Faster Than You Could Say: The Sex Magicians Chapter Fourteen

Abrahadabra: Day Three

"I am Providence" by Virgil Finlay (Imagine if this guy was the one writing The Sex Magicians, it'd be crazy how much more uncomfortable that would be.)

The Sex Magicians Chapter Thirteen: "What is outside the universe?" (pg. 98-104)

Whatever is out there, you have to admit that it's quite a pick-up strategy; telling some ridiculous vignette based around an apocalyptic sex ritual and then telling the girl she was the priestess and you were the priest. Mum-Mum, indeed. I'd prefer Mum-Mom stretching her legs than Azathoth. 

A couple posts ago or so, I used a cover from Alan Moore's Providence, depicting Abdul Alhazrad's evisceration, as the illustration for that chapter's write up. I had forgot about Wilson's silly/kinda-dumb "Lhuv-Kerapht" addition to Lovecraft's silly/kinda-dumb Mythos joke "Klarkash-Ton." Klarkash-Ton is first mentioned in my personal favorite of Lovecraft's stories, "The Whisperer in Darkness," as an Atlantean High Priest as a not-so-sly reference to Lovecraft's pen-pal Clark Ashton Smith. As far as I can recall, Wilson's Lhuv-Kerapht is his own invention. Played at the level of the master, at least. 

Wilson also gives us the very silly ap-opoko-gol, named after his preferred strain of marijuana, Acapulco Gold. I never been able to find it. The only "old school" sativas I've been able to sample are offshoots of Maui-Wowie and Thai. Or at least that's what the labels said. I believe the dominant strain in "Alamut Black," along with the cornucopia of harder drugs in the mix, was Acapulco Gold. 

Anyways, lots of Lovecraft here. Going back to Providence, which is the third in a sequence of Alan Moore's comic-based expansion of Lovecraftian fiction, it is the sequel to Neonomicon. Neonomicon was a four-issue series involving an investigation of occult murder that leads to incredible degradation. It is a brutal piece of work, Moore's Lord Horror. Moore himself has said it was written in a dark mindset and reflected his disgust with parts of the world. (Holistically, Neonomicon ties in perfectly with the earlier "The Courtyard," which was actually a short story adapted into a comic, and its sweeping sequel, Providence.) While graphic, I wouldn't consider Neonomicon pornographic because there is a distinct lack of pleasure throughout. 

This is all beating around the bush that Neonomicon does have a scene that perfectly illustrates this Crowleyean-Lovecraftian blend of sex magic and eldritch rite. The cultists raise the orgone energy until what they've summoned comes forth. It is Mum-Mum, but things don't end that well for the party in The Sex Magicians pre-history either, nich whar? 

Reading about Lovecraftian/Weird Tales pre-history, especially Atlantis, brought me back to a time when I had a wicked cold. I had, probably in direct opposition for getting better, sequestered myself in a dark bathroom, only lit with candles and given the meager comfort of a judiciously toked pipe, and had found myself transported to Clark Ashton Smith's Zothique. Zothique was Smith's name for Atlantis and the name of the Ballantine Adult Fantasy compilation, with perfectly lurid cover art by George Barr, that I had brought with me to my darkling, stuffy, repose. That was a book of magic. 

If we dig a little deeper/laterally, we may recall that it has always been the contention of both authors that Robert Shea was mostly responsible for the "Atlantean" sections of The Illuminatus! Chronicles. Did Wilson actually invent Lhuv-Kerapht or was the section excised from the virginal Illuminatus! manuscript and simply sexed up by Wilson? 

My working title for the essay that serves as the afterword for the Hilaritas Press edition of The Sex Magicians was "Divine Secrets of the T'angpoon Brotherhood." I accidentally included it in the first manuscript I sent to Rasa, he was duly confused. I think that the term "t'angpoon" must have been one of Wilson's cruder, funnier jokes he makes in this book. I haven't found the term anywhere else, save for Erik Davis' High Weirdness, where it is quoted in a passage from The Sex Magicians. Thank god for childish jokes. Ewige Schlangenkraft. 

Finally, I was reminded at the beginning of the chapter of how impressed I was when, as a middle schooler, I read Douglas Adams' dismissive description of Earth as "a backwater planet in the unfashionable spiral arm of the Milky Way Galaxy." (Or something along those lines.) Wilson beat Adams' much more famous triangulation by a handful of years. I'm pretty sure science fiction in general had developed that type of self-defacing cosmic locational identification anyways. Goes back to Lovecraft and cosmicism. Thou art small. Same message as Behemoth and Leviathan in Job. 

As a post-script thought, I do have to question how much of scene was taken from Shea's contribution and how much was added by Wilson and was subsequently tempered back into the eventual published form of Illuminatus!. As far as I know, Shea never read up on then-modern occultists such as Crowley or Kenneth Grant. A lot of the Atlantean nonsense and its connection with the Church of Scientific Illuminism is derived from Aleister Crowley and the Hidden God, which I believe Wilson would have had access to at the time of the writing of The Sex Magicians. We are all of us gutter-minded, 

I could weep: The Sex Magicians Chapter Thirteen

hope in other spells: Day Two

"Leda and the Swan" by Nikolay Kalmakoff (via Coulthart)

The Sex Magicians Chapter Thirteen: "Who knows what Evil lurks in the hearts of men?" (pg. 84-97)

Well, this is quite a chapter. Aside from the regular goetia of anxieties I have buzzing around, I think I've dithered on this post because I'm not sure that writing is not the best medium for the consideration of a chapter that is smutty, profound, flippant, obscene and iconoclastic. I would much prefer to have a conversation about this, without the permanance of type and the ability to change my mind between statements and then claim I always meant what I was thinking at that moment. 

Alas, like Mary Kelly's respectability, that eventuality is forfeit. 

The chapter begins with the famous tagline of The Shadow pulp stories and radio adaptations. Arlen Riley was famously a writer for The Shadow during the Fifties, right before the time Wilson was welcomed gently-but-somewhat-brusqley into her apartment. The Shadow knows if Arlen Riley scripted those specific shows (Alan Moore) The most beautiful woman in the universe...he would have been working with Her, still experimenting with and without LSD and almost certainly still with ritual, when he was writing this chapbook. Inspiration lies here within this fecund, seeded vulgarity. Josh Dill, who is much closer to the later iterations of Simon Moon than Simeon Moon, heralds the profundity that occurs partway through this chapter with lips spread with vaginal fluids and whipped cream. Suddenly, the Sex Magicians, or at least one of them, has arrived at the party. 

A couple of instances of language that would absolutely not be acceptable in today's world, although there was a heavy, modernish dose of irony in their usage, made me want to jump to Wilson's defense. Another time, a distant age, and all that shit. I'm being dismissive, but I'm still going with that. I believe Wilson's HGA or heart was in the right place. 

Take, for instance, the increasingly turgid turmoil of the seduction of Mary Kelly with Stan the Hand(s); is this a chronicle of disturbing coercion or a lascivious tale of liberation from middle-class, Protestant mores? Wilson gets into heavy erotic detail, making sure to fold in his satirical, Dickian advertisements while Stan prevails against Mary's qualms. Reading the text, it is obvious that Mary wants the sexual encounter, and what Wilson was depicting was a weakening of unexamined limits. The word of sin is restriction and all that. 

I'm glad we have advanced so much in so little time, even if it isn't enough, that today this scene can make a reader uncomfortable. Furthermore, I'm glad that reading porn leads to greater introspection than other avenues of consumption. Sex shouldn't be repressed or guilt ridden, but it certainly shouldn't be thoughtless or compulsive.

-times change -

Because of my proclivities, I was absolutely comparing the moment to Sput's speech that wove into the fumbling first night, the examination room and the orgiastic interjections to the current moment. What do we do with such a spout of contradictory nonsense? Does anyone agree on what the Constitution says anymore? Are political, satirical and some most-likely-sincere political musings from half a century ago relevant in any meaningful way? Who knows? But Sput is a great character and Wilson does add enough intellectual stimulation between the titillation to make this something that could plausibly have appeared in a more self-aware, daring and self-effacing version of Playboy. 

The vignette with Marvin Gardens is simplistic, crude and reductive. But goddamnit, it does always make me laugh. Especially the imagery of the apple as a symbol of disinterest/restraint. I'll go ahead and point out here that while King Kong has a five foot phallus in Josie's fantasy, Wilson notes that based on the dimensions of actual gorillas, Kong's dong would be disappointingly not-long. 

What Rough Beast

Foaming Wines: Day One 

Today is the First Feast of the Writing of the Book of the Law. A blessed day. I finished rereading Ubik, today- I've been reading a lot of PKD lately, as it seems he ended up being one of the most accurate prophets. I do wish their were fuckable robots though- and it strikes me as appropriate to come face to face with the Sophia in that way, in this age. Finishing a book about a maybe-false-God in a tenuous world while I'm in a tenuous world where a maybe-false-God sounds pretty good right now celebrating an ephemeral-God which probably doesn't exist outside the imagination and all that shit...

I've got to do something to honor these days and since I have left my fields fallow, I shall seed them. Tonight, I'll give you "Ethics for Aliens," an exercise in autobiographical excess. Mike was absolutely correct- there was no way this could have been published. I'm honestly interested in its reception now- after I've tried to tailor the way I communicate in the years intervening. This is a bizarre piece written from the Id/heart. All unto thee, Nuit. 

"Satan's Treasures" Jean Delville (via Coulthart)