst after certain emotions that some people can provide them, and if you are able to learn their patterns and figure out how to release those chemicals in their head, like carnal beginnings intended, reservation has no extent. You are an object, a phallus toy, to be used to fulfill their desires, their needs, and their expectations.

That's why I'm aggressive when I fuck you -- and the more you beg for it, the angrier it makes me.

Vanity

Whether it's leaving a fat bothersome obligation for a divine seductress who has stolen my attention, looking at past enemies and seeing them in jail or dead, looking into my future and seeing limitless potential, the satisfaction of receiving an intense stare from a gorgeous girl, and of course, in the purest Nietzschean fashion, looking at my past self with loathe as I drive further to perfecting skills of mine, I breathe in these fumes of everlasting war and rejoice in the fleshy life.

I know there will be even more obstacles in my path, but because of my progress I am confident that nothing worse than what has already occurred will pass my way. And my performance in this past year proves that I am able to handle things accordingly and spend my time well. I will still be ready for troubles, and my experience will be my compass in this jungle of bullets, knives, and fire. In a world ruled by biological determination it isn't difficult to understand how the cards will fall, who will be blind, who will be dead, and who will be fucked in both the pleasurable and/or destructive sense.

Lust, my indulgent companion, the areas in which you have carried me have brought experiences which can only be brought justice with a sexual moan, but at the end of the night vanity is the true superior for it is what has put everything together.

Confusion

We exchange glances towards one another, and I never hesitate to say what a beautiful girl you are. Yeah, sure, my remarks have been said to other girls, if not simultaneously behind your back, but it's not like we're together. Apparently I'm the most handsome thing in the room from your perspective, and you can't wait to pull me by the hair and ride me. As you press your hand against my lips, I make effort to look into your eyes and transmit the message that "I want you."

Why is it that every time I give you an extra long hug I feel the sentiment of sin all over my body? Why do I get the feeling that you're forbidden fruit that shouldn't be picked? You send me a mix message and express disappointment when I see you in a platonic level. What else am I supposed to do, be a mindreader? Don't be upset when I treat you as just a friend if you aren't able to make things clear of what your intentions are.

And as for the self-loathing, Favenris, why do you allow complications like this infiltrate your life? You're in love, that's well established, so why are you messing with these other girls?

What is the bane of your existence...

Romantic Gore

Jonathan is a sinister minister, and my religion is to please you. Ride with this pup, and I'll be arrested for another break-up. Such a bore: the two of you need some romantic gore. So invite this vampire in, and I'll devour your nectar as if in a cup...

Rambling encompassing, giving Dada a name with a sentiment I wish to express in my [ex] peer wince:

"She rolled her eyes back frenziedly to avoid seeing me, inside I didn't know if her or my hand was bleeding. Mutilated by a smoke of blonde, her fumes sharpened me to memories I've never gone (or wanted to). Infidelity is my mentality, discarding relationships like an untidy reaper. When the court sentenced me, I was forced to present their gravestone of a relationship through my hickey. My name is Jonathan, and I'll destroy your boyfriends."

In the spirit of Wilde, Madame, retort with wit, or if the night calls for Dada, resort to it.

Cheers. *raises cup of absinthe*

Nectar

Written at some point in high school.

The indifference,

fueled by her legs and blonde hair,

is my nectar juice.

I like to visit Jenna,

she makes the little boys cry.