Tag: magick

Part III: – Enochian Curious

There’s nothing like a cold, hard night on the streets of England to restore your ghetto. And if we are talking ghetto, perhaps no one knows that better than Rob Rider Hill.

“We gotta go to the Duke’s Head tonight.” Ben said as he prepared our stash. “Rob, is expecting us.”

“That’s fine.” I said. “But every time we meet up with another male Snowfrican, you guys tend to gang up against me. You also become an unbearable, condescending, patronizing asshole. Ever more so than usual.”

“I’m sorry it seems that way to you,” he said as he wrapped Rob’s souvenir. A statue of a Japanese demon.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about…” I said. But Ben had already done the thing and moved on to a different topic.

“We have to go to the British Library today. We should be able to get our hands on some book’s by John Dee. Oh yeah. John Dee!” Ben’s voice cackled with excitement.

“Yeah! Let’s get our Enochian on!” I said.

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed as he gave me the side eye. As usual, he was all in.

“Jose, I’m a bastion of good, informed decisions. I don’t fuck with Enochian.” Ben said. “And neither should you. We are going to use the knowledge in Dee’s work in our quest to stop the apocalypse.”

“Fine. Whatever. You got the joints?” I said

Ben, laid out seven joints on the table. Each packed with enough green to tranquilize an elephant. Then he hid them away in the inside breast pocket of his winter jacket.

“Let’s go.” Ben said.

After a brief stop at a Turkish restaurant where Ben ate half my falafel without my consent (the Italian dish he ordered, surprisingly, didn’t turn out well) we headed to the British Library. To our delight, the exhibition “Harry Potter, A history of Magick.” Was there waiting for us. And if you knew me and Ben, you know we are all about some Harry Potter.

“God, I hate Harry Potter,” I said. “I don’t care how nice J.K Rowling is.”

“Stop projecting your professional jealousy and let’s go inside.” Ben said.

Once inside the library, you could feel years and years of knowledge come down on you like an invisible hand. Just a couple of more steps, and we would have been bathing in the sweet aura of occult information that we’ve traveled through the frozen tundra of Snowfrica for. This moment, promised to be the accumulated effort of what was a years worth of blood, sweat, and marijuana. Then something happened.

“Holy shit.” Ben said. “They’re patting people down at security.”

“So what?” I said.

“I have seven joints in my jacket.” Ben said. We turned and left out the same we came. The security guards. Two brothers that had already made eye contact with me, also exchanged the patented upward nods that brown people exchange with each other. And so ended our quest to get into the British library. Sure, we could have easily come back on another day without so much weed, but if you knew us, you knew that wasn’t going to happen. We would move on to easier targets.

“Let’s go find Rob,” Ben said.

The Duke’s Head was a bar that lived up to its name. It had a unique charm about it. With its light green walls, wooden stools and tables, pretty candles, strategically placed crotch level fire extinguisher, and less than reasonable prices, it looked like a traditional British Pub, shit out another less traditional British Pub, which shit out a third, even less traditional British Pub.

“Which pile is Duke’s Head?” I heard a voice say from behind us. This was Rob Rider Hill. I didn’t expect him to be psychic, I also didn’t expect him to be this skinny in person.

If you haven’t seen Rob Rider Hill, he’s a strikingly handsome fellow who could probably dive through the center of a honey nut cheerio without breaking it. He’s also intense as fuck.

“Well, you gonna answer my question or not?” Rob said. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“The third pile,” I said.

“Yeah.” Rob said. “That’s what we were going for.”

“Rob!” Ben said. “So nice to meet you!” To say Ben was enthusiastic about meeting Rob doesn’t exactly tell the entire story. Seeing Ben and Rob together was like seeing two long lost twin brothers finding each other after several years of separation. Did I feel like a 3rd wheel? Dude, for this bromance, I wasn’t even in the same vehicle. These two Snowfricans were made for each other.

It took all of three minutes for them to start talking about the occult. We already had a table full of drinks. Another thing about Rob is that he is pretty much good at everything. Cooking, music, tarot, rolling joints, esoteric shit, but his most endearing quality is the one thing I respect above all other qualities, telling the truth.

“You know Jose, you’re short, bald, and kind of funny looking, but you’ve got a lot of confidence.” Rob said.

“Enough about him,” Ben said. “I got you a little something.”

Ben handed Rob the demon. After a couple of more drinks we stepped outside for our hourly joint which had suddenly become our European tradition. In this state, we could start talking about some real shit.

“You boys ready for the show tomorrow?” Rob said.

“Hell yeah we are.” I said. Ben was not so sure.

“Well, you better be. The venue will be accessible around 7pm. So don’t be late.” Rob said. “We got magicians coming in from everywhere including Lori and Jo Sims. If I were you two, I’d start rehearsing now.”

“Rehearsal?” Ben said as we both looked at each other. “Yeah. We’d better get on that.”

Just one more day to the show, and we weren’t even close to the illuminati…. yet.

Next: the 33rd Parallel live show: Io Pan!

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Journey To West Snowfrica AKA England

After the debacle in Russia, we were relieved to be in England. Words I never thought I’d say before.

We went to England for two reasons, the 1st was to complete the first leg of our European tour. We had people in England and we did not want to disappoint, although that was inevitable, but doing a show, in front of people who actually understood what you were saying, was always a dream of Ben’s. But me? I could seriously take it or leave it.

The 2nd reason we had ventured into Western Snowfrica, the actual real reason, was to do something that we had our eyes on since we started 33rd parallel, to join the illuminati.

The plan was simple, we would go to the Bank of England, located in the city of London, but actually located in its own territory like the Vatican. (That’s right, the actual Bank of England is literally like its own fucking city) and we would apply for jobs.

We were willing to start at the bottom. The mailroom was fine, but if we had to take jobs as janitors, so be it. Once we were gainfully employed, We would use our charm and wit to climb the corporate ladder until we found a place at the table with Lord Rothschild.

Ben was all in.

“This is a terrible plan,” Ben said as he rolled another joint. “Jose, I don’t think you realize what a stupid plan this is.”

“Ben, we have to try something.” I said. “What’s the worst that could happen? They hire us and we stay?”

“That’s the worst that could happen?” Ben said. “It’s private property.”

“I think it’s brilliant.” Tuan said. Tuan had agreed to give us safe haven for the first couple of days on his couch. He also supplied quite a bit of the sacred herb that would prove to be both our savior and undoing, “That shit sounds funny.”

“Thank you, Tuan,” I said. “I was kind of hoping you’d be willing to film it. You know, chronicle our journey into prominence.”

Tuan, is a director with a great eye. I trust him because he’s smart, talented, and practical. And like anyone who embodies these qualities, he looked me in the eye and gave me an immediate response.

“Do you happen to have a camera that can film from long distances? Like let’s say, from 3-4 kilometers away?”

“I was actually hoping we coul…” Before I could even finish my sentence, Tuan waved his finger with all the authority of a director.

“Do you have the fucking camera or not.” He said. Reiterating his position.

“Then no fucking way,” Tuan said. “I like watching people do stupid shit, but I haven’t survived all these years by participating in insane acts. Besides, why are you so dead set on joining the illuminati anyway?”

A moment of silence passed over the room, as if an angel passed. Ben, who was always ready to talk 80% of the time, answered the question that we had never really asked ourselves. Clearly joining the illuminati wasn’t about money? Anyone who knows us knows that Ben and I clearly hate money (Ben especially) which is why we tend to be in the financial positions we normally find ourselves in. But now, confronted with this moment of truth, we had no choice but to say out loud what had been boiling beneath the surface.

Ben smiled, but his eyes were intense as he looked Tuan in the face and gave him the answer that no one in that room wanted to hear or was prepared for.

“We are here to stop the apocalypse.” The words filled the room. They seemed to be crisp and clean, but at the same time venerated with a low vibration. As if they had their own consciousness.

Tuan’s face changed from serious, to an expression of extreme befuddlement, then he did what any other sane, rational human being would do after hearing such a thing, from such people.

He asked again.

“Excuse me?” Tuan said. “I think you didn’t hear my question so I’m going to ask again. Why is it you’re so intent on joining the illuminati?”

Ben nodded and repeated his answer with the same irrational confidence that he says everything.

“We want to stop the apocalypse.” Ben said.

Tuan’s look of sheer befuddlement morphed into something unexpected, anger.

“Get out of my house,” Tuan said. “Get out of here right now.”

“What the hell?” Why do you want to throw us out?” I said. Ben, had already began to put on his jacket.

“You two bumbling idiots are going to stop the apocalypse? How are you going to do that? With your dedicated work ethic? What are you doing to do? Smoke the illuminati into submission?” He said. He began to giggle as he could barely finish his sentences. “Get out of my house! And how dare you? I mean, how fucking dare you? I want you and this fucking Snowfrican out of my house. I don’t want to look at you.”

Ben had already begun to walk out of the house.

“Are you still coming to the show?” I said.

“Do I have to film anything? Tuan said.

“No,” I said shaking my head.

“Then I’ll see you there.” He said.

I grabbed my shit and put on my scarf. As I walked out the door I stoped for a moment and looked back at Tuan.

“Can I take some weed?” I said.

“Sure,” Tuan said.

I met Ben outside. He already had a joint in his mouth. And it was fucking cold.

“What do we do now?” I said.

“The only thing we can do,” Ben said as he lit the joint. “We summon a magician for help.”

“Who?” I said.

Ben began to chant as the smoke from his joint began to swirl until it became a shape. The shape suddenly began to take form of a face. I could tell by his slim face and symmetric eyes that this was quite a pretty Snowfrican.

“Jose, I would like to introduce you to Rob Rider Hill. Our savior.” Ben said.

I looked up at the image of the pretty, yet clearly, malnourished Snowfrican.

“Oh shit,” I said out loud. “Wtf have I gotten myself into?”

Next. Part three, continuation of the England chronicles and the introduction of Rob Rider Hill.

If you want to listen to what happened on this day, you can check us out on iTunes

Here

How To Scry: The Definitive Poke Runyon Interview

How To Scry: The Definitive Poke Runyon Interview

If you don’t know Poke Runyon, then he is no doubt more disappointed by that fact than any of you are. Poke Runyon is not a conspiracy theorist. Let’s make that clear. Poke is what you would call a magician of the ceremonial kind. He’s very similar to the ones you read about in medieval times. Men of sorcery and alchemy who scried into a black mirror or ventured across the land in search of sacred knowledge muggles like us never knew existed.

To put it it bluntly, Poke Runyon is a fabled mystical figure of his own creation. Just check out his Metapedia page, no doubt written by Poke himself. In it, Poke takes credit for black mirror scrying by rewording it into something different. But really, it’s just black mirror scrying. He didn’t make it up.
Reading his page and actually getting through it, was much easier than I thought it would be. That’s because as far as charlatans go, Poke is very good at talking about himself and making that information seem interesting. However, it gets convoluted very quickly. Somehow I know that a lot is missing. I feel like there is more to it. Something, just isn’t there. If I had two words to describe that something, I would call it the truth. 

And here is where I encounter the limits of the Internet. Poke’s accomplishments are too fragmented across its treacherous landscape to extrapolate a reliable narrative. It became clear to me that in order to find out the truth about Poke, I would have to get it straight from the mage’s mouth. I would have to speak to Poke himself.

Speaking to Poke Runyon would be no easy undertaking. He’s a pseudo celebrity after all, and there is also some electronic proof of me slandering him out there. It also doesn’t help that I have the face of a slanderer. Still, with all this against me, I continued to take up this task, if for anything else, for the possibility meeting a great master magician. 
I turned to the Internet again for clues of how to find him. Word is that Poke runs the Temple of Astarte, the OTA, out of a secluded lodge in California. Now I would go there, but that would be the easy thing to do. Also, I don’t have the money. But almost any other interviewer can buy a plane ticket. No. This deserved a more nuanced approach, a more, dare I say it, magical approach. 
As I stared into the empty black mirror of my iPhone, it came to me, I would scry Poke Runyon, from my iPhone. With the help of a friend, of course.

“Nooooooo, noooooo, noooooo!” Benjamin said as he levitated above the tatami mats of his flat. “No fucking way.” 

“But we call up demons all the time,” I said. “You love that shit!”

“No.” Ben said. “I am not scrying into a mirror for Poke Runyon. That’s where I draw the line.”

Ten minutes later, Ben had already prepared the basics for the ritual, we just needed one more thing….

“The black mirror.” Ben said.

“I got it.” I said placing my iPhone down on the table.

Ben turned off the lights to the room and got a couple of candles going. He then sat down in front of my phone and began to call upon Poke. It only took four minutes, but the fires from the candles got brighter, and the room was then filled with the faint aroma of bullshit. 

“He’s here.” Ben said.

The following is a conversation between myself and Poke Runyon scried on the black mirror on my iPhone. It’s as real as any conversation Poke has ever had with a black mirror.

Thanks for coming Poke.

You’re most welcome. And thank you! I always welcome the opportunity to speak to a fan.

Well, I’m not a fan, I’m just interviewing you. Or scrying you, or whatever.

Oh? Are you a journalist?

No. I’m not a journalist. 

Then you must be a fan! 
Okay. Never mind, listen, Poke, may I ask you a couple of questions while you’re here?
Well, that depends… Have you taken all the precautionary measures for this ritual? 
Yes. I think so.

And are you of sound mind? Have you partaken in any types of hallucinatory substances?

What? 

Have you …. You know? (The spectral vision of Poke in the mirror makes a smoking gesture) 

Okay! Nevermind. I’ll stick with irresponsible speculation.

No. No. No. Proceed with the interview.

No. Seriously, I don’t have time for this shit. I only wanted to ask you a couple of questions. And you got all weird and shit. 

No. It is rude to call on a spirit without consorting with it. Please, proceed with your questions
(I look at Ben, who is already uploading some photos of the ritual on to the CMG. Ben types “Have you ever scried? What for, and how do?” )

Poke is right. It is rude to call upon a spirit without properly consorting with it, Ben said.

Ha! The rabbi is accurate. Ask your questions my young acolyte. 

Thank you. Okay Poke, I only have three.

The only more perfect number would be 93.

Please stop doing that.

Doing what? 

Responding to everything I say with a dramatic connection,

Do you not want me to answer your questions? 

I’d like you to let me ask them first. We’ve been here for already five minutes and you haven’t even let me speak.

Proceed.

Did you in fact sell trinkets to rich people while living in the sewer?

That wasn’t me, that’s from the movie “Simon, King of the Witches” which is in no way based on my life.

That’s right, so did you do it or not? 

Young man, did you not hear my words? “Simon, King of the Witches” is in no way based on my life. 

I’ll take that as a yes. My second question. You’re credited with “rediscovering” the ancient method of black mirror scrying. First of all, how does one “rediscover” something that has already been discovered and in still in practice? And secondly, how does a person see something in a mirror without the use of drugs or any other kind of mind altering substances?

Rediscover.” Such a fascinating notion, I guess I did rediscover this method and reintroduce it to the masses…

No. Poke, that’s not what I asked. I asked….

As for your second question, the answer is just as simple…

Alcohol? 

Yes.

Ok then. My last question, and then you can go…. Please. When you died and came back, you allegedly returned with ancient sacred knowledge, what specifically was that ancient sacred knowledge?

The ancient sacred knowledge? Oh my. How do I begin…

You can by opening your mouth and telling me.

The secret ancient knowledge. Why, it’s simple, you only have to…. Oh, I’m very sorry my young acolyte, but I must make flight, for my journey through the ether must continue. Please feel free to call upon me another time. 

Poke, that’s not how it works, you can’t leave until we close the circle and allow you to go. I know this from watching your DVD “The Magick Of Solomon.”

It is good to see that the younger generation has taken it upon themselves to preserve the ancient secret knowledge.

Stop referring to me as a fan, acolyte, and young. I’m forty. Dude, Poke, just please answer my question.

And what, exactly, is your question?

Grrrrr! What is the ancient secret knowledge? 

That I cannot tell you, unfortunately. You must discover it for yourself.

Okay. We stay here until you tell me.

(Five hours of awkward silence pass. Ben had already completely lost interest and moved on to answering his Facebook messages, which at that point had to be in the hundreds of lost souls such as myself seeking his guidance. Poke’s eye had begun to twitch slightly.)

Ready to talk, Poke? 

I’m sorry, but I can’t share the sacred ancient knowledge with you.

(Another five hours pass. During which Ben went down to the Lighthouse for a couple of drinks. I looked into Poke’s sleepy, pug eyes. He had the resolve, but so did I.)

Poke?

Yes.

You don’t have the secret ancient knowledge do you? 

(Poke intently contemplated my question for an entire one quarter of a second before giving the answer that I should have known all along.)

No.

Okay. 
So I closed the circle and joined Ben at the Lighthouse. The moral of the story being that perhaps Poke has something of value to share with the rest of society other than his outsized messiah complex. But, if so, he doesn’t know it yet, and even if he did, I doubt he would tell any of us.

“You’ve learned a very valuable lesson today,” Ben said with a smile as he finished his Vodka Cranberry.

“Which is?”
“Never trust a magician.”

No shit. 

Can witchcraft stop a world leader?

screen-shot-2017-02-23-at-3-38-25-pm

It has come to our attention here at 33P that there is a rumor of a ritual to bind Donald Trump going around.

This got us wondering to what extent this could influence things. Obviously, magick isn’t rocket science, so we can only speculate based on precedent.  Does such precedent exist? Well, if you believe Gerald Gardener, the guy who brought us modern Wicca, yes it does.

According to Gardner, a group of English witches got together in 1940 and threw a bunch of mumbo-jumbo at Hitler.

Hardly conclusive, but every bit counts.

In the ancient world, competing gods were often evoked by both sides before a battle. The old testament is full of stories about gods being defeated by the superior magick of the people whose history was being told. Here’s a list of ways more modern folks have evoked the power of the occult in warfare.

Still more recently the 4channers (accidental/emergent) evocation of the “god” Kek is the stuff of internet legend.

In the ritualized mock combat we call sports it’s fairly common to pray before a match, with some teams going farther and evoking actual magick, with the Rwandan Soccer Federation going so far as to ban witchcraft because of some weird shit.

As modern rational people, we can’t help but recognize that magick is just a bunch of superstitious nonsense, right? But still, even if it’s just a strong nocebo we think it’s still worth a shot.

Are Corporations Demonic Egregores?

angler-fish

Like other living organisms, corporations strive to survive. They require energy in the form of money, labor, and other resources in order to sustain themselves. Unless they receive a fresh and constant flow of energy they tend to stagnate, diminish and die off. Of course, they have no material bodies of their own and must still rely on humans to maintain them, to feed them, to be their physical circulatory system and to host them within their minds.

So how does a disincarnate entity like a corporation get humans to feed it with their energy?

Similar to the way an angler fish has evolved a dangling light to attract prey, the corporation has evolved branding to capture the attention and activate the imagination of you, the consumer.

Corporations hack into the human psyche via the basic human operating system: symbols, in the form of brand names, logos, image, and story.

It runs deeper than simple hunting and consuming. A successful corporation is one that can maintain and milk its target. They have evolved a variety of strategies for doing this. By being the only provider filling a “need” (real or manufactured)  when they can, providing the illusion of choice when they can’t, becoming associated with the premium version of a thing, or the affordable alternative to the premium version, and so on.

Modern humans have evolved an unconscious symbiotic relationship with the brands that populate our mental lives, in which they provide for our needs, and we use our life energy to gather and provide them with the resources they need to survive in our meme pool.

So are corporations demonic egregores? They certainly have a unique place in modern human culture.

We’re curious to learn your thoughts.

Stay tuned for the 33rd Parallel podcast All About the Demons, where we figure out once and for all what exactly demons are.

Chaos Magick

Here’s what I’m starting to think some of it might be…” -Jose.

Chaos Magick is a catch-all phrase for modern eclectic occult practice. It is like the punk rock of the occult, in that it is a reaction to the calcified, rigid, rule-based occult systems of the past.

Building on the work of Aleister “The Beast” Crowley, who published previously secret occult teachings, Austin Osman Spare and early NLP , among other influences, it came into prominence in the 1980’s with the work of Philip Hine and Peter Carroll.

The basic tenets of Chaos Magick are:

  1. “Magick is the art and science of creating change in conformity with will.” -Crowley
  2. What you believe is real, is real.
  3. By altering your beliefs, you also alter (your?) reality.

Chaos magickal practice has evolved to center around a few core magickal concepts and practices. These include:

  1. Sigil Craft: Creating and charging a symbol of intent.
  2. Gnosis: An intense altered state of consciousness.
  3. Servitors: An independent entity which is designed by the magician to do their will.
  4. Egregores: An entity existing in the collective mind of a group of people.

Theoretically, Chaos Magick offers a few models of how magick might work.

They include (as of this writing):

  1. The Spirit Model: Magick works because spirits.
  2. The Psychological Model: It’s all in your head.
  3.  The Information Model: The universe is made of information. Magickal practices can alter the structure and flow of the information.
  4.  The Energy Model: Magick moves some kind of energy around, and that makes stuff happen.
  5. The Simulation Model: Similar to the Information Model, it claims that this is a simulation and the magician can tweak the matrix.
  6. The Meta Model: Straight NLP. Whatever works, man.

We make no claims as to the truth of any of this, but offer it as a starting point. We welcome any kind of feedback and are happy to answer whatever questions come up to the best of our ability.

You can hear an audio sigil on our podcast here: