Now that a month has passed...

 

I will be back soon. It's a good thing that Wilson's first novel doesn't contain too many twists and turns. It'll be easy to jump back into. As weak as this sounds, it has been hard to focus with what is going on in my country. 

Is God?: The Sex Magicians Chapter Twelve

In Throbbing Color

The Sex Magicians Chapter Twelve: "Is God male? female? or neuter?" (pg. 81-83)

God makes its only appearance in one of the chapter titles and it echoes Wilson's first published piece in Krassner's The Realist. There Wilson asked the audience to consider the size of God's dick ("willy") if we are to imagine God as a male. Here, he asks us to consider God as not only male, but female or "neuter," a term which, even in today's widening world of gender identity, has failed to have caught on. The exercise seems to be of some obvious utility while pondering the possible spiritual depths of the chapbook at hand. As a note, while I deliberately avoided telling my daughter what to believe in regards to the Gods, I did have some stipulations while she was growing up. One of the most important stipulations was that we never referred to a possible "over"God as "he" or "she" but always as "it." My reasoning was that it is of no utility to conceptualize a human-like God in the first place, considering that this posited being would have also designed cholera, tsunamis, tapeworms, extinctions and botflys. (One reason I think so many "religious" people are unable to interact with reality in a meaningful way is the sheer impossibility of the mental task of reconciling an omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent deity and the harsh facts of life.) 

Back at Sput's pad things are getting spooky for Dr. Prong. Prong who is obviously stoned out of his gourd and unprepared for such an eventuality, is sinking in a sea of flesh. Here he has been arguably transported into a deeper interface with Malkuth as the world of sensation by his ingestion of Turkish tobacco. Wilson notes that while there is no such thing as a true aphrodisiac in Sex, Drugs & Magick, he also doesn't undersell the possibilities of combing marijuana and sex. As one of marijuana's most common effects is heightened sensory awareness, sex can become something that seems to last much longer where seemingly every bit of physical contact is noted and what would be a small adjustment to a sober mind becomes the rocking of ships of flesh on starlit spans of sheets. 

Dr. Prong, like many straights, vastly underestimates what it is possible to think about and do under the effects of cannabis. While I'm no good at mathematics to begin with, I'm sure those who have more experience in the subject are able to ponder on some of the more extraordinary conclusions that come down from the realm of pure numbers while under the influence. Despite his concerns about decorum, Dr. Prong is easily coerced into joining in the unfolding orgy. He becomes a piston in a daisy chain and also a self-contained philosopher as his training tries to kick in, despite his lack of objectivity. 

Thus is Dr. Prong able to escape his cycle of anxiety over the mysterious Ezra Pound and the fate of Fernando Poo. 

(The next chapter is a doozy and I'm still on the mend, so we'll be back later this week with more of The Sex Magicians. - A.C.)

A sauce of catsup, horse radish and peyote shreddings: The Sex Magicians Chapters Ten and Eleven

 

Alternate cover to Alan Moore's Providence #11: Abdul Alhazred vs. the Mama Vibe

Let's see if this one gets put behind a disclaimer: 

The Sex Magicians Chapter Ten: "Who is the Master who makes the grass green? (p. 72-75) 

Well, with one of Wilson's fondest chestnuts as the chapter title, we should be able to know that something is going to happen. And it does: herein we are introduced to the titular sex magicians, the Church of Scientific Illuminism, or, the Illuminati. (It could be argued that all of the various protagonists are sex magicians with varying degrees of awareness, but at some point we need  to abandon Kether and make distinctions.) Scientific Illuminism was one of Crowley's earliest names for his philosophy and appropriately the chapter begins with the church members saying Will before their meal. Will is a short acknowledgement for Thelemites to say before meals- in our house we only say it before more formal dinners- but I'll have to admit our menus are not as fun. Saying Will also appears in Crowley's fiction, notably in Diary of a Drug Fiend. 

Keeping with Hadit's commandment in Liber AL, "To worship me take wine and strange drugs," the food is laced with a variety of substances. In keeping with Wilson's contemporary perceptions, the Thelemites eat food that are almost comically rich- nothing but the best for our small cell of occultists. (Also keeping with Wilson's attitude at the time, which he would actually repudiate later, one of the members casually uses cocaine during the dinner. Maybe take a lesson from Crowley's biography and avoid white powdery substances.)

Since the Church is also called "the Illuminati," we should probably take a moment to consider any parellels with Wilson's (and Shea's) much more famous depictions of that illustrious organization. Here, the Illuminati engage in behavior that might appear outre to some readers but is entirely benign. In Illuminatus! the organization is certainly outre, but malicious. It is the influence of the Discordians and Hagbard Celine's orchestrations that render the Illuminati into something benevolent. Two of the members of the Church of Scientific Illuminism have names taken from real Discordians: "Mordecai," of course, is a shortened version of Wilson's own Discordian title "Mordecai the Foul." The other Discordian nom de guerre is that of "Fang the Unwashed." Fang denotes Roger Lovin, a New Orleans based Discordian initiated into the Society by Thornley. This is how Thornley described Lovin: "...a dashing, talented and handsome con artist who was too shallow to settle into one thing...for years and years he read the Principia, under his Discordian name of Fang the Unwashed, he consistently and with unswerving devotion to the task excommunicated every new person any of the rest of us initiated into the Discordian Society." A writer whose book of motorcycling is still a classic, an underground publisher and art gallery proprietor, Lovin does seem like an interesting character. (The Thornley quote and other information was all pulled from Adam Gorightly.) That seems to me to be the most crossover in this chapter between the two depictions, but I'm curious if other readers can find something that I've missed. 

While Brother Simeon and "Little" Sister Teresa are engaged in one of the more fun iterations of meditation Wilson states that "together they were in Kether, the topmost reach of the Astral World...[l]ooking down at Malkuth (our material world) from Kether...Simeon began to find the Mama Vibe." Alan and Steve Moore have some fascinating insights about the nature of Kether and Malkuth in The Bumper Book of Magic that is worth considering. (Strikingly, that interacting with Malkuth requires more than existence in the material world and that the experience of Kether might not have that much utility while one is physically extant.) While it doesn't involve chanting IAO, I'd say that a lot of inspiration for the rite comes from Crowley's "The Star Sapphire," an improved version of the Lesser Ritual of the Hexagram. While the Star Sapphire is a very effective solo ritual (my personal favorite that always makes me feel more whole) it is also serves as an instruction for magical oral sex. (I should note that the Star Sapphire is often interpretated a meditative ritual to carry out during mutual oral sex. For more information please refer to Chapter 69 of Crowley's The Book of Lies.) Another effective sex magical ritual involves cycling one's energies, going from the personal Malkuth to Kether and back again, is found in Francis King's Tantra: The Way of Action. This ritual is an adaptation of the Stella Matutina's Middle Pillar exercise made famous by Israel Regardie. Finally, Will Parfitt gives instructions for a simplified but still effective sex magic ritual in The Living Qabalah that includes provisions for oral intercourse. I don't see where the inclusion of IAO could hurt these rituals. I truly wish that Uncle Al's Liber IAO wasn't missing (or archived) as it promised to be a magical-sexual counterpart to the advanced meditative techniques given in Liber HHH; it has been a personal side quest for me for about a decade to find out more about this book. Aside from hints that it does exist in some capacity, I've always come up short. 

Roger Lovin, author portrait for The Complete Motorcycle Nomad

The Sex Magicians Chapter Eleven: Where do these questions come from? (p. 76-80)

This chapter's title consists of three "historical" vignettes that show a progression of illumination. The chapter's title is easy enough to locate as the "punch line" of the first snapshot. The conversation with one of Wilson's constant background characters, Ped Xing, follows a model of pseudo-Buddhist parables that Wilson was fond of including in his work. I'm unsure of why Wilson dubs Ch'an Buddhism as the most radical sect of Buddhism. Ch'an Buddhism seems like a pretty standard version of Chinese Mahayana Buddhism, although it is generally considered to be the progenitor of Japan's Zen Buddhism, which Wilson was fond of, like many thinkers of his day and age. In other places, Wilson refers to Shin Buddhism, which he calls Shinran Buddhism, as his favorite version of Buddhism for its radical compassion. (Wilson and Arlen Riley were married in a Shin Buddhist temple.) 

The second snapshot shows Wilson's fanciful condensation of the legend of Hasan i Sabbah. I've discussed the dubious nature of the tales that surround the Old Man of the Mountain extensively in a previous post (which also includes Chapter 69 of The Book of Lies). You can find that here. The only note that I'll add here is that it is completely and totally nonsensical that Sayyiduna would have had access to cocaine in 12th Century Arabia as it is famously a product of the New World. 

The final scene, consisting of Adam Weishaupt acting sinister and arch in his rooms, is extremely similar to another scene in Illuminatus!- this leads me to believe that the trilogy was truly more or less complete by this time that Wilson poached this scene. Perhaps out of dismay that the longer work would never be published or for another reason, but the similarities are remarkable. I am unable to translate the first part of the book title that Weishaupt is working on, but I believe it comes out something like this: About Strip-Snip-Snap: World Games and The Science of Fives. If someone actually knows German, I'd love your opinion about how it should be rendered into English. And one more "historical" nitpick for Mr. Wilson: Abdul Alhazred, author of Al Azif, is said in The History of the of the Necronomicon to have died, pulled into the air and shredded by invisible claws, in the 8th Century and there is no way he could have written about Hasan i Sabbah. (Well, then again, the Mad Arab could have possibly forseen Sabbah.) 

It's good to be back, everyone. I apologize for my tendency to wander away from the blog. I hope everyone is weathering the first days of 2025 with spirit and subtlety, when necessary. See you next week. 

- A.C. 

Endure Our Reality: The Sex Magicians Chapters Eight and Nine

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Turkish Tobacco and all that shit: The Sex Magicians Chapter Seven

I AM AN AMERICAN!

The Sex Magicians Chapter Seven "Time: is it real or illusory?" p. 56-63

Now we're starting to cook. The novel has begun its crescendo in full with the Mama Vibe being firmly manifested by Miss Welch and much of our company assembled at Sput's party. And by the end of the chapter Buffy Sainte-Marie's "God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot," a recurring leitmotif in the latter half of The Sex Magicians, has put in its first appearance. 

I took three things from this chapter when I first read it in 2012 or thereabouts online: using "Turkish tobacco" as a euphemism for cannabis, a fondness for "God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot," and occasionally ending sentences with "...and all that shit." I'm pretty sure I've sounded as crude to people as Stella does to Dr. Prong, because there's a snowball's chance anyone ever knew the source of that charming phrase. Yet, in my opinion, it is both a concise and comprehensive way to end a statement. Really, I find Stella "Only" to be one of the best characters in the novella- her charming lexicon and shrewdness endears her to the reader. (And it now occurs to me I also took the habit of Stella's to occasionally perform pranayama while smoking, which does seem to increase the pleasure of Turkish tobacco.) All of this is to say: there's a lot to take from this chapter. 

I believe that the Buffy Sainte-Marie appearance is one of the few times that Wilson, aside from a handful of references to The Beatles and MC5 in Illuminatus!, mentions a contemporaneous musician. I'm sure some of my erudite readers could correct this impression and I'm curious if it bears out. I could simply be missing some other references as Wilson certainly does spend much more time discussing and referencing classical music in his work. As someone whose musical tastes are rooted in the Sixties and Seventies, preferrably in the realm of psychedelia, I always appreciate when Wilson does mention something that's more up my alley. (I will also note that most of what I know about classical music is derived from Wilson.) 

In light of recent events, I think there's something to consider in Sput's spun-out speech about freedom and the Pussycat empire. Sput is echoing Hugh Hefner's real-life libertarian bent while he speaks about increasing the total freedom in the world and getting rich along the way. When do the concepts of freedom and wealth start to contradict each other? Is it when wealth is steadily siphoned to a very small percentage of people while the masses struggle? Is it predicated on how you make money? There have been a handful of exposes of Playboy and Hef over the years since Gloria Steinem became a Playboy bunny to see what it was like- does a commitment to freedom seem more hollow when it is based on (at least some) exploitation? I'm afraid we're finding out that the world is far too interconnected for Sput's brand of philosophy to be taken to its extreme, and we just might continue to find that out until certain parties are persuaded to pay attention. Perhaps. 

Also speaking of expenses, how good of a deal does fifty bucks for an ounce of premium sound nowadays? That's inflation for you.

So we end with another one of Sput's perfect orgasm-exclamations as he ejaculates into the mouth of Stella/Mary Poppins and Dr. Prong slipping from reality into fantasy. We're in for more smut and our meeting with the titular sex magicians as well as a great payoff to Markoff Chaney's cameo in this chapter. 

(As a house keeping note, it appears that the posts will either appear on Tuesdays or the weekends. I apologize for the erratic pacing, but angels know nothing of time.- A.C.)

Our most revered creative acts: The Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic (a review)

The Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic by Alan and Steve Moore (illustrated by John Coulthart, Kevin O'Neill, Ben Wickey, Steve Parkhouse, Rick Veitch)

I’ve been dithering and dawdling over writing this review partially because I know that it isn’t going to be as “good” or comprehensive as I wish for it to be. It won’t sum up even a fraction of what is in The Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic, nor will I communicate everything I want to say. For this to be even semi-adequate, it would take the months-long process of writing, discarding, writing and rewriting, discarding, staring at a wall, beginning again and finally coming up with something I’m okay with that I have gone through for my Hilaritas-Wilson essays. I’ve already lingered long enough that this review isn’t as relevant as it could have been. The other self-limiting factor is that I know that this essay will be, like some of the drafts of my Hilaritas-Wilson essays, overly-personal and self-referential. To that point, my apologia: the only perspective of any unique value I can add to this is my own as an aspirant to/adherent of The Moon and Serpent Grand Egyptian Theatre of Marvels since this book was announced. I have lived half my life waiting for the release of this book: I now feel that I have also been trying to read the book since it was announced in Spring 2008- in a manner, I was successful. 

That isn’t to say that I’m not going to try to restrain my autobiographically digressive tendencies, but I am going to give some personal context as to the “why” of “why I’m someone whose opinion of The Bumper Book of Magic you might want to consider.” Before I self-indulge and navel-gaze, I can confidently say this about the Moores’ masterwork; it is exactly what was advertised over the past seventeen years. The book is a summation of their exquisitely tempered magical philosophy presented in the exact type of book that, despite the warning FOR ADULTS ONLY, any child would imagine a book that holds the secrets of magic. It is a true grimoire, full of fascination and mysteries, yet one written without blinds. It may be the best single expression of magic in theory and practice extant.

In the beginning, I was fifteen when I read the already aged announcement of the forthcoming release of The Black Dossier, the continuation of the intoxicating League of Extraordinary Gentlemen series by Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill. Everything about the book sounded like a dream in that it would be a daring mixture of media and an unheard-of progression of artistic and storytelling thrills. It was pushed back multiple times over the next two years and finally was released on a rainy November day, the 14th I believe, and shocked me to my core. I had been exploring magic, tentatively trying to figure out if it was actually what I wanted or needed in my life, for a couple of years by the time the book came out. When I saw the 3D glasses with their eye-in-the-triangle design and read Oliver Haddo’s essay “On the Descent of Gods,” I was convinced that there might be, must be, something to magic if this crescendo of parellelistic fiction could summon such spirits in me. There would be many other waits; one has to remember that at the same time The Bumper Book was announced, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century and Jerusalem were also proclaimed. It was worth it. 

After vowing to become a magician, whatever that may mean, I dove into everything I could find- I assiduously collected the secondhand-copies of The Moon and Serpent happenings, often listened to during my first forays into psychedelic territory, and obsessively tracked down interviews. But perhaps the most valuable “find” was the essay “Unearthing” in Iain Sinclair’s London: City of Disappearances. It was/is a moving excavation of the life, times and territory of Alan’s mentor and best friend, Steve Moore (no relation). Written in the evocative style of The Moon and Serpent recordings, it not only thoroughly introduced me to a man to whom I owed so much, but dazzled with information. I learned of magical-fictional projects such as Somnium and Tales of Telguuth, which remain favorite holy texts of mine to this day, and also the most visceral depiction of magic being worked by the magicians I held in the highest esteem. Forget Pascal’s night of fire, whatever happened in Moore the Elder’s house in 1994 and Moore the Younger’s in the early years of our century had enough potency to pour fuel onto my own dim blaze. 

I have always considered myself, arrogantly, the “child” of Blake, Crowley and Wilson- but my closest “fathers” would have to have been the Moores. So I primarily blame them for everything that has happened. Magic for me often means frustration, as I have too often lusted for results, and magic has accompanied me through the tumultuous years of adolescence and early adulthood. I have taken it far too seriously for my own good and have probably derailed my life from more profitable or stable avenues for the sake of this tantalizing figment. When I opened The Bumper Book and read the lines at the end of “Adventures In Thinking:” “Welcome, readers. Welcome, boys and girls, to the most wonderful place in the entire of humanity’s experience. Welcome to magic,” I knew I had made the right choice. The rest of the book was a recursive excursion through my past and the deeper, much more accomplished work of my inspirations. 

Q: What is in The Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic? 
A: Everything. 

Much and more might be a more accurate answer, but really- the scope of this magnificently designed book (John Coulthart is a God) goes from the literal dawn of consciousness up until our own ever-uncertain, arguably culturally-corrupt, times. The authors depict pre-history with a confidence born of brilliant interpretation and extrapolation and guide the reader through centuries of technique and thought with a mixture of brevity and playfulness (“Old Moore’s Lives of the Great Enchanters”) and succinct-yet-thorough explications of magical theory (the “Beginners” essays on Kabbalah and Tarot, along with the atlas and bestiary of magical locations and denizens, respectively). Much of this will be known to experienced magicians, but having it collated and expressed by the Moon and Serpent is an experience all of its own. I personally used these sections almost as a checklist; did I learn properly? I was pleased with my self-assessment, although I was surprised by Alan’s strictures and procedures as far as Tarot is concerned. I had never heard of his insistence on reorganizing the deck after each reading, nor did I expect that he would be partial to the Celtic Cross spread- but I am grateful he doesn’t believe in “inverse” cards either. (Someday, I really must share my experiments using the Tarot to “spy on” or scry close acquaintances/friends/family that was inspired by Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber.) 

“Old Moore’s Lives of the Great Enchanters” is interesting and brilliantly, often hilariously, illustrated by Ben Wickey. None of the entries, being one page comic comics, are going to tell you enough about any of their subjects- but they are presentations of the most interesting facts about their life and invite the curious would-be magus to do their own research into the remarkable history of our predecessors. Reminiscent of the Fortean Times’ “Lives of the Great Occultists” comic strips, if more expansive time-wise, this section is overwhelmingly fun and fascinating. These sections also serve as geniusly-situated palette cleansers between expansive essays and soul-rending fiction. There were some inclusions and exclusions that took me by surprise. Considering the general scope of this blog, I don’t think it out of place to mention my disappointment that Wilson was not included. Although given multiple mentions in the last, and in my opinion the most exciting, part of the tome, Wilson is not identified as one of the Great Enchanters. While I know Wilson himself was uncomfortable being identified as an occultist or magician after his Seventies plumb, I don’t think he can escape it. And according to Alan’s elegy for Wilson, recently published in Hilaritas Press’ The Walls Came Tumbling Down, Wilson was in the room of dead magi alluded to in The Bumper Book and more explicitly, if briefly, described in “Unearthing.” (One other small note: Old Moore does have some esteem for a few modern magician-authors, but I also felt that there should have been some mention of Will Parfitt. Parfitt is the author of many texts about psychosynthesis and Kabbalah, and his The Living Qabalah was mentioned by Alan in a decade-old interview as a good introduction to the subject. I feel that a lot of the Kabbalistic description in “Tree Climbing for Beginners,” “Magical Landscapes,” and “The Soul” can be directly connected to Parfitt’s astounding, if seemingly unassuming, guide.) 

The core of the book is obviously the decadent narrative of “The Soul” and the “Things to Do on a Rainy Day” how-tos. The former will be imminently familiar in its DNA to those who have savored Alan and Steve’s decadent poetry and/or (full blown nerd) scholarship, Gebbie and Moore’s Lost Girls, or Moore’s Promethea. Alan, who I believe is the sole- or main- author of this section, follows a Kabbalistic plotline that he adorns with a moving portrait of an unhappy soul. Our protagonist is a grand leftover from the Yellow Nineties-cum-Eleanor Rigby in a frail silver tiara who overcomes her own ennui to become something grand. Ultimately, the story turns out to be a reflection of the reader themselves and a telling guide to the climes that we will all find ourselves in, if we choose this past to “Know Thyself.” It’s also beautiful as fuck. “Things to do on a Rainy Day” is a Promethean gift to all of us from two emissaries from a better world. Many authors have written step-by-step guides to magic and some have worked better than others, in different arrangements, for all of us. While I have greatly benefited from the explanations and explorations of writes such as Lionel Snell, Lon Milo Duquette, the aforementioned Parfitt, Phil Farber, White and Alvarado, and know of others who have followed Hyatt, Hine and Sherwin: this is what I always wanted, comprehensively. These essays are a true bottom-to-top, Kingdom-to-Crown scaffolding and clouds for the Bronze Serpent. I need to reread and consult The Bumper Book many times before I can be certain, but I’m pretty sure we’ve all been given the reason there’s no more excuses to escape from this dull trolley problem of a timeline we’re on. Rick Veitch seems to be in tune with this better world where children are taught maithuna, the yoga of love, as they are on Pala.

The creme of the book is obviously the maniacal narrative of “The Adventures of Alexander” and the recursive excursion of the “Conclusion: The Moon and Serpent.” When Steve and Alan write together, they are fucking riotous- like listening to Peter Cook and the other Moore when the taduki hits just right. We reach a Trinitarian perfection when the (crude) sensibilities of Kevin O’Neill are mixed into the product and we are given a true Philosopher’s Stone- the profane and the profound mixed into something that seems like some pre-adolescent nightmare. (If you found yourself laughing at this part of the grimoire, please read Alan and Steve’s original “The Moon and Serpent Grand Egyptian Theatre of Marvels” in Joel Biroco’s Kaos #14, if you haven’t already.) More than anything, this section convinced me that The League was always a magical project and O’Neill and Moore’s Tempest was some sort of magical livewire and that I will miss O’Neill terribly. It is a fitting goodbye to such a man, but I hate saying goodbye to such a luminary. 

What can I say about “An Evening in the Grand Egyptian Theatre of Marvels?” Talk about recursive, am I right? I can be as flippant as I want, but the beauty, earnestness and pure expression of the section is undeniable. I don’t know how much of it was written down before Steve shuffled at least 384, 400 kilometers away from Alan, but if one takes the labour, the passion and the pure will poured into this volume- one can understand that their conception of such a partnership would never be adequate. Magic requires Will and Love and the love that existed between Steve and Alan is ineluctable. The authors do strive to remind us that magic, as stated by Crowley, is perhaps predicated entirely upon love. The love that I’ve borne for magic and the magical people I’ve met in every sense has enriched my life to an extent I cannot express here. So to the readers, I say savor this section and love one another. It is in our personal narratives, and the result thereof, that magic is alive and god(/s) is(/are) afoot. 

Oh yeah, don’t cut up the temple in the back. It doesn’t work like that. 

Love is the law, love under will. 

Witness my hand:

Note: If you're interested in further exploring the ideas that went into The Bumper Book of Magic, I suggest looking over the suggested reading from this post. 

As Hot and Wet as Cooked Liver: The Sex Magicians Chapters Five and Six

I miss Schlitz. Enjoy the Difference!

The Sex Magicians Chapter Five: What is Property? (p.40-41) 

The main thing that jumps out to me from this very short chapter is the list of individuals Markoff Chaney considers for his "Fraternal Order of Hate Groups," as this gives us one of those windows into Robert Anton Wilson's political opinions around this time. Robert Welch and Robert DePugh were both far-right, anti-Communist "activists," George Wallace was the famous segregationist governor of Alabama who provided us with the iconic photos of white supremacy in the Deep South, Jerry Rubin was the most useless member of the Chicago Seven and later proved himself a moronic hypocrite by embracing the "greed is good" philosophy of the eighties, Ti-Grace Atkinson is a radical feminist and proponent of political lesbianism and Eldridge Cleaver was a leader of the Black Panthers. While I'd argue that Cleaver, despite his criminal activities, had the most legitimate grievance out of this motley crew, Wilson would obviously been less than pleased with the Soul on Ice author, as he had recently held Timothy Leary under "revolutionary arrest" in Algiers after Leary had fled to that country. 

Chaney's meeting with the butler promises an interesting development in our small-statured anarchist's sexual career. Probably the funniest part of this chapter would be Chaney's mistaken belief that "Au revoir, ma cherie" translates as "good-bye to virginity." So at this point we know he is in for an encounter with a rich eccentric with some interesting sexual peccadillos: more on this later. 

The Sex Magicians Chapter Six: Where did the universe come from? (p. 42-55) 

The chapter titles are becoming more gnomic. 

Joe Smith is an unpleasant and unsympathetic character, in my opinion, especially because he reminds me very much of a contingent of people who, earlier this month, turned over our country to a wannabe-dictatorial regime. By the second paragraph of the chapter we know that Smith and his wife are your run of the mill American idiots whose prejudice is born of not being able to see past the tip of their noses and living an extraordinarily unexamined life. I don't particuarly feel anything for Matilda or Smith as the "sanctity" of their marriage is slowly, inevitably sacrificed by the end of the chapter. 

Chapter Six ramps up the pornographic qualities of The Sex Magicians as the Mama Vibe takes over our dumb fuck character's consiousness (and conscience). I will admit that while Joe is walking past the marquees (the funniest bit in this chapter) I did not understand how SHE SUCKS MEN DRY had a double-meaning. Maybe that shows my inherent perversion or the fact that I try to keep finances firmly away from the forefront of my mind. I guess I'd rather think about oral sex than money...go figure. I laughed aloud at FELLINI'S TOM SAWYER and THEY LIVE FOR SEX AND ALLAH. 

The Ore House sounds like a grand place with a curious pun choice for a name. Since gold is heavily associated with Tiphareth in Kabbalah we might be able to stretch the gold centered puns at the topless restaraunt as a sign that the soul of our novella is sex. Sex appears in many different forms as Smith's mind twists everything into references to un-American activities. There's a curious connection between food and sex throughout the chapter, from Smith eating his cheeseburger while being increasingly overcome with sexual delirium, to Briggitte's forsaken steak and accepted peach pie and her display with the bananas. Sex and food are about as far apart as anything can be in my mind- I remember even as a young man being particuarly repulsed by the Seinfeld episode where George discovers the aphrodisiac qualities of pastrami- and that probably made me more uncomfortable than anything else in a chapter where Wilson seems to be deliberately making his character as uncomfortable as possible. 

Honestly, I'm curious why someone as vivacious as Briggitte would see anything of worth in a Joe Smith type of fellow, but some guys have all the (thoroughly undeserved) luck. Joe Smith is certainly stiff and fucked-up and whatever happens to him because of his moment of, admittedly understandable, weakness, I hope it changes him irreparably. Fuck off Buster and to hell with Mayor Daly, indeed. 

In honor of the stomach-turning simile that I've chosen as this week's title, here is the late, great Bob Eisenstein telling a joke to Jerry Seinfeld on Curb Your Enthusiasm. 

-A.C.

(Spookah- I've restored your lost comment on the last post.)