REV.O.LU.TION: “a moving in a circular or curving course, as about a central point.” One to A.T.W.A. | Earth to Sun.



“…Know this:
from the prison graves the Christhead is no new trip, and the so-called Christians have been and are feeding on the blood of Christ children. You are so misled and caught up in lies that your souls and your justice are locked in the bank. Actors play your leaders in the same war patterns set by the dead…”


To The Sun Soldiers-
“…You’re with somebody. You know somebody. You know they’re there. You’re runnin’ with em’.
You’re out in the bushes with em’ and you’re coyotes with em’ or you’re in the… you’re spiritually allied with em’ in the scorpions or you’re spiritually allied with em’ in the awarenesses…”

The Face Upon The Barroom Floor


Charles recited this poem to me this weekend during a visit. His ability to recollect certain things like dates, songs, and folk poems has surprised me before.
I don’t know anything about the origins of this poem, other than what I found at wikipedia-

‘Twas a balmy summer evening
And a goodly crowd was there,
That well nigh filled Joe’s barroom
At the corner of the square.
As songs and witty stories
Came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in
And posed upon the floor.
“Where did it come from?” someone said,
“The wind has blown it in.”
“What does it want?” another cried,
“Some whiskey, rum or gin?”
Here Toby, sic’ em,
If your stomach is equal to the work,
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork,
He’s filthy as a Turk.
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace.
In fact, he smiled as though he thought
He had struck the proper place.
Come boys, I know there’s kindly hearts
Among so good a crowd;
To be in such good company
Would make a deacon proud.
Give me a drink, that’s what I want.
I’m out of funds you know, when I had cash to treat the gang,
This lad was never slow. What? You laugh as though you think,
This pocket never held a sou,
I once was fixed as well, my boys,
As any of you.
There thanks, that’s braced me nicely.
God Bless you one and all. Next time I pass this good saloon,
I’ll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can’t do that.
My singing days are past.
My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out,
And my lungs are going fast.
Aye, give me another whiskey and I’ll tell you what to do
I’ll tell you a funny story and in fact I’ll promise two.
That I was ever a decent man,
Not one of you would think,
But I was, some four or five years back.
Say, give me another drink.
Fill ‘er up, Joe, I want to put some life
Into this old frame.
Such little drinks, to a bum like me
are miserably tame.
Five fingers, that’s the scene, and corking and whiskey too,
Well, here’s luck boys, and landlord,
My best respects to you.
You’ve treated me pretty kindly,
And I’d like to tell you how,
I came to be this dirty sap, you see before you now.
As I told you once, I was a man
With muscle, frame and health,
But for a blunder, ought have made considerable wealth.
I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks or wood,
But an artist, and for my age I was rated pretty good,
I worked hard at my canvas, and bidding fair to rise,
And gradually I saw, the star of fame before my eyes.
I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen,
It’s called the “Chase of Fame.”
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds
And added to my name.
It was then I met a woman, now come the funny part;
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sank into my heart.
Why don’t you laugh it’s funny, that the vagabond you see
could ever have a woman and expect her love for me.
But it was so, and for a month or two, her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine, I thought I was in heaven.
Boys did you ever see a girl, for whom your soul you’d give,
With a form like Venus De Milo, too beautiful to live,
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor,
And a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, it was she, for boys there never was, another half so fair.
I was working on a portrait,
One afternoon in May,
Of a fair haired boy, a friend of mine,
Who lived across the way.
My Madeline admired him,
And much to my surprise,
She said she’d like to know the lad,
Who had such dreamy eyes.
She didn’t take long to find him,
Before the month had flown,
My friend had stolen my darling,
And I was left alone.
And ere a year of misery had passed above my head.
That jewel I treasured so, had tarnished and was dead.
That’s why I took to drink boys. Why, I never see you smile,
I thought you’d be amused boys, and laughing all the while.
Why, what’s the matter friend? There’s a teardrop in your eye.
Come, laugh like me. It’s only babes and women that should cry.
Say boys, if you give me just another whiskey and I’ll be glad,
I’ll draw right here the picture, of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score;
You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor.
Another drink and with chalk in hand, the vagabond began,
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon that shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture — dead!


7.26.1875 – 6.6.61.
Carl Gustav Jung
The Hexenmeister
In the words of Stephen Hoeller,
(((after reading “a strange book” concerning the old Gnostic heretics, written by Jung- although the author is identified in a line below the title (VII SERMONES AD MORTUOS) as “Basilides”, and the place of the writing is identified as “Alexandria, the city where East and West Meet”)))
“C.G. Jung was a healer of souls and a healer of the culture. A more efficient servant of humanity the world has seldom seen. This efficiency and wisdom was the result, not of heredity, environment, education, but of his having walked the road to the land of shadows where the secret knowledge of the soul dwells.
To walk this road, and to find one’s objective, means to go contrary to the world and to the notions of the reasonable and the probable. Jung Once wrote that our picture of the world only tallies with reality when the improbable has a place in it. It is improbable that order will prevail against chaos and that meeting will win out over meaninglessness. Still, the improbable happens; it is possible and not beyond our reach. In a very real sense the improbable is the true vocation, the authentic destiny of the human being. This is the vocation that can be said to make us human, for we are less than human in proportion as we disregard it or ignore it. The trees and flowers, the birds and beasts who follow their destiny are superior to the human who betrays his.”

"The fire comes out of Muspilli and grasps the tree of life. A cycle is completed, but it is the cycle within the world egg. A strange God, the unnameable God of the solitary, is incubating it. New creatures form from the smoke and ashes."

“The fire comes out of Muspilli and grasps the tree of life. A cycle is completed, but it is the cycle within the world egg. A strange God, the unnameable God of the solitary, is incubating it. New creatures form from the smoke and ashes.”

Jung’s works are too many to list…
An excerpt from an entry
(from Black Book 5, which gives a preliminary sketch of cosmology of the Septem Sermones)
in his LIBER NOVUS: The “Red Book” of C.G. Jung, finally published in 2009:
The force of the God is frightful.
“You shall experience even more of it. You are in the second age. The first age has been overcome. This is the age of the rulership of the son, whom you call the Frog God. A third age will follow, the age of appointment and harmonious power.”
My soul, where did you go? Did you go to the animals?
I bind the Above with the Below. I bind God and animal. Something in me is part animal, something part God, and a third part human. Below you serpent, within you man, and above you God. Beyond the serpent comes the phallus, then the earth, then the moon, and finally the coldness and emptiness of outer space.
Above you comes the dove or the celestial soul, in which love and foresight are united, just as poison and shrewdness are united in the serpent. Shrewdness is the devil’s understanding which always detects smaller things and finds chinks where you suspect none.
If I am not conjoined through the uniting of the Below and the Above, I break down into three parts: the serpent, and in that or some other animal form I roam, living nature daimonically, arousing fear and longing.
The human soul, living forever within you. The celestial soul, as such dwelling with the Gods, far from you and unknown to you, appearing in the form of a bird…”

Jung’s epitaph reads,
C.G.J. epitaph

The Dusk Of 2012 C.E. | The Dawn Of 2013 C.E.


ATWA Abraxas“In this world, man is Abraxas, who gives birth to and devours his own world.
The star is man’s God and goal.
It is his guiding divinity; in it man finds repose.
To it goes the long journey of the soul after death; in it shine all things which otherwise might keep man from the greater world with the brilliance of a great light.”



“Nor can a man who has passed a month in the death cells believe in capital punishment. No man who has passed a month in the death cells believes in cages for beasts.” Ezra Pound

Charles was released from the hole, or the “secure housing unit”,
after serving close to one year in solitary confinement- one of many inhumane forms of american “justice”-
on September 14, 2012.

To display his strength and resilience under the draconian weight of this latest bogus “disciplinary action”
imposed upon him I have cut a couple pieces from a conversation with him yesterday, in order for others to hear his voice…
from the black hole-
X- Haze