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by Ordo Templi
Orientis
"Mommy, I'm
scared."
Excerpts from
"The Scented Garden of Abdullah the Satirist of Shiraz"
Jehannum shall
exclaim "Habib!"
and light inform its murky fire,
Entrancing all the ghouls [4] to love,
waking the Shaitans to desire!
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4. Ghoul -- a corpse-devouring devil.
Drear and devout the
dead monks moan and rave
Within these cells of this my labyrinth:
They couple with the ghuls upon my grave,
And on my monument's marmoreal plinth
They rage in amorous rituals unto Pan,
Whose leer breeds Thersites and Caliban.
Woe to the world!
the bull and girl conjoin.
The monster guards the grot: the sly goat grins
When priest and prelate privately purloin
The perfume of our quintessential sins.
Woe! when that pizzle, ripe from Hathor's Cow,
Writes the red blush on Pasiphae's brow!
Zazel, the
saturnine, the brooding fiend,
Listens and laughs at this ecstatic "woe"!
His desart teats from twisted terrors weaned
The ghost of Chasmodai: our vials flow
With galangal and marjoram and myrrh,
As Rhodope rapes life from Lucifer.
Myrrh be thy music,
harping thy perfume,
When thou canst sit upon the foursquare stone
Shaped like an egg, well hid within the tomb
Where Jesus drawls: "Consult that cruel crone
Who mutters mantrams to her swart tom-cat,
And trims her broomstick toward Ararat!"
Priapus laughs, and
we behold him Pan;
Then if I smile, in me Panthea glows;
I am a panther, mark the caravan,
Devour a child, and plant a royal rose.
Then to my Rose if Pan is his own Pandar
My horn is worth the two of Alexander.
Qaiyum thine
anguish, with the thorny crown
Lashing thy brow, the jackal's direful din
Breaking thy body! Could not eiderdown
Serve thee? His kisses cool thee? Is not sin
The royal road to sainthood, eremite
Whose purple pestle shuns the Dog's delight?
Rays of Aldeboran
invade the coil
Of this my labyrinth and point the way.
Lick Nina for the consecrated oil!
Scrape Jesus for the sacramental clay!
See how the fumes of Voodoo curl around
Thy Wanga-circle, the enchanted ground.
The camel-rider
swoops across
the desert, with his howling Jinn,
To wreck and ravage human life;
insufferable Bedawin! [2]
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2. Bedawin -- any wanderers. But the homeless necessarily live by robbery.
Hence the paradoxes of Socialism.
Habib hath heard;
let all Iran
who spell aright from A to Z
Exalt thy fame and understand
with whom I made a marriage-bed;
Resort to tool-and-podex play
till all the world in tears is shed
Before the sword of Azrael,
the trump of Israfel the dread. [2]
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1. Azrael -- angel of death; Israfel -- of the last Judgement, bear
respectively a sword and a trumpet.
Black is the
midnight when that wintry bird
Stands on the snowbank like an ermine tail
Blotting the royal robes: he cries a word
That gilds the red blood in the blessed Grail:
Wherefore the Beetle ramps upon the Hill,
And argent angels trumpet sour and shrill.
Woe to the world!
the bull and girl conjoin.
The monster guards the grot: the sly goat grins
When priest and prelate privately purloin
The perfume of our quintessential sins.
Woe! when that pizzle, ripe from Hathor's Cow,
Writes the red blush on Pasiphae's brow!
Chryselephantine
cross! how good you gleam!
How gods and goats respire the dark perfume
Of oliban, and scent the erotic steam
Of myrtle in the cypress groves of gloom
That rolls and gathers into shapes of bronze
Who dream strange dreams and chant strange orisons.
Shaitan appears. But
gloomier clouds of smoke
Than hell's are here, where wand and spell combine
The utmost spawn of chaos to invoke
As gods within the most supernal shrine.
I am the master. Will not God contest
The last grim struggle for his Alkahest?
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