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Biochemical Balance of Blood

So now you know the damage that you are suffering from technology, cellphone towers, mobile phones, computers, &etc.

You also recognize in this video that there is a basic principle of piezo-electric energy affecting your body from proximity to a source emitting such energy. It is not only radio signal masts that have such an effect. In fact you would be surprised how the bio-electric generators known as 'people' also have this proximity effect, which is also used at range when controlled by a focus tool known as the Attention. 

My friend Kat was sick last night after drinking a bottle of Oasis. It is a fake fruit flavored chemical soup of poisons detrimental to health. Although the label states "No artificial colours or flavours', amongst other things the ingredients contain sugar, aspartame, acesulfame and phenylalanine. Nasty. What do these things do? Generally they screw up your immune system and weaken your bones and vital organs as well as reducing fertility. If you do your own research then you will find out for yourself. 
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Curse of the Mad Monkey

I loved my little brother.
He had a speech impediment.
Hammy av hfeef po-wum hammy ham-hay heff.
My parents eventually took him to speech therapy lessons when he was old enough, but before then I would translate.
Sammy has a speech problem Sammy can't say 's'.
When I was six or seven and Sam was four or five, Dad took us to stay for a week in a caravan in west Wales at broadhaven beach.
It was the summer holidays.

The Photo 
Dad was an art teacher and spent most of the holiday with a camera around his neck. The visual image is something I was trained to respect since an early age. I held a pencil before I held a spoon.

Walking along a bracken fern and bramble lined path between the beach and the caravan site, dad told us to wait still for a minute so he could take our picture. Sam and I were both wearing our new knitted jumpers that nan, my Dads mother, had made for us especially for the holiday. It is Wales, its cold here even in the middle of summer. Especially near the coast. I don't know for certain but I suspect that it was my paternal grandparents who had paid for the rent on the caravan so that we could have a holiday this year. The jumpers were identical apart from mine was slightly bigger and the color was slightly different, Nan had used a different yellow wool for the beach and sailboat but the sky blue was the same. People still ask us if we are twins.

Just as my dad was focusing one of the several lenses he used for his camera to get different types of shot, from zoom to widescreen, I decided to show the world how much I loved my brother. I put my arm around him and kissed his cheek. A lot can happen in the split fraction of a second that it takes for a camera to take a picture.

While the Iris is Open 
I had never before known malice, much less been the target of it. In the exact moment that I kissed Sams cheek and Dad took the fateful photo, I was struck. It was not physical although the attack put me into a state of shock. I was overwhelmed by bitterness

"Thank you, boys." said Dad, beaming with pride.
Sam ran off up the path while I stood in shock, trying to analyze what had just happened and watching my dad and my brother walk away.
"Come on, slowcoach!" said Dad.
"He how hoah" copied Sam. 
What had just happened? It was so horrible!

I am empathic. The way that I translated Sams speech was not only through audio but through feeling. My heart told me what message he was feeling and trying to say. My mind would translate the shape of the feeling into words for Sam. I would use his speech pattern as a guide to my translation. Thats how it works. I couldn't ever have explained that at the time because I had no idea that I was even doing it, much less words for these concepts and ability to communicate with adults about it. It just seemed natural to me, like breathing and drinking and following your own way as you go.

I was overwhelmed by a shock of nasty. The hatred, filthy loathing, was something deeper and more toxic than anything I could ever have imagined. The smell of burning circuit-boards is how t feels, sick and wrong and shouldn't be. Every cell of my being and every mote of my soul rejects and feels polluted by it. When I read Lord of the Rings for the first time I saw only a pale reference there to this terrifying darkness that left me deeply affected. I was utterly alone and afraid. I have been this way ever since.

The translation in my mind of the poison feeling leaping through my heart was that my brother hated me with abject venom, my father was a bad terrible man, and I was worthless, utterly pathetic, pointless, my existence was less than shit, I was an abberation that should not be.

I can explain now, that this darkness did not originate from within me, it passed through me. But I absorbed it as it went. It was so fast! Faster than anything I had ever known. It appeared to the limit of my senses to have come from Sam, although I know now that it only appeared to do that, and that probably it passed through him the same way that it passed through me. It was gone in a flash. All this happened in the instant during which Dad took that photo. But I was left with a sick, twisted feeling that has lasted a lifetime. An emptiness that sucks in all hope. 

So painful was the experience of loss; of my brothers love, of my trust in my father, knowing now how much he loathed me, and the awareness that such a dark thing could exist in a world I had known only to be beautiful, even in its cold and wet and rain and wind; damaged me for life. As I write, age 33 years, I am still not recovered from it. It was many years before I could even cast my mind back to remember this scene at all. I was shocked, and frightened. I could not look at the photograph for many years after without feeling an overwhelming sickness.

I read a lot of books. My reading ability was advanced for my age. School did tests. I was gcse level (16) by age 12 and off the top of the chart by 13. I read Ursula Le Guins amazing A Wizard of Earthsea. It was real. The shadow that Ged summons; I knew. Because I had experienced it myself, that day at the beach. I cannot explain it any better. Like Ged I had to travel beyond death, to confront and to assimilate the Shadow. It is very Jungian. I am only ready to do so now, so many years later. After having been diagnosed as a schizophrenic. I am believing that the writing of this healing story to be a part of my therapy. Whatever happened that day at the beach cast a long shadow that has left me deeply affected, deeply disaffected; scarred. And as time and events played out, as I was able to remember and digest the information I experienced, I began to learn the story of what had happened.

Hourglass Eyes
I was living like Raistlin from Dragonlance in my nocturnal tower; insomniac, cannabis addicted, incapable of socializing, even of going outdoors. One reason for this is because every time I did, something very out of the ordinary and usually very bleak would happen to me. For example being beaten shitless by baseball cap and hoody tracksuit wearing gangs of teenage 'blads'. Thats what its like living in Zooport, especially if you have dreadlocks. It doesn't matter, its only me and I don't deserve to be here polluting the planet and wasting resources. My guilt over this was atrocious. I was disfunctional. 

On rare occasions that I did go out it was often to get involved in humanitarian socialist projects. I was handing out flyers protesting against animal cruelty. SHAC is a grass roots anti-animal abuse organisation dedicated to closing down Huntingdon Life Sciences. If you had seen the videos made secretly inside there, of beagles and monkeys being tortured and beaten, experimented on in grotesque ways... which is still happening now even as you read this, despite animal cruelty laws made by the same uk government that are funding the organisation ...then you would feel as I do; that handing out flyers as part of an underground information campaign is precious little against the tyranny protecting abuse.

Part of the problem the protestors face is that the policY enforcers and uk government consider animal rights liberators to be terrorists. They did blow up a car of a financier of HLS although nobody was hurt, and they regularly make telephone threats to the abusers payed by HLS to do these experiments. SHAC (Stop Huntingon Animal Cruelty) campaigners are notorious not only for targetting the HLS workers but also their families. The hate runs deep. The founders are all behind bars themselves now. For the record, all I ever did was hand out flyers and sign the protest.

The Hunt
My relationship with Dad has always been problematic ever since that day at the beach where I saw that he would rather be with Sam than myself, that I am irrelevant to him, more of a problem than anything, his inferior son, his regret. He pushed me hard against my will to follow in his footsteps and suppressed my own instinctive drive to be myself and go my own way. 

There was a huge 'fox hunting' issue advertised by the tv and newspapers as we were growing up and into my teenage years, especially during the political elections. Dad keeps chickens and foxes are a problem. The animal liberation warriors are trying to have fox hunting banned because it is a cruel sport. It is; after traumatizing the poor animal for up to several hours by hunting it, the pack of hounds tears the fox to death. Ripped to shreds. My dad and I could not see eye to eye about this issue, he vented anger like a viking berserker. I couldn't ever understand why he got so enraged over the issue. The man has shot more foxes than anyone I ever met. Surely he would agree that a single bullet is quick, and is enough to protect 'the countryside', and most importantly is so much more preferable to the agonizing death of being torn apart alive by hounds after being chased by a mob of hooligans, most of who live in the city and whose horses cause damage to the countryside they are protecting by churning it up and smashing hedges. It's a passionate issue with an obvious answer, that was used to create a class war and hatred in the people, animosity between police and proletariat and to flush out the 'terrorists' before the two factions could unite against a common enemy, the uk government and their policY state, in terms of common lawful rebellion which is happening now a decade later. But Dad didn't like my opinion nor my smart-arse foresight. Dad didn't like a lot of things about me, for example my cannabis addiction. 

Sins of the Fathers
'Sins of the Fathers' is a line from Beowulf, perhaps the most famous Norse epic from the sea-faring people called the Vikings. It has stuck in my mind like a puzzle ever since I first heard it. Grandpa was a sailor, during world war two he was posted on an aircraft carrier. All through my life he was into boats, he had a nineteen foot yacht parked up on his driveway when it wasn't at the marina. His dad was blown up in the trenches and taken POW in world war one with shrapnel in his leg. The German army medics fixed it enough that he could escape, limp to the coast, steal a boat and sail it all the way back to the harbor in the little fishing village he grew up in on the east coast of england. So sailing is in the blood; we are of Norse descent paternally. The image of a boat on the wooly jumpers of two little boys with white sunbleached hair, knitted by their Nan, resonates through many layers of meaning, as symbols do.

After the war Grandpa got a job as a bank manager. The very last time I saw him he told me that he had been HLS bank manager. I stopped talking with him after that. I didn't see much of him throughout my life since he lived so far away; in Huntingdon as it happens. I asked him about the animal rights protesters; he laughed and called them irrelevant troublemakers. He said he never saw any signs of animal abuse when he visited HLS. I told him I had seen the video's. He asked me if I was stoned when I watched them. He didn't much like that I smoked cannabis either. 

Frozen Moment
It was after that I began to remember and assimilate childhood trauma's. The shape of the connection between Dads wrath at animal rights and the victimization of families of HLS workers; activated something in my own memory system. For one, why I had got beaten up by a gang of animal rights protesters on one occasion, just to make a change from the blads doing it. 

I remembered back to the day at the beach. There had been something, lurking in the bracken. I occasionally felt it but it was so silent a hunter that it had remained hidden in my blind spot, for all these years. Creeping alongside us through the shadows of the undergrowth, until such moment that our guard was down.

A simple kiss. A moment of giving, of sharing, adoration and Love. A gate moment. A moment frozen in time for all to see. 

Dad was so proud of the photo of us boys, they all were. He made a frame for it and gave it to Grandpa and Nan as a gift, a thank you for hiring a caravan for our holiday. It hung in pride of place in their kitchen on the wall opposite the front door for many years. First thing you see. I suppose that it was Dad who took it down after they both died. Nan died of Alzheimer's disease. She went crazy, and bit and scratched and swore and cussed like a wild thing. "I lived with her for sixty years and I didn't even know she knew that sort of language" Grandpa had said about her while she was ill. He loved her so much he didn't want to see her go into a care home, but he needed the break and was finally persuaded. He stayed with her until the end.

We have now discovered that tetra-hydro-cannibal, THC, found naturally occurring in cannabis is a preventive and cure for Alzheimer's. The 'essential tests' done on animals that will 'medically help humanity' have still not proven anything of the like. The uk government have outlawed cannabis and they fund unnecessary animal testing. 

Black Light
As time went on I remembered more of that moment.
I had seen it!
I had seen the shadow.
It was very fast and moved like a black lightning, a streak. And its form, its shape...
It leaped off of us, in the same instant that the aperture of the camera was open it attacked and leaped and it streaked directly into the camera. That is what I saw, when my mind was sharp and fast as a childs is, in admiration of something that could exist at such a high frequency, and with frozen fear that something so evil could exist. It was too much for a childs mind and I had blanked it for so many years. 
Its shape was that of a monkey. 

The Gaze and the Gate
Its funny, that I could never bring myself to look at that photo on the wall in my Grandparents house. It subdued me. I wondered, I could feel how much of their time the old folks had spent staring into it through the years, filled with pride at their grandchildren. 

And every time they looked at it, the energy of the angry monkey spirit that had latched onto Grandpa when he visited HLS, that had followed my father and us boys, had stalked us, biding its time, waiting, seething, loathing, until the time was right that it could make its strike. Did you ever see David Attenborough nature documentaries about monkeys in the wild, cautiously hunting their prey? It waited until its targets were embraced in a peaceful, loving moment of distraction, a compassion that it had never itself known, having been torn from its mothers love and grown up fast in a cage in a laboratory where the atmosphere of torture and abject cruelty, and the pain, is all it knew. It waited with vengeance as a spirit monkey and transferred itself into the camera, onto the film, into the picture. As it did, catching myself and Sam and Dad up in its spite, the bitterness that it had felt in life perverted our family unit. My childhood innocence was lost there and then in that moment as I experienced in a single split second, all the emotions and sensations of a terrified torture victim, polluted to death by microwave radiation chemical tests. I felt the tests being done to me, smelled the smell. There is a very similar Matthew Broderick film that made me cry for weeks because it was so real. 

Slowly over years, as people who had gained from the financial exploitation of the poor simian were absorbed in feelings of love and family invoked by a photograph of cute sweetness; it fed. In exchange, because all energy is in a constant process of exchange; its dirt, the negativity, the crazy fear of an animal being hurt, understanding what is happening but not why; its hatred affected the people living beneath the photo's gaze. It seeped into them, slowly, to make sure. 

I phoned Dad tonight to ask him what had become of the photo, because I am writing about it. He says I can have it. He even offered to post it to me with or without the frame. 

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Serpent Culture

snake rbg 1

I have recently been accused of being in a cult because I have been talking about use of exactly this same symbolism on a website. Incidentally since my account has been hacked and the password changed, I no longer have access to that website. Also that the information that I originally typed into that website has been altered and much of it deleted, without my consent and permission as the legal copyright holder. I am currently involved in a legal battle where this has become an issue.

It was in court that I have been accused of being a cultist for the purpose of character assassination that has put my children at risk of being placed into care, based on the precept that a cultist might be dangerous to childrens education, despite the Human Rights Act stating quite clearly that I have a right to worship, and despite many different religions being allowed to have children by Law including those that use circumcision.

As it happens, I do not believe myself to be in any such religious cult so far as I am aware, other than to discuss a specific series of symbols and the ramifications of comprehending what these symbols are associated with.
snake rbg 2

I am now officially establishing that IF people who use this type of symbolism are in such a cult, THEN this means that the national botanical gardens of wales are also members of the same cult; because they use the same symbolism. See pictures.

That the river/serpent motif is associated with 'Life' in many cultures all over the world, therefore humanity shares common concepts and associates common symbols to them, as written about by Karl Gustav Jung.

That therefore humanity is a shamanic species because all of this symbolism is associated with and defined as being 'shamanic'. This symbolism underpins even the formal masonic symbolism found within mystery schools, the masons, religions, of different nations and subcultures; as can be seen on buildings all over the world both of this current era and of both the recent and the ancient past. Nor is it used exclusively by them since it has 'primal roots'.

That therefore the historic symbolism is still actively in use today because mainstream humanity uses the same symbols/concepts today (as proven here).

That therefore humanity is a shamanic species and shamanism is an integral part of human culture.

That therefore a person aware of and using such symbols and claiming to be a shaman may do so 'officially' and without ridicule or prejudice against them for their spiritual beliefs.

That therefore such beliefs are not 'extremist' or 'unusual' or , but are rather to the contrary; quite regular and normal and mundane, given global cultures.

snake rbg 3

I make these statements in the name of anthropology (the study of humanity) of which I am a student and apparently a teacher to some extent since I am actively making these photographs and statements as proof of the truth of my beliefs, and for others to be influenced by.

Welcome to the human race. We are a magickal species.

snake rbg 4

I am not simply talking about 'homo sapiens modernus' here. I am talking about 'Humanity' which is a different thing; the qualifier is Humane behavior ('being' as an adjective denotes action; the action of being humane. This is simple common sense).

To this extent as I have encountered Humans wearing animal bodies, for I have witnessed animals acting humanely toward other animals. I am sure that I am not unique in this observation.

snake rbg 5

None of this artwork nor the biodome of the national botanical gardens are my responsibility, nor am I there creator.
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had a vision 2 nights ago that has taken me 2 days to get my head around....
I was in the kitchen and I watched certain items 'dematerialise', destabilise into their component particles; 'unbound of form'. I had been reading about the CERN black hole generator that will destroy the material planet just a few years from now. but it cannot contain 'faster than light' particles. the REAL laws of physics governing 3D are that matter=time. this gives a localised time tempo (BPM) unique to each object. when its component atoms are harmonised it is free of the gravity well. this is how ghosts & ufo are vibrating higher than 'our normal vision spectrum'; because they exist in a different time zone (their own) rather than the shared one.
What I saw 2 nights ago is the material world dissolve & then I was back in that place of soft whiteness where the pain goes away & all is love. I last went there during an OBE. when the soul leaves the body it leaves time; so that we all enter 'heaven' (whitespace) at the exact same moment. so there is no rush to get there, relax! immediately I understood all this I was back in the kitchen again.

did I simply recreate the world in its same image as before? was I in control of this or was it something other? did it happen to the whole world, or only to me? I know now that if/as/when nuclear war or black hole or whatever (world blown up), then theres nothing to worry about because it is necessary for reality to do this, to drop all the nasty heavy shit into the black hole so the rest of us can float up free above it into 5th space, the new realms where positive psychemotional energy, loving thought vibration, manifests as the world around us; much like with a controlled lucid dream.
the experience felt more like I was accessing this level of experience to teach me how reality works, because the ascent of spirit/material reality is not smooth; it is ups&downs with a gradual incline, mostly to do with who has their hooks into us and where they are at at the time. this one brief moment, nobody had their hooks in me & also I was full of love&light*
at which time I worked it out. this is the 2012 galactic energetic alignment portal that the mayans and pleiadians are telling us all about. this is why we study herkimer & rose quartz, why we LOVE love love all forgive all teach this heal everyone because the negative is dense & the positive is ascent.
I have to share this with you all because it really is real. A very great teacher from Andromeda taught us that; "Pain is the Love we withhold."

People who are broken; they fear and they doubt and they need to control other people which reveals their own insecurities, their own lack of self love.

All of them are going to fall into the black hole. They will exist in a dimension where their own preconceptions create a dense material reality.

The ones who Love, will become a part of the light. It is an elegant, smooth transition. The light is not a religious definition of 'god' lol its nothing to do with that. It's acceleration, its like breaking through the water surface tension. Into a place the White Zone where the laws of physics are more dreamlike, insubstantial; and we can then really begin to learn, what it is all about, what we actually are when we aren't in a body of one form or another, when we aren't in time.

This is death consciousness speaking through me.

spring/summer 2009
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white cones

Through the top of our heads, our aura extends like a white tube all the way up to the atmosphere, where it funnels out at the top. The energy helix swirls up through us, our bodies share the space that are the root of this cone that extends to the edge of space.

Our eyes are on the side of our bodies, not the front. We have eyes in the back of our head too but they see into radio/telepathy spectrum, they 'look' more like lacewings of insects, made of light. We 'hear' through them into the middle ear, or 'sense' vibrations through them; it is a 6th sense.

The flower of our true self is made of light and stretches high, but some people are shut off from this, blocked and need healing. I do not even remember this is real when negative people are linked onto me, focus their Attention grip on me. But with some people of the light I see more clearly and now I know for sure what the next series of art I must produce is to be. I have felt in in me for years but I see it so clearly now, what we really look like.

The body is only the physical root, our arms are roots, our legs are roots, for moving and manipulating particles of stuff to interact and weave and get our energy. But our true body is the one made of light, a cone or funnel stretching high up into the air. This light has rainbow chakras in its root that grip and manipulate the body, but the higher spectrums are like standing stones and stone circles (70% quartz) are, there is a vortex, a grid mesh with celtic knotwork weaves of leylines up spiralling through it. We are this cone, when we are free from confusion.

When we are totally open in our chakras and Love flows through us, this is the flower opening. Our minds eye or third eye is somewhere up there, when we let go completely the ego and look down from the psy~space of this cone. The top of the cone, I think they weave together with the atmosphere and connect us to others.

Through this we can access Argelles rainbow bridge which is a telepathic network but also we can travel this bridge using the chakras too, our light bodies; because attuning our chakras to the precise spectrums and disengaging from the body/material/time, harmonising with the waveforms of frequencies of the rainbow bridge, the same way as we harmonise to the star barcodes of distant stars (radio spectroscopy, William Herschel). Learning to come into and out of the body, to relax our grip of it to travel to other places that we can access; the Dream worlds. Damn other people have entered my zone and their ripples affect my waveform, I lost the flow.

Time to edit this essay & post it...


Now perhaps you will begin to appreciate and understand the beauty of the egyptian light cult with reference to djed pillars. The thousand petal lotus of the indian culture that grew from it, the buddhist and the early christian teachings that grew from it, the purity of islam before it became a religion which also stems from egyptian priesthood. The jaguar priests who also founded 'the egyptian afterlife of plenty' that accurately describes the mesoamerican (mayan) high culture which was much less evil and bloodthirsty than its christian conquistadors misrepresentation of its symbolic arts, that sadly has become its reputation. They used graphic symbolism because as a people who were bonded with the earth they understood the powa inherent in the earth. Snakes are waveforms, blood is Life. The orthodox buddah school that also emerged influenced by egyptian light cult teachings. All religions today are fragments of the scattered source religion; the Light Cult.
I am a serpent priest of the light cult. I am of the shadow clan, the naga; a serpent of the light & shadow cast. It is akin to Lama priests. The light cult is typified by Jaguar priests. My symbol is black panther and cobra. My master is Pacal Votan who is Wodan who was Tutankhamun.

I use HERKIMER DIAMOND to open the crown and third eye chakras, it is high grade quartz. and I used a big, rough hewn chunk of ROSE QUARTZ as a curative for depression, to open my heart to LOVE and to help me channel love to the people around me. By giving them love energy they feel their mood lighten and are nicer to me, you should try it. Both of these types of crystals are inexpensive and readily available.

I must include here about Water; Our bodies are 70% water; we are filtration systems. This is the conduit for the electrical. Water is associated with our emotions. We all are made of the same ocean. EM ocean, electromagnetic ocean. Our language hides secrets of spiritual wisdom.   White Light has nuances within it. It is not as einstein~minnowski are misquoted to have told. They said IF ... THEN about c (steady constant) being 186K mps. These nuances are visible as energy spiraling up through the vortex. 


sat hat

rainbow in the dark



The ancient Egyptian symbol for the letter 'I' describes and also translates as feather, blade and tree; is the same hieroglyph. Evidently this is to link the three themes into one multi~layered concept. I meditated upon this and came to the following, seemingly obvious, conclusions. A feather is the quill, a tool for writing, a pen that is dipped in ink. A blade is a tool for cutting the tip of a feather to make a nib, and also for engraving into wood that printing blocks are made from, or for cutting papyrus that Egyptians use as paper. In todays western culture sawdust pulp from trees is mulched into paper.

This symbol refers to all of this industry, that of the Scribe and therefore it becomes apparent why the Ibis is used to symbolise Thoth the Egyptian Scribe God, who taught humankind the sum total all of our knowledge from only one of his forty thousand books of wisdom. I can guess at Ibis feathers made the finest quills known to the ancient Egyptians.
I was taught from another tradition that a feather symbolises dreams. Certainly people put soft small downy feathers, too little and not reedy enough for making into quills, in their pillows for a good nights sleep. Thoth is from where we get the word Thought so you can see the theme as a whole construct.

Thoth later became Hermes the Alchemist of the Greeks and Romans; so as it develops, as we follow the thought, we can read further insight into its development, as the story grows.

Here we are dealing with Crows, a species of bird common throughout the world in its many guises and known also as Raven. There are many legends and myths of Raven from many different cultures. This account is of my own dealings with them as well as some cultural folklore.

1. the vanishing crow

One morning in 2007 I decided to leave the flat and go for a walk. My head was full of cobwebs and a jaunt out into the fresh air of the nearest park would do me some good. The path along the side of the park is next to a stream, a drainage system, it is sunk down somewhat and there are many bullrush's (reeds) growing there. I sat on the bench at the far end of the park for a while until I felt that now was the exact proper moment that I should move. I did not feel it was time to return to the flat but knew that I had to start walking anyway. Why this precise moment and not later I could not reason but my instincts were telling me strongly to start moving.

There is a tree which several months previously I had climbed and tied a bird box which I had found in the street, figuring it would be better placed somewhere useful than in the street. As I walked beneath this tree, remembering my previous incident with it, time seemed somehow to slow. My attention was drawn up as if by reflex and I saw a huge crow swoop down from the trees and fly very steadily straight toward me above the path, level with my head. I was stunned and froze on the spot. My mind had enough time to notice the creature, realise that it was about to fly right into me, and feeling excitement came came into a sharp focus, bracing in preparation to defend myself. It did not feel that it was going to attack me. I felt time slow down, and simultaneously accelerate, something like watching ink poured into water suddenly reaches that point where it dissolves so the water is no longer two liquids meeting in the same jar, but one blended solution. I have experienced this sensation quite a few times and now believe it to be ‘when two time~streams are syncronising’.

A few meters in front of me our eyes connected, for the flash of a moment.

And then it was gone.

It did not simply change its direction or altitude and fly off somewhere else, and neither did it stop mid~air and flutter. It dematerialised. I took a few steps forward to the place where the crow had vanished, my head now occupying the same space.

I looked up, I looked around, and finally I looked down.

On the grass at the side of the path, just next to my feet, lay the longest crow feather I have ever seen. Forty or fifty centimeters long. I stooped down and picked it up, and discovered two things about it. First, that it is wet from the morning dew. In Wales uk we get a ground frost, as the cool air comes down the moisture in the air freezes and leaves a frost on top of everything it touches, which then melts when the sun rises. This can be extreme enough to kill off saplings as gardeners know. That the feather is damp from the ground frost signifies that it has been there all night long. Secondarily this is backed up by further evidence, that a snail has slithered its way all over the feather and left a silvery trail. The snail was obviously dizzy because the trail is swirls and spirals and squiggles all over the feather. So I knew that the feather had not just dropped from the vanishing crow only a moment ago, but had been there at least for several hours.

In a daze I took the feather and sat back on the wooden bench to go over the incident in my head. Then a thought struck me. The bench is made of wood and painted black. It has a seat and a back, opened like the pages of a book. As well as the marker~pen and pocket~knife graffiti carvings, there are silvery snail markings all over the bench. The snails have been busy with their writing here too. I remember something that a goth~witch friend told me in college years ago when explaining her paintings, about ‘the silver thread’ being ‘the mortal coil’ that connects us to life; I think it was after a poem by an Edgar Allen Poe.

2. Watchmen

Some time after the incident in the park, in 2008, I went to visit my friend Basket-Feather-Owl, who owns a shop selling blades. Outside of her shop on this day was a huge crow. He had been sitting above the door all day and could not be persuaded away from it. As I arrived he hopped down to the floor. We watched the crow and talked of this for a while. I explained that Crows are, just as in the famous Brandon Lee movie ‘the Crow’ (which if you look closely in the background is full of chalk symbols from the Egyptian Hermetic tradition) the Watchmen, who guide souls through Life and death; intermediaries and servants of the Ferryman Charon, boatman of the river Styx, the river of souls. I told her also of my experience in Shaftsbury Park roughly eighteen months previously. I searched to find if there were any other hidden layers of meaning within this experience but could not find any, nor have I since.

In spring of 2009 my Mam wrote an entry on a website called Facebook about how a crow had been seriously attacking her vehicle. It had been at it on and off it all morning, scratching and tearing at the roof with its beak and talons as if trying to get in. I told her that crows are watchmen and that this must mean something significant.

I have just recently met my life partner Kat and us both being goths, I was reminded about the incidents from my past involving crows, since they seem to be following both of us quite a lot recently. I remember my mentor Bryan Charliewood, a very beautiful gothic man teaching me in a park in 1999. The teaching I recall is that he searched around for a few moments beneath a peculiar tree that grows at a 45 degree tilt to the North, and then picked up a specific leaf. This he held up in front of us, having led us away from the tree so that the leaf was precisely covering the tree in my line of sight; so that the leaf matched the shape of the tree perfectly in tilt and veins/branches. I can still feel that moment even now. It feels bluegreen. At that moment my perception of time slowed and it froze. I looked up to the source of a profound peace whose aura we were basked in of a sudden; two crows glided in parallel like train tracks above us toward the west.

2009, May 26. Last night through Facebook I met an Egyptian shaman with whom I have been discussing spirit allies. He told me that crows have been following him recently.

I always know when Kat is focusing on me because I am soothed and it feels bluegreen. We are planning to go to Egypt. She phoned me today and I jumped through the window of my fathers house where my internet console is, to speak with her in the garden so my father couldn’t eavesdrop on our private conversation. I heard the sound of a crow crowing directly above my head and I looked up to smile at it. Then I looked down at my feet and discovered a long crow feather here, beautiful with its greenblue sheen. Nearby I found a second long crow feather, the same greenblue sheen.

3. Bran the Blessed

Kat & I both live in south wales. Wales has a legendary historic figure called Bran the thrice blessed. Kat is from the west; I am from a region near the town Cwmbran which translates into english as ‘Well of Bran’. The Ogham is the Celtic triple~spiral, which like the Buddhist Ohm (it is pronounced the same) refers to a source of energy, a spring, as well as it being the name of the druidic tree script.

After his death Brans head was taken and kept safe. It was awoken many years later by the pagan druids who asked him questions of the changing political state of the states now collectively known as the British Isles. Bran is divinatory, foretelling of that which is to come, and on this occasion he gave a detailed quatrain, something like those of the famous diviner Nostradamus. Bran spoke the poem in secret symbolism known only to the druids and so although we do have a translation copy of events yet to come (which at this time of writing we assume have already happened), nobody can really understand much of it any longer because the christian conquistadors killed all the druids, burned all their wood carvings; so nobody remembers any longer how to interpret what the poem actually is talking of.

Brans head is one of the powerful magickal items of Celtic Britain, along with the Welsh Ceridwens cauldron, a spear of healing taken to Germany during the second world war (Hitler who like Churchill was visited by the magi Aliester Crowley two months prior to the war officially began, was collecting such artifacts); several other mystical items of the proto~British tribes which in general terms relate one each to the four elements, the same symbols as used in the tarot suits; cups, wands, coins, blades.

Brans oracular head is currently protected by the Monarchy of Britain kept locked in the Tower of London on White Hill, which I guess to be a barrow mound. Oh yes do the ruling elite of this nation of nations know full well and guard with military might, in this case the famous Beefeaters, the powers of such magickal items.

Brans sacred spirit animal is the Raven, the crow. There is a legend told that ‘should the ravens ever leave the tower of London then England will fall’. What the public are not generally informed of is that the only reason the Watchmen would stop nesting in the eaves of the tower where they are fed by the Beefeaters, is because they follow and are guarding Brans severed head.

There is an Arthurian legend of the Green Man chopping off peoples heads which I had assumed to be an initiatory story about the death of ego so that true sight can be known, thus true action; the mark of manhood as opposed to childhood. In druidry this can happen at any age although most of the characters of Arthurian legends are middle~aged men.

sat hat

lizard & vine

This true life story happened in 2005.
First time I held hands with Vine was in a big city nightclub. I didn't even want to be there but I had to, instinct duty overiding me, or something very similar to that. Will and Intent, focussed into a particular form, affecting me. I had to. Many fatherly/brotherly protector instincts were surging through me and I had learned the only way I could answer the question of why this should be was to follow the story through, by living it.

Vine was hanging out with the wrong crowd and I was trying to sort her out. Quite why I felt that I had been charged to do this I can’t answer other than witchcraft is involved with this story, several forms of it. By ‘the wrong crowd’ I mean people who meddle with fate, play with other peoples lives, practising witches a coven of some great powa & ability who have not yet seemed to realise or care how often their workings of magick, the weaving of threads, goes wrong; because they are idiots to not be trusting the natural flow. Every weave they make creates ripples and kamma, has consequence that they are too selfish to deal with. Consequences that damage innocent bystanders. I have seen it too often. hanging out with the wrong crowd myself, I have seen it too many times. This is a story about all that.
I saw Vine drawn into this scene by the face value kindness and promise of a rapid rise to powa through social and energetic echelons by a twisted old witch Lose who I know from experience to be a mean soul bitter with a vengeance. There are three people within ten km of here all with the same name (obviously I am using a pseudonym for all of the characters in these true life stories) and all of whom suffered exactly the same disabling physical injury, all three within the same moon. Lose and the other two women who I know and who both have the same name, now both have the same paralysis. Paralysed down the left side of the body. Two from stroke and one from being crushed in a sporting accident. Thats is a powerful symbol.
Whatever form of magick was being practised that did this to the three women (darkmoon magick?); it went wrong. I believe this to be what happens when idiots meddle with powers greater than their understanding; when spells are cast that are not specific enough in detail and precise in their working. Spells that backfire because the spellcaster is a powa~gamer seeking to cause a greater change to the natural flow than they are able to contain. It is beyond their vision to contain and steer all the elements, all the threads of the weave as it manifests. I guess that somehow, more complexity got into the weave than was intended and this muddied the casting, that the outcome was messed up. That is my understanding of it anyway. I remember with this incident that there is the wiccan lore of three by three, which is usually translated to mean a slightly different thing than this but then the consequence that we have seen here does highlight the lore quite obviously. They say that twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern. Thats a powerful teaching. It is all about belief structure. In criminology and psychology alike, when discerning the mentality of a psychotic, follows specific procedures; and such applies here to the workings of the magickal mind. What we are dealing with here is the Wiccan religion as practised by members of my immediate community. It is the fastest growing religion in Wales.
Understanding the intensity of the affect it had had upon her, Lose immediately became a devout practitioner. I should point out here that for all her nastiness, I believe that Lose is the victim of that particular working of magick, the results of which set her on a particular path in which even darker magick users are involved. I understand that when a situation changes, it is wise to find out who benefits from the overall outcome. This is likely to be the key player in who caused the change in the first place. It is an ancient strategy. By way of balance in the universe, and the nature of energy is of course to seek balance; Win became her teacher in the arcane arts, just as he has been my own to some extent. He takes a very backstage role in this current story as I wish to tell it. He simply drove the van, fell asleep, woke up and drove us all home again (to my perceptions at least). To where and for what ends, is the revelation that this story unveils.
The temptation... the lure of Lose’ gifts, offers of kindness & seemingly wise advice to a lost and adventurous young girl so as to draw her into the tribal elders diabolical schemes and manipulations... I should say now and here that I have seen Lose skin crawl and her teeth change. Not regular human teeth but inwardly curled and demonic. Most of the time she looks like a sweet, pretty woman but there are occasions when the surface veil breaks thin, especially when she lets open her power and revels in feeling her lusts flowing through her. In my opinion there is nothing wrong with unbridled passion even when powerful enough to cause physical shapeshift, although with Lose when she shows her true nature it is not into something beautiful like a butterfly that she turns. I quote; “I see them young pretty women dancing and having a good time and i want to make them suffer. Does that sound wrong to you? I really don't care.” The hatred in her voice told the full story where the words were mere labels. ‘want to make them suffer’ was spoken in the undertone of; ‘and now have power to do so, and intend to.”
Next time I heard her speak softly inviting me over to meet her new young friend Vine fresh out of school. It was Lose Intent that had brought us to the nightclub. I was explaining to Vine how this is a temple for so many people, the original temples or what we later came to call temples being places of gathering communion, music, partnering up and dancing in celebration of Life, probably taking drugs back then in the day just like some people do now. I was drug free by now having given up that life for my health and sanity; I had only gone back into this zone again to try & free Vine from it and teach her why I sought to do this; the result of my lessons, my own experienced wisdoms. About how at face value the existance of weekend clubs is for many people a hedonistic release from a boring week, but the actuality involves a shamanic awareness of daemon worshipping witches using drugs to make zombies in their voodoo rituals. The same applies to street dealers with sigil~carved athaema for dope cutting~up knives as it is for state psychiatric pharmaceutical chemical drugs endorsed by control~state capitalist established regime. Shamanism, voodoo; is human culture through all levels, always was and for the foreseeable future probably always will be. Ethics aside here we are dealing with facts of cause and effect, perceptions stripped clean. But you have to live through it to know and recognise it and thats where I was at, knowing it, having lived through it and come out the other side with a resolute mind, a healing body & a clean future. Even in a club full of everything I could walk like a haji, a holyman, a pilgrim blessed by the gods to be moving through a temporal zone untouched by it and the allure of hedonism. I was twenty~six. It was thirteen yeas since my first spliff.
There was a guy in the club dressed up as a lizard, with lizard eyes. I had seen this before with a fiery redhead I had known many years ago when I myself was fifteen. She was sexy like a vampyr goth girl and the last time I saw her, she turned to me as she entered a nightclub to seek the bloke she had been chasing. Beneath the ultra~violet light of the club entrance lobby her normally human almond shaped green eyes turned into yellow slitty cats eyes. Her demeanor said goodbye and I never saw her again. That was my first introduction into the real power of witchcraft as a teenager, and an insight into how so many of the cultural mythologies taught to us are not based on fiction but on real things, hidden from the mundane world of tv brainwashed zombi state~fed herd perceptions. I guess you could say that I have been on the lookout for such things ever since. And here it seemed I was picking up on a similar thread, as symbols that are the experiences we live through once more returned to the same page of the book of tarot. This time however I was no longer playing the role of the fool card but some other.
What better disguise for a lizard person just like the ones in David Icke books than to dress up as a lizard in a nightclub. His eyes were not contact lenses because so far as I am aware contact lenses are not advanced enough to dilate the pupils. Fantasy ranges I have since researched are plastic with a design printed on and they do not change like real eyes do. Although I have seen some on Torchwood, the Doctor Who spinoff tv series, where they have advanced digital recorders in the contact lenses and I am sure these can be built using technologies available Now; so I  assume that there are people who already have such toys. A lizardman perhaps would have access to such advanced technologies although they would assumedly be used more to give him a human guise rather than as part of his double~bluff lizard outfit. I saw his slitty feline lizard eye pupils dilate and it wasn't just the lighting in the club or confused thinking on my part because I was staring him in the eyes at the time it happened. He had been following Vine through the club and in the moment when Lose had me occupied talking, young Vine was spoken to by the guy.
Always he enters into the gap between the frames of my perception when my Attention is otherwise engaged. I ignored Lose who is big enough to look after herself and watched as the Lizardman blew a vapour into Vines face through a tube  he carried, a white straw. She slumped woozy. Stepping forward to catch her arm to steady her from falling, I held Vines hand for the first time and took her downstairs to a chillout room near the club entrance which had fresher air in it. Lose was safe because she was talking with her friend anyway, she had mentioned that they were going outside soon. together and that I should stay with Vine. Babysitting in a nightclub, not much my good idea of fun but there you go, this is the  role I had been charged with this night by the apparent fates.
The Lizardman followed us. I threw up a ward rune in the air around us but my Attention was distracted by some hippychick asking me if I had any rizlas, “oi mate you got any skins?” in her Bristol accent (birr~zul or bristle); and in this gap moment during which I established in my head that the hippychick did indeed mean rizla's rather than condoms, both of which are called skins; and denied  possession of either item because I had given up both sex and smoking, one recently and one a few years ago; the Lizardman was back on Vine again and blowing more vapour stuff into her face through a straw. This time she collapsed, her head on his lap.He began doing weird shit with his hands above her head. I studied him, as he did this, never having seen a genuine rieki or siechim energy healer acting in this way before and deciding that what he was doing was far from a healing.
Thankfully I was sitting right next to Vine as this happened and so I stared at him strongly enough to distract his Attention from his freaky activity. I could feel my presence move and envelop both Vine and the Lizardman. What I saw and felt from him about his actions of blowing knock~out vapour into young girls faces, was no remorse. He did what he did because it is what he does. Pure will. Pure confidence. Powerful. His ego~aura was demanding that I had to respect it, admire it, and at the same time that such a gloss would slip through the fingers of my mind, that I would instantly forget him, he is invisible to me as my distracted attention picks up on some other line of thought. His flash~instant judgement decision that I am not as sleek, either perceptively nor as is evident from my clothes, personality wise. (I don’t even care nor remember what I was wearing, probably camo~style combats and a black or grey hoody top; this was before I did my dreadlocks).
I realised that the analysis that I could taste as I was receiving it was all about looks and image. The energies swirling about us as I squared up to him, as our two worlds pulsed into one shared moment. An energy exchange, information bond. Energy seeking a balance. A power game between two alpha males. I hate this shit. Especially where women are involved. Its all ego crap and women who sucker for that aren’t worth hanging onto. Time slowing down because where I sent my own Attention was expanding the moment into which I was looking, in which I could analyse every nuance of data filtered through my perceptions, which for once seemed to be working quite well at the moments when I drew a clarity together. Or perhaps it was merely that my focus sharpened as I entered the lizardmans energy field, his sleek and fast~witted aura. I noticed that was picking up on his confidence and feeding on it, feeling myself become so confident. I'm empathic; I can do this, analyse people by going into them and feeling their emotional range, what I call psymotional (psychic emotions) range. the correct term is telempathic; telepathic~emotions.
This guy was a lizard. And full of drugs of some very expensive clean sort that I could not identify. A designer drug, no doubt a vapour. Expensive. One he is used to, relies upon. For a flash I hear him question himself in response to my questions of him, as to whether he does too much of this focus~sharpening chemical. He replaced the doubt instantly with a self~affirmation. This guy is elite. Clever. Not much real personality in there though, not compared to the complexity of the rough and ready sorts I am used to dealing with. Just a sleek Will and no morality about methods of acquiring a fuck for the night, nor even if she is awake & aware to enjoy it. Tiny inner laughter from deep within me at what a slave this sleek lizardman is to be so overwhelmed by his base drives; and an astonishment at the heights he has achieved in developing his methods to sate them.
‘You might be a lizardman,’ I thought, ‘but I am a brujo trained by many brujo; who has been through so much shit this life that you ain’t getting away with acting like that, not within my field of perception, not to my tribe sister. And you do need to be told this, that there are ethics in this world and that you are, in my opinion, within my immediate influence, breaking them. And it’s wrong.’
That is the assertation I sent into him while staring into his eyes.
I spoke allowed; “It is wrong.”
Smug on my own holier than thou ego~trip.
He replied reflexively, instinct~awareness converting subtle reaction into affirmations to steer the telepathic exchange; ‘your ethicss mate and although we could discusss ethicss, I can’t be bothered because you don't exisst.’ He looked away. By primal law of the jungle this means that I had outstared him and therefore I had won, although I had no proof that lizardman is playing by the same primal laws. Actually he looked straight back at Vine who was groggy but opening her eyes with her head on my lap.At some point while I was hooked into lizardmans psy she had transferred her head from him to me, symbolic of the energy game being played here.
“Itss a massage.” He told me. That's when his eyes dilated.
“Thats my girlfriend!” I told him and I pushed him with energy.
Lizardman did not appear to see the relevance of any relationship I may or may not be having with the girl, nor the relevance of me. We could both see that she was quite willing and open to the experience of being vapoured by a lizardman and wherever that could lead. Which was half the problem I was having with looking after her.  I had lived my whole life up to this point thinking that there is a behavioral code amongst cohabitors of this world regarding personal liberties. I mean, there are human rights laws and stuff to underline the common consensus. Lizardman got me questioning this  my assumption as he stared at me. I looked down at Vine. The sort of women I prefer to spend time with would have kneed him in the happysacks by now. An example to my mind of how naive young Vine is and that answers why I had been sent to be in this scene with her as a protector. I had also noticed that every time I asked myself why am I protecting her? is when the lizardman was approaching and so the idea of just ignoring her completely and going off to the dancefloor by myself to see if I could pull a slinky raven haired & dirt~eyed woman of my own age, selfish behaviour that it would have been, was a part of his control aura that I was picking up on. When I claimed her with the energy blanket, of my Attention, Lizardman receded.
Vine woke up and between making mmm ah baby sexy gaspy breathy sounds, said that she felt strange. I put my hand on her shoulder in ownership of her because she was from my tribe and I felt I should be protecting her from lizardmen with chemical vapours for breath. She wasn’t my girlfriend in the kissy i~love~you holding hands romantic definition of the word but technically as a female friend... I knew the witch Lose had set this scene up to try and get me together with Vine; and that I did not want to play into any more of Lose devious schemes much less allow her to choose my partners for me. I didn’t even want to be here this nightclub but had agreed to it because of the way she had been talking about Vine when she mentioned going to the club a few days ago. Vine was 15 and this is a hardcore techno club with all sorts of craziness going on in it. Besides which Lose had already abandoned her so she could go off and get loose with her new friends in the alleyway as she does and has on previous occasions I have been out with the crew. Considering what she Lose been through, what happened to her with her diablement, the learning curve that she has been through, I for one really cannot judge her for wanting to go out and live her life to the fullest as she sees it; with wild abandon and no stupid ethical code to bind her & limit her freedom, to deprive her of enjoying herself. If the theory of balance is such that we have to pay a tithe to the universe  for our privaliges then the losing the use of half her body is it; she is owed.
In the chill room of the club the atmospheric tension was receding and I was tuning up again. Many instincts telling me to go and sit with Vine by the wall, away from the through~way. First of all because a group of people had just made a space over there by standing up to leave the room, this group were trying to find footspace to walk to between all the seated people and in doing so they were forming an effective block between us and the lizardman who was disappeared by the time these people had cleared. Also because as my psychology was relaxing and reeling and swirling I experienced something that I quite often have done as I try to find my own headpsace in a crowded zone of partied up drugged up people; listening to the sounds and overwhelmed by them, sounds all around and sounds within me balancing, so that I can hear one random word from everybody who is speaking all at the same time in the area and all these words line up and turn into a constructive sentence offering me advice or perhaps it is my thoughts being spoken from the mouths of all the people around me, alienating me from all of them while simultaneously trapping me into this cycle until I stop overheating and the pressure drops.
Vine was looking up at me by now and I was thinking the same as what the stream of dissassociated voices that made linear sense to me were saying; 'go and sit by the wall, that space has just opened up just for you ~ because you are that special!' As I stood I entered a different headspace. I caught a flash vision of walking into the main dancefloor room as if I was seeing the world through the eyes of a parallel dimension version of myself, one who had abandoned Vine to the lizard and gone fr a boogie and to scope out the talent. Then I felt the lizardman leave my mind to concentrate on the new headspace he had just walked into and I realised that I had actually caught a glimpse of the world through his eyes at that moment.
It was later that I had a fantasy of reporting to the cops about the incident of Vines disappearance if I had not been there, had I took my eyes of her again for a second; “yes she was abducted by lizardman just like the ones in David Icke, he was dressed up as one but his eyes gave him away. I don’t know his age it’s hard to ascertain when dealing with shapeshifters. somewhere between eighteen and thirty I would guess thats in human years. No officer I am not on any drugs myself, really. etc.”
I asked Vine how she felt.
"I think we should go and ssit by the wall over there." she tells me; "it might be lesss confusing."
"Yeah that's just what I was thinking. Can you stand?"
"I feel horny." she said.
By the wall is less brightly lit and more secluded. Time for a reality check. I am involved with several layers of reality overlapping here and all happening at once. Different versions of the story I am living; from my point of view, from Vines who is currently wasted, from the general onlookers, from lizardman, from Lose who is I assume by now outside getting frisky in the alley with some random guy she has just pulled, from Win who I assume to be sleeping in the van, from whichever spirits are looking down upon and working through us all here to whom I am trying to do the right thing in the eyes of, by protecting this girl who I am succeeding in feeling chaste towards despite the fact that her own actions are laughably sleazy when I step back to look at it. And I am questioning myself as to whether I actually want to be leading a spaced out & horny young girl into a secluded spot in a nightclub.
Of course such an experience would be awesome and lush but somehow it feels exactly what I dont want to be doing at his moment. It feels very wrong somehow, I can't explain why. At any rate I can feel that this is exactly what Vine wants me to be doing, and some part of me wanting the same but a greater and more spiritual part of me doesn't want to be there at all at this moment anyway and doesn’t actually find this young blond chick all that attractive anyway. Questioning my own motives, questioning myself, digesting psychic attack from the lizardman and the shifting ego~confidence~paranoia balances of the rooms occupants.
There’s an interesting older woman next to the clear spot by the wall and when I reach out with my senses to feel my way into the next moment, to learn how to move forward into it, I feel that she I are going to have an interesting scene. I am  noticing how easy everything is when I follow the waysigns and take reality one step at a time, making the choice to do the right thing every moment where there is a reality gate. Around me the room is shuffling as many people move through their reality gates to whatever paths are leading them. In a moment I know the room will calm again and the vibe will tone, will harmonise, and everyone will feel comfortable again and less sketchy after the scene shifts.
Vine will be safer in the dark spot by the wall. I pull her to her feet. We blink and are instantly sitting together by the wall where it is cooler and the air flows. As if by magick, as if no moment had passed between. I do not have many memory blanks in my whole life but this moment is one of them. Another was when I stepped out into the road and got hit by a bus and then after feeling and hearing ever so gentle angel wings, I was standing on the pavement again. Another is when I sleep and don't dream. I hate that. I hate to lose consciousness. Another happened later and also involves Vine and Bristol city, when I was running in the opposite direction from her because she had pissed me off so much and I wanted to go home and catch the last train. I left her in a coffeehouse with her friend. Something weird happened that night and suddenly I was not running in the opposite direction but rounding the corner back into the coffeeshop. I can't explain that one much either.The only thing I have found similar to these incidents is from Carlos Caseteneda books when the Nagual pushes him through a door in one town and he falls through the airport of another country with absolutely no recollection of what happened in the time between. Carlos Casteneda who taught me that a Warrior Acts Impeccably, Don Juan Matos teachings, and my head was full of them this night as well as I was trying my best to look after Vine.
An open window above us. The elder woman smiles at me. In an instant an energy deal has been done. I instantly like her. Blink! and we have had a massive conversation that didn’t need wording. She is chanting Jewish prayers over me and making hand gestures above and around me. I assume it is protective. I am still a bit sketched out from the whole evening so farbut the Blessing is welcome, I can feel the good heart in it and the cold logic required for a genuine light~working, the clinical analysis and precision involved with tonal & gestural magick of Enochian. I studied Dr John Dee and recognise a master practitioner of it when I see one. And am also praying that she gets the words right. I felt cleansed and calmed afterwards, all the pieces of me in their proper places; empowered from being balanced.
‘I told you this place is a temple!’ I think at Vine who is swaying groggy in and out of her woozy hornyness next to me but is totally unbothered by lizardmen at this moment. I relax. I remember the part of a great book called the Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield in which the characters learn how to see auras; they see the energy of Intent as it moves from person to person, following their Attentions, and they can read each other from this. When people are giving and when they are taking. The book was right about many things but should have mentioned how every individual flavours energy differently, we are all unique.
The elder woman is chanting, Jewish prayers, seraphim. I recognise a few words of her speech from my studies and feel respect and gratitude to her but I am also digesting the lizardmans protective meme of ‘none of what this person is doing is relevant’ so I am questioning if the prayer is actually affecting my lightbody and for how long. Because its all a part of her perceptual reality & not necessarily therefore of my own, even though we are in this together. I watch Vine who is curiously looking at what is happening to me now. she feels it is safe and goes back into her fuggy haze. I thank the elder woman, the priestess, even though I am unsure if it is Vine that she is protecting me from. Onlookers working on the assumption that the 15 year old girl I entered the room holding hands with is somebody I am actively dating and regularly shagging, or intending to. After the angelic energy cleansing I feel that I have been bathed by refreshing water. A real healer, a studied one at that. Jewish magicians often are they have a very gritty reality about them because, what they have had to go through, and what they are plugged into, is so humane and accepting that its texture feels coarse even in its smoothness.
We talk for a while & decide that we all three of us need fresh air. Another flash in my minds eye; we are sat in a car for a scene in some parallel reality that for a split second overlaps with this one, as she later recalls this exact moment and I feel her strong recollection of it piercing into both my time & my  perception. Her Attention is very sharp and strong to do this; such as her tradition enables and requires. I question if Jewish whitelight magick involving Angels is any more pure or morally superior to dark Celtic witchcraft or lizardman vapours, or whatever ethics my delusion is full of. It all depends into what we put our trust and what we act upon. Relying on others to perform our own decision making process for us rather than utter self reliance, which is pretty hardcore approach to any reality especially the allegedly socially based one of a nightclub. Into what do we put our trust? Instinct. Then are stood in the alleyway outside the club, the three of us. Cold out here. I am still holding hands with Vine. Having led us to a place to cool down after the intensity of indoors the Priestess who still has work to do inside the club wishes us well and returns indoors. She did leave me with a lingering thought too; ‘you need it’. I regret not having taken her contact details so I could become her student. So do the Fates weave.
I honestly don’t know if she meant the thought in relation to Jewish magick or the girl I am holding hands with the theme of sex wrapped all over her like an oil from the lizardmans vapours. I look around. Lose is stood just over there talking with her friend; the witches Attention fits perfectly like a jigsaw into this next moment after the Jewish priestess returned into the club. Step by step the threads weave. Perhaps Attention and Intent creates this, as I suspect, or is it that we are now walking the path of one frequency, one clockwork linear process of reality unfolding, some mechanism of the angelic prayer spoken into my aura this night and the natural clickety~clackety syncronising of all the people, all the segregated waterbodies, drops of an ocean, swimming and finding their places and amplifying electrical energy that creates particles waveforms as everyone lives their fantasies here this night, dreaming our experiences. My eyes are flickering like strobe and I need to rest, I am exhausted.
Outside the club while I was holding hands with Vine again to keep her steady on her feet and to stop her wandering off someplace, asking if she is okay and wondering why in everyone else eyes it looks like I have just pulled this  young girl who I am looking after whilst in my own mind I wish she hadn’t led me through such a bizarre experience as this night has been and wishing that I was back in there dancing to the music & chatting up sexy raven haired dancers of my own age. But tonight was not a night for that, it was a night for me being acting out a role in someone else's fantasy, here because fate had sent me here; Fate or witchcraft, and I was afraid to leave this young girl to the devices of evil lizardmen and bad old witches.
I am struggling against the limitations within me, placed upon me, this is what I am trying to explain with regards to witchcraft meddling with other peoples lives. It inhibits our freedoms. I want to be free and to go in there and let loose and feel happy but I am living the path of protectorate to a girl who is a pain in the arse yet nevertheless I am holding her hand and sexy women giving me longing looks are writing me off because I am obviously attached already. Sweet injustices! I come to these realisations as I stand here in the street asking Vine if she is warm enough. I have her jacket in my free hand because shes a dizzy head and would have forgot it. Just breathing in cool air and waking up a bit.
At this moment the lizardman found us again. He told Vine that he wants her. I imagined the bollocks it takes to walk up to a couple and tell the girlfriend that you want her and walk away again. In Wales people get kneecapped for acting like that. In Bristol England just on the other side of the Severn bridge there are lizardmen walking around openly out for whatever they set their minds on, young girls specifically. I just looked at him as he walked away back into the club.
Vine squeezed my hand, the first sign of life in her and the first sign of her actually thinking which was a good sign. ‘
"Here’s your jacket." I say.
Lizardman left a lingering thought in my mind; ‘ah, but that is between him and her, nothing to do with me at all.’ My mind is in overdrive and I see that the inflection of this statement works both ways. He wants her; that is private between them. And the same thought meaning in another level, he is giving up on her because she is apparently with me.  read it twice from both points of view. I take this statement as his last comment on ethics. Sleek bastard.
Hang on, I'm the one with the girl in my hand.
And me being a regressive monkey begins questioning my own sexual ethics and watching my mind opening to visions which I blame on telepathic immoral lizardmen in nightclubs of chemical induced orgies with underage girls with no guilt and fun for all. Sick. I realise that I am old fashioned. Damn it. Jewish prayers of purity and spirit moving around me and I tune up to the angelic spectrum through which I had evidently plugged into thanks to the healer, a spectrum that I had been chasing all night. And then Lose is walking toward us. "Come on" she says "Lets go wake him up; its home time now."
Back at Wins flat after they had both gone to bed, Vine who is staying the night on their sofa, asks me before I leave if I like her. What she means is do I fancy her and do want to fuck her. It was about two weeks before I saw her again to give her an answer, by which time the moon phase had changed significantly.
I have a lot to thank Vine for. She showed me my limitations. She taught me my breaking point. But that came later. The last time I saw my tribe sister Vine was when she visited me six months ago in early 2009. She has been living in a van in a forest.

the strangest day
catpains log, additional: 06.08.09
the following is also a true story. Hey I am a truthsayer, my spiritual creed is 'we see as we say' which is to say, honest heart is honest eyes, tell no lies. Incidentally I recently read a beautiful line in a great book;
"we have one eye and two hearts"
~Barbara Hand Clow, the Pleiadian Agenda
Vine and I were sitting on the northern slop of a sacred Celtic barrow mound. It has a druids ring grove atop it, a wild grove. The place is important to me, there are buzzards there amongst all the other creatures, foxes, rabbits, squirrels, insects, many types of tree including those pines on the brow which once I crawled on my belly as a seven year old child beneath and still got the lower branches stuck in my hair; now I have to jump high to grab the lower branches. No longer able to see out over the world from the vantage of a climbing frame hidden in the trees, from which a child could peek out above the forest; now the place has a very different atmosphere, and still I know every ivy vine and facet of this place, every special tree mutated into elf land by the quartz temple of stones within the hill, hidden safe.
Vine & I could spend time without speaking words, attuned to vibration & primal awareness together we didn't need them. It can be like this with some people who also seek truth and with whom a great deal of quality time is shared. One of our many stories should rightly be called the Strangest Day.
I looked at her and she at me. And there were people seeing through our eyes. The eagles called.
"This is how it is. How it works."  thinks Jim as he stares at Pam. She stares back at him in wonder at this strong psychedelic substance he has introduced her too. LSD~25, and I am assuming its the Owsley batch he sent his minions to acquire from the Grateful Dead, Ken Keseys bunch in San Franscisco. Owsley acid was legend; according to Tom Wolfe the band practised in the day to drown out the sound of their acid making machine. They left the lid off and the dust blew down the stairs and out into the street, kickstarting the whole hippy movement. Bless them.
I made a load of notes about this, an exact transcript of the conversation they were having through our minds. If I ever find these notes i will copytype them into here. For now, here's the tip of a ragged wing. 
This is real, this is a true story. Today I came across the video above. I have previously heard an edited version of the dialogue from An American Prayer album which was compiled from recordings discovered in the studio after Jims disappearance assumed death cover up. He had made them alone with a bottle of whiskey unbeknownst to anybody & the band overdubbed some music to extracts of his poetry. Hearing this reminds me of the story I have of a sacrifice made by one of the buzzards from the hill fort, part of my spiritual path, my medicine journey, in which I communed with Pacal Votan the mayan snake king. He took me and we traveled with both the spirit and warm body of the broken~necked buzzard to a place of power, a mayanesque temple where a building was returning to nature, overgrown with vines, peace and quiet and vibrating higher than the world around it, so that I could learn some mayan rituals. But that dear friends is a story for another time.
Jim Morrisson, the Lizard King. I believe him. He has shown me the truth of it.


sat hat

thin red lines

the millennium, 2000 ad.
I was living in Cheltenham and hanging out at the Axiom Art Centre.
This place was brilliant; vegan restaurant, bar, nightclub, art gallery, studios, theatre space.
A haven for single parent mums, aging hippies, creative and alternative types, stoners, beatniks and the underground movement in general.
Sadly the government sent agents in to shut it down (allegedly, ahem) because of what it represented to them;
a socialist threat to their right~wing control regime, as it was meeting place where ideas, knowledge and spirituality were promoted.

One of the artists working there had a lot of troubles.
Mind troubles, like many creative people encounter as they inhabit a world aside from the one considered ‘normal’ by the tv brainwashed mainstream.
This guy came out of the local rest~home and took up residence in the studios upstairs.
The building was beautiful, an old mill~house, it had a peaceful atmosphere.

“This series” he explained to me “I have had to paint the same picture thirty times. It is two tones of blue, and between them is a thin line of red. I had to paint the picture so many times because I couldn’t find the right tone of red.”
Abstract expressionism.
Knowing a little of Toms past I intuited immediately how this picture was about his state of mind, the violent slash that separates one soft world of the sky and one slightly darker soft world of water.
In symbolism these representing knowledge and emotion.
Or so it meant to me, he was very shy about it and didn’t offer his own explanation apart from a gentle prozac~twitching shrug.
It was a clever painting and it got me thinking about a few things.

Six years later I was living in Newport, an hour and a half drive away from Cheltenham, and still hanging out with fringe artists.
My friend Tim had been having a lot of troubles, and I caught up with him in the street a few months after he had been released from the local rest~home.
We talked of conspiracy theories for a while, his research and activism in this area is one thing that had driven his own perspective far from the consensus held by most people, a cause for his feelings of alienation because most people are not yet ready to believe what is going on in this country.

“I have been painting again!” Tim tells me excitedly, his eyes glazed from the prozac he has been taking.
“I had to paint the same picture ten times. It is two tones of blue, and between them is a thin line of red. I had to paint the picture so many times because I couldn’t find the right tone of red.”

It was not just the words, but the way that he was saying the words.
Exactly the same intonation as I had heard six years previously.
For a moment I wondered if it was me, if I was stuck in some loop cycle where I had to relive the same information over and again.
I gulped as I realized the consequences of the information I was digesting.

“Oh” I said “that sounds interesting.”
My mind was racing with revelations of this.
I decided it would be impolitic to explain to my friend how I had heard his story on another occasion in the past.
My mind flooded with imagery from episodes of the Prisoner TV series.
We chatted for a few minutes longer before we both had to rush off on our missions.

The other place I have heard an example of this is when speaking with an air stewardess.
I told her how frightened I was of turbulence, considering that strong winds buffeting a sliver of tin~can as it roars through the sky gives me the shivers.

“Oh, it’s not turbulence you should worry about, it’s the take~off and landings.” She joked in a comforting voice.
I asked her three times about this and every time she replied the same stock phrase in the same tone of voice; “Oh, its not turbulence you should worry about, it’s the take~off and landings.”

Exactly the same, with her eyes glazed and inward looking, followed by a chuckle and a change of subject.
Look out for this.
In your own speech also; how many times do you open your mouth and the words that come out are merely stock phrases, easy to use as reply because you don’t actually have to use your mind; robot autopilot speaking for you so your mind can sleep numbly.
So much the better to program you with...

English is such a poetic language, the range of expression is wonderful, don’t you think?
sat hat

silver serpent

Silver Serpent, Green Tree, Red Water

“Blood is thicker than Water... but Water is purer than Blood” ~Vine

It came to pass that I was walking out of the city with my sister Vine. It came as something of a rescue for me who had been trapped locked into a box like my unworn pair of shoes or a chipped nail rusting in a coffin. As we walked I told her again of the folk-rock legend the Levellers whose music is so cool! Their folk-lore memory of the Battle of the Beanfield where in the 1980s Thatchers british police trapped the traveller community, the Convoy, into a field on their annual pilgrimage to Stonehenge, a celtic holy site built for festivals, and beat the living shit out of them and their vehicles. Of Men-An-Tol whose haunting atmospheric sound speaks peace deep from the collective soul of pagan peoples and the sites we cherish. Of the girl from fifteen years ago who hasn’t gone away, and of words such as “Headlights, White Lines, Black Tar Rivers, travelling aorund this country as it withers”.

We walked the fume-stained dusty cracked concrete pavements and we spoke aloud of Music, Journeys and Symbols, of Metallurgy, Alchemy and Life inspiring Art.

Vine has been in a car wreck and bears the scars. That she can walk at all is nothing short of a miracle. Her body wears scars and it has left her hard and hurting.

On the farthest fringe of Zooport City near a roundabout roadworks site is a strip of forest yay deep and twisting with pathways where kids from the local deprived and desolate comprehensive school come to get drunk and experiment with sexuality; where flytippers too mad to travel the same distance to the free county skip drop caches of black binliner garbage to rot and feed imaginations of what innocent animals hide here.

As we crossed the road to walk alongside these pockmarked woods we discovered a full bottle of nasty chemical red Oasis juice drink. I won’t touch the stuff because its full of toxins but Vine was proud enough to carry our free gift from the universe, just in case we got thirsty in our journey and because as she pointed out; “You should never look a gift horse in the mouth.” I answered that the word Gift derives from Germanic ‘Geft’ which translates to English as ‘Poison’ and asked her if she had heard of Troy. Quote Data in the Goonies; "Yeah we know Troy, he's that shit guy." Nevertheless the bottle was by now necesarily imbued with enchanted qualities and become a part of the story of this journey, which as time has seen is memorable.

A little further along the path we found a secret little route into the woods and hid there, revitalising and feeling the fresh of this place. We pissed and giggled like the Invisible People from John Booremans wonderful masterpiece, The Emerald Forest. After having recently made our way through the grisly and depressing city we were glad to get a chance to spend some time energising ourselves in nature, and spend some time together for it was a while since we had shared a scene and not properly since her accident. It was here that we encountered the Silver Serpent lurking in the green.

Okay so it was not actually silver, since technically it was a cheap metal alloy entangled around from an unwound roll measuring some sixty feet in size and far too bulky for us to carry whole, our being keepers of such interesting finds; magpies always with some planned use for the things the universe provides us on our travels. The metal was half a foot wide and serrated sharp like a violent cheese~grater. We cut our hands in handling it and Vine especially so for her desire and determination to win this thing was great enough to suffer pain and pay the blood sacrifice. Eventually we wrought enough of the beast free of undergrowth and packed it using sticks and polythene into our pack.

Vine is multilayered and has designs, in metaphor and certitude to create a scultpure of this wire; reformed by fire into a liquid pourable to a mould. Vine was studying sculpture at the time in Carmarthen where Merlin the Enchanter is known to have been born. We have previously together shared time in forests all across this land and found upon Tabernacle Hillside a freshwater spring which we spent several afternoons cleansing of broken glass that had found its way to pollute the holy natural water, considering it our druidly and dryadly duty to perform such act of kindness to a beautiful place. So many shards could at 700 degrees in a furnace be fused into a window, sharing scenes perhaps.

The artists mind is mad with fires of potential when encountering such symbols, which to any other person is disguised as a soggy cardboard cutout labelled; ‘normal’. Time transpires is frequency based, not linear. So when Time sees a projection through into a form, material becomes Artifact worked into new appreciation. That is when a Journey sees completion. Often, all we are left with is snakepaths and memory scars to offer clues. Vines shoulder bears the mark of the Celtic cross, or a christian fish, depending how she flexes her arm.

The Oasis bottle, red liquid that I associate with the blood we shed teasing scrap from the wildwood. This went undrunk and ended up back in my haunted old flat in the city until I threw it out when I finally moved away from there.

Of the bitterly biting silver metal coil we had wound and bound into a bag, I still do not yet know what happened to that dangerous stuff. I am hoping that her sculpture was successful wise and useful. She had been speaking of a cauldron grael, where I had envisioned a journey snake; but thats another story.