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The Esoteric Meaning of Death In Vegas’s Dirt Music Video

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In the 90’s big beat band, Death In Vegas‘s “Dirt” music video (directed by Andrea Giacobb), we see many references to World War 2, fascism, the Jewish holocaust, Hindu gods, occult rituals, Freemasonic and Theosophist notions of dualism, and demonology. I am writing as I witness the current Masonic, President elect Donald Trump wage war in Syria (due to a “Reichstag” false flag chemical attack triggered by Syrian rebels but blamed on Assad), further provoking a potential new, third World War with multiple nations, at once–including the likes of Syria, Russia, North Korea, China and eventually Iran–which is essentially the Armageddon script for World War 3 and the rise of AntiChrist.

In the first scene of the music video, we are treated to three pigs, hanging out in the dirt-filled ruins of what appears to be a war-torn, industrial wasteland. Pigs are also associated with being possessed by demons, as the story found in Matthew 8:28-34 tells us, when Jesus Christ drove evil spirits into a herd of pigs.

The scene is quickly interrupted with interspersed flashing, hellish, chaotic images of death, dog eat dog nature and human sacrifice–including war, skulls, genocide, cemeteries, an alligator attacking a dear, lynching and a demonic face, talking and laughing along with the voice-over, which says:

This is one thing that…
I was going to wait a while before we talked about
Maybe we’ll talk about it now so you can think about it
Because you all,
We all have to make some kind of plans for ourselves
It’s a free concert from now on

Next, we are treated with further imagery associated Nazi-fascism and World War II.

Meanwhile, the devil, the god of the dead, secretly remains a spectator, lurking in the shadows, as the world crashes and burns. Indeed, it is a free concert for the devil and his demons, for their entertainment.

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Next, we see the androgynous, demon Nazi unveil his multi-armed form, dressed in a half-Nazi-uniform, half-dominatrix outfit, which purposefully comes to mind the director of the Manhattan Project and essentially the “father” of the atomic bomb and nuclear warfare, Robert Oppenheimer and his infamous quote:

We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.

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Next, the voice over blathers something like this:

When you go back up to the woods
To go to sleep or if you stay here
Is that the man next to you is your brother

And you damn well better treat each other that way

Because if you don’t then we blow the whole thing

But we’ve got it right there…

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We next see a few American soldiers pulling down a lit-up cross, symbolizing the destruction of Christianity, “supposedly” predicted by the the 33° Freemasonic/Klu Klux Klan author Albert Pike in an alleged letter from him to Mazzini, August 15, 1871. Many have revealed it to be a forgery, crafted by by Leo Taxil aka Dr Bataille published in the book Le diable au XIXe siècle, v. II, 1894,  pp. 594-606. Nevertheless, it’s worth quoting:

The First World War must be brought about in order to permit the Illuminati to overthrow the power of the Czars in Russia and of making that country a fortress of atheistic Communism. The divergences caused by the “agentur” (agents) of the Illuminati between the British and Germanic Empires will be used to foment this war. At the end of the war, Communism will be built and used in order to destroy the other governments and in order to weaken the religions.”

The Second World War must be fomented by taking advantage of the differences between the Fascists and the political Zionists. This war must be brought about so that Nazism is destroyed and that the political Zionism be strong enough to institute a sovereign state of Israel in Palestine. During the Second World War, International Communism must become strong enough in order to balance Christendom, which would be then restrained and held in check until the time when we would need it for the final social cataclysm.

The Third World War must be fomented by taking advantage of the differences caused by the “agentur” of the “Illuminati” between the political Zionists and the leaders of Islamic World. The war must be conducted in such a way that Islam (the Moslem Arabic World) and political Zionism (the State of Israel) mutually destroy each other. Meanwhile the other nations, once more divided on this issue will be constrained to fight to the point of complete physical, moral, spiritual and economical exhaustion. We shall unleash the Nihilists and the atheists, and we shall provoke a formidable social cataclysm which in all its horror will show clearly to the nations the effect of absolute atheism, origin of savagery and of the most bloody turmoil. Then everywhere, the citizens, obliged to defend themselves against the world minority of revolutionaries, will exterminate those destroyers of civilization, and the multitude, disillusioned with Christianity, whose deistic spirits will from that moment be without compass or direction, anxious for an ideal, but without knowing where to render its adoration, will receive the true light through the universal manifestation of the pure doctrine of Lucifer, brought finally out in the public view. This manifestation will result from the general reactionary movement which will follow the destruction of Christianity and atheism, both conquered and exterminated at the same time.”

And yet, we are seeing this occurring on the world stage, at this very moment. As it turns out, Albert Pike has some interesting statements about warfare in his Masonic tome, Morals and Dogma of The Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry: First Three Degrees:

Might, in an army wielded by tyranny, is the enormous sum total of utter weakness; and so Humanity wages war against Humanity, in despite of Humanity. So a people willingly submits to despotism, and its workmen submit to be despised, and its soldiers to be whipped; therefore it is that battles lost by a nation are often progress attained. Less glory is more liberty. When the drum is silent, reason sometimes speaks.

Pike also defines dualism this way as seemingly contrary forces and yet working towards the “greater good.” And that includes all sorts of evil abominations that the secret societies perpetrate over and over again, for the “greater good.”

Two, or the Duad, is the symbol of Antagonism; of Good and Evil, Light and Darkness. It is Cain and Abel, Eve and Lilith, Jachin and Boaz, Ormuzd and Ahriman, Osiris and Typhon.

Next, we are treated to a little girl, dressed in white, stroking her pet lamb, invoking Christian imagery associated with the Fourth Gospel (1:29) and the Book of Revelation of St. John (5:6-8), as well as Edenic, tree imagery in the background, along with some buildings. This pleasant image is interrupted by our androgynous devil host’s face and the first little girl’s exact, inverted opposite–a goth girl dressed in black, with her pet pig, too. This brings to mind the kabbalistic aphorism popularized by Helena Blavatsky in the Secret Doctrine, “Demon est deus inversus,” often translated as “the devil is the inverse of God.” Note, the little girl dressed in black points to the viewer in accusatory fashion.

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The devil shows up again with two bright circles of light, which eventually form a vesica pisces, being the the Pythagorean “measure of the fish” that was a mystical symbol of the intersection. It also represents an open vagina, who is either about to give birth or receptive for copulation. But, since this is emanating from the tranny devil’s eyes, we can safely assume this is a bad thing. We also see a ginormous obese woman carrying a plastic infant and raising it as if she is about to sacrifice it to Molech, Baal or some other strange god of the pagans. And next we see semi-nude men and women, writhing against one another in a sexual, orgiastic manner, dressed in animal heads, such as the bull and either a bear or dog. These are of course animals associated with idolatry, demonology and the seven demonic archons of the Ophite Gnostics that rule the cosmos, per Celsus in the True Doctrine.

The director of this music video, Andrea Giacobbe, is revealing something especially interesting in these next set of images. Essentially, we see three Anglican (or a similar denomination) ministers also make the Masonic inverted triangle hand signal that so many politicians, celebrities and religious leaders, including the likes of Donald Trump have repeatedly made. We also see the three ministers laugh at the three pigs. Before this we see a family of three, open their mouths a gape, symbolic of the average person or voter accepting of all the propaganda and lies these fake preachers, teachers, evangelists, so-called apostles and “watchmen” that are out there pushing all sorts of “damnable heresies” as 2 Peter (2:1) puts it as 2 Peter (2:3) tells us that their “damnation slumbereth not,” and neither shall your’s if you follow after and swallow their words of sweet poison. This is all interrupted by the laughing at this spectacle by our favorite tranny devil.

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Next, a voice sample repeats the following:

Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
What’s that Spell? What’s that Spell?
What’s that Spell? What’s that Spell? What’s that Spell?
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
What’s that Spell? What’s that Spell?
What’s that Spell? What’s that Spell? What’s that Spell?
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut
Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut

For the longest time, I always thought that the voice-over was saying “smell” instead of “spell.” It makes certain sense though. “Flinch, you’ll get a fucking gun-butt to your gut.” Indeed, this is highly reminiscent of George Orwell’s famous quote from Nineteen Eighty Four, “If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human faceforever.” And as many truthers have pointed out, many Christian ministers out there use various horned-hand signals that deliberately invoke demonic spells and cursing against their audience. 

We next see a little girl with demonic, black eyes, reminding us of the so-called “black-eyed children” urban legend. We next see a man playing with a chicken, next to a light-bulb and clock, set at 8:27 or 8:28. We then see a pale woman standing in a magical circle with a rabbit and an umbrella–who knows whatever any of that even means. And then another little girl starring at an eye-testing graph. The rest of the music video is a bit too random (the couple with their faces fused together, the fat woman being spun around, a naked woman being baptized by jugs of water) or too obvious (the riot police playing soccer and the dalmatian, the children rounded up in farm pens, a pile of dummies) to really examine successfully so I’ll leave the rest of the images here for your own analysis.

However, what I’d like to focus on is the last few scenes of the music video. The first scene has a black/white schema, filled with herded people dressed in red, with animal masks, in pens. Red is the color of initiation, sacrifice, demons, and hell. Next, we see the same devil girl holding a raw, plucked chicken, upside down. And finally, we see the little girl, dressed in white, paying homage to the tranny Devil. This brings to mind what Irenaeus said in Against Heresies (1.25.4), in that the Gnostic teacher, Carpocrates taught that Jesus’ saying of “Whilst you are with your adversary in the way, give all diligence, that you may be delivered from him, lest he give you up to the judge, and the judge surrender you to the officer, and he cast you into prison. Verily, I say unto you, you shall not go out thence until you pay the very last farthing,” (Matthew 5:25-26; Luke 12:58-59), meant that one must literally pay the “devil his due” as he was just one of the many demonic, archonic administrators or what the Eastern Orthodox might say, the “toll-house keepers“:

They also declare the adversary is one of those angels who are in the world, whom they call the Devil, maintaining that he was formed for this purpose, that he might lead those souls which have perished from the world to the Supreme Ruler. They describe him also as being chief among the makers of the world, and maintain that he delivers such souls [as have been mentioned] to another angel, who ministers to him, that he may shut them up in other bodies; for they declare that the body is the prison. Again, they interpret these expressions, You shall not go out thence until you pay the very last farthing, as meaning that no one can escape from the power of those angels who made the world, but that he must pass from body to body, until he has experience of every kind of action which can be practised in this world, and when nothing is longer wanting to him, then his liberated soul should soar upwards to that God who is above the angels, the makers of the world. In this way also all souls are saved, whether their own which, guarding against all delay, participate in all sorts of actions during one incarnation, or those, again, who, by passing from body to body, are set free, on fulfilling and accomplishing what is requisite in every form of life into which they are sent, so that at length they shall no longer be [shut up] in the body.

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The director, Andrea Giacobb, is signaling many messages in this video, with the big beats, voice soundbites and metallic guitar riffs provided by Death In Vegas. War is hell. Matter is hell. The panopticon of Satan, the god of the dead and his minions secretly watch over all the flesh and souls of humanity, from cradle to grave, while they wage war and demonically inspired, unimaginable cruelty against one another. The great culling is almost hereOne author had this to say on the subject:

The gods have not stopped living off human sacrifice. The rules of the game have only changed a little. Blood-on-demand is not as delicious as the willing offering of a human soul. Siphoning is evolving into assimilation. This is the tyranny of One, the reason the New Age teaches that awakened consciousness means seeing “small self” as illusion and “Cosmic Self” or “the One,” as the true reality. The intent is to fuse all egos into the will of the One, the will of the Overmind.

The gods are masquerading as Cosmic Self. We either open our minds and recognize our programming, and reason our way out of this snare, or we grin like foolish children and follow the Pied Piper right into the maw of the mountain. Will we choose to amalgamate or to shoulder the burden and joy of becoming conscious, empowered individuals? The fate of the universe rests on our decision.

I have wondered if the reason these spirits want you to sell your soul and whatnot is because when a person goes to hell, or the “middle” (as the Gospel of Philip calls it) they get absorbed into one of these collective groupings of spirits, such as the Devil, and that individual entity becomes more and more powerful, so the more spirits they have under their possession, the more power they amass. “We are Legion.” They’re always growing by absorbing more souls. They have a similar explanation in Haitian Vodou. There is a voodoo spirit called Baron Samedi who is kinda like the Grim Reaper, and he presides specifically over the unknown dead. And they believe that Baron harvests earthbound dead souls and makes them part of himself, thus accumulating more dead and giving these lost souls an identity under which they operate.

In the book, Sojourns in Cosmic Consciousness by John Ryan Haule, the author wrote about Robert A. Monroe’s out of body experiences. And as it turns out, Monroe’s OBE’s confirmed the Gnostic descriptions of the universe, with the demiurge, as a “god of death” feeding parasitically on light trapped in matter:

...but there is a great pseudo-god, a demiurge, who lives on death. This unnamed being of unknown gender has turned the Earth into that balanced ecology of death we call the food chain. All of us, from one-celled organisms to philosophers and mystics kill one another to nourish ourselves. In the beginning, the demiurge (or “partial power,” “lower potentate,” what the Gnostics called an Archon) was interested in death itself, in any form it occurred; for the energy released at a being’s death supplied an essential force to enhance the tyrant’s own existence. But as time passed, the demigod discovered that the highest quality energy emanated from the death of sentient beings. The higher the consciousness attained by a bodily being — the more aware it is of its tenuous hold on life and terror of death — the more valuable the nourishment released at its demise. The clinging to life, the panicky struggle to survive, the longing and desolation occasioned by the passing of loved ones, the cruelty and aggression that drives off competitors: all these emotions enhance the death energy and delight the demiurge.

Monroe was shaken and appalled by this vision but unable to evade its truth. It surely describes the bottom line of fleshly existence. Humans are by and large flesh people, obsessed by our survival drive. From the moment we are born, we are on our way to death. Although we suppress this knowledge in a bad-faith attempt to shake the horror residing in our hearts, we act from it constantly. It blinds us to the gaps through which soul might appear. We are the inmates and guards of our own fleshly prison, snarling at threats both real and imagined, and poised to pounce on every opportunity to enhance our precarious and illusory security.

Human existence is Being-toward-death, says Martin Heidegger, the most important philosopher to write about ultimate things in the wake of Nietzsche’s proclamation of the end of metaphysics. Neitzsche himself depicted the Earth as a great ball of death. The soil of our planet is comprised of the decomposing corpses of those who have gone before us, the plants and animals that flowered, swam, galloped, and soared through a few exceptional moments before succumbing to the inevitable fate of providing inanimate fodder for those to follow. Life is the exception, death the constant.

Monroe’s vision of the demiurge who lives on death brings us vividly back to the barren Sinai desert of the seventh century, where the Ladder Man’s disciples fought their fleshly compulsions by fasting, flagellations, all-night prayers, and standing at the gate. Death, too, lies at the center of the teachings of don Juan Matus. Stretch out your left arm to the side, straight from the shoulder. Don’t look! Your death is standing there, less than three feet away, watching, waiting, ready to strike at any moment.

Flesh people cringe to glimpse death out of the corner of their eye. A “warrior,” however, profits from death’s constant presence. The instant we stop fleeing the certain knowledge of our impending demise, death becomes our “advisor.” We act with the constant knowledge that our time on this Earth is limited, and we begin to attend to essential matters. We stop wasting our time. We get down to the business of our own unique, never-to-be-repeated life. We live it, in the imagery of Nietzsche, as though our existence were condemned to be repeated over and over for all eternity. What would I do right now, if I knew it were my last moment on Earth? What would I do if I knew I would face this moment again in lifetime after lifetime, and my act would determine the quality of this moment for all eternity? I would choose the act that best enhances my existence — the most powerful act, the most compassionate, the most far-reaching. The blinders would fall from my eyes. Life would be simpler and more convincing.

Jesus Christ himself said something very similar indeed in Luke (9:57-60):

57 Now it happened as they journeyed on the road, that someone said to Him, “Lord, I will follow You wherever You go.” 58 And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” 59 Then He said to another, “Follow Me.” But he said, “Lord, let me first go and bury my father.”60 Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and preach the kingdom of God.”

Crimson Dusk Novel Excerpt

Hey, folks. My latest book, Crimson Dusk, is coming out this week. And I decided to post an excerpt of the upcoming book. You can also pre-order a copy for yourself via Amazon. The Kindle edition will come out soon after this week. If anyone out there would like a signed copy of the book, then please let me know and I will sign and mail it to you. If you’re on Facebook, you can also join the event party happening and maybe win some free swag! Also, I posted a drawing I did of the main character, Kalek Desmarais, below, after the excerpt. I also posted a DJ Mix I did of music I did, dedicated to the novel. Until next time!

Chapter 1: The Gift

The journey to the queen’s citadel stretched onward towards the horizon. A small carriage passed through the landscape not of sand dunes but of flat, blasted earth left parched and cracked by the sun. This land was a mummified corpse produced by the horrors of a former and long- past Great War. The vampire Avus could sense the dark and somber clouds above crying hysterically, followed by rippling thunder and clusters of flashing lightning. Avus was suddenly seized from his daydream, by a twisted, harsh, and inhuman tongue which drew his attention.

“What is it? Why have we stopped?” Avus questioned, annoyed.

The strained, raspy voice said, “There is something that you should see. I see no movement outside besides the flaming remains of a human village. I would proceed with caution regardless.”

Avus quickly emerged from the carriage and into the stormy atmosphere that hovered over the mountainous range and bridge they stood on. Ahead of the bridge appeared to be the remains of a fresh disaster upon a village that lay ahead of them, and he eyed the smoke that twisted into the sky. Avus was clad with a dark cloak flung over him. His dark, jaw-length hair framed his brooding but handsome face. His cloaked subordinate and bodyguard, Samech, sat on the driver’s seat, guiding the armor-clad horses that pulled with brute force. Avus peered into the darkened heavens and noticed the storm blocked out any source of light from the sun’s rays behind them.

Avus surveyed the torn landscape and said, “All I see is death.”

They both continued their way through the outskirts of the rubble-strewn road that lead into the flaming ruins. Smoke permeated, choking the sky until the sun struggled to breathe. The tall, dark mountains were obscured by the smoke and flame that filled the scene below. Skeletal buildings sagged as their burnt structures gave way. It was a scene from a nightmare, carnage everywhere.

It was the aftermath, and the scene seemed almost tranquil, fires burning and smoke rising from the ruined ground. Bodies of men and women alike were strewn about the filthy mire, like dolls after a child’s playtime. The lifeblood of thousands moistened the packed earth and the feet of the same thousands churned it into a viscous soup. Flies gathered in the eyes of the dead, greedily stealing the moisture. The dead became a home to eggs and writhing maggots.

Crows congregated in the field, croaking hoarsely with delight at this splendid feast set out for them. Cruel beaks plunged into eye sockets, gobbling the soft contents. The stench was horrific. The air was rank with sweat, blood, fear, and decay.

This village, once bustling and busy, now belonged to the dead. Not even a rat scurried amid the debris. The fire destroyed everything. Flocks of carrion-hunting ravens swarmed over the area, landing upon the ravaged lands, feeding upon the bodies. Avus walked away from the carriage and into the burnt village, stepping over charred bodies of villagers. Samech watched his master carefully, studying his every move. The horrible stench of burning flesh assaulted their senses.

“This doesn’t seem like the work of one of our own, now does it? These bodies aren’t drained,” Avus noted.

Samech sniffed the air and grunted. “The blood smells fresh. This was done recently.”

Avus made his own observation and responded, “This also looks like a well-coordinated attack—an ambush maybe. Then again, your eyes house different judgment than mine.”

“The storms are beginning to die down.” Samech replied.

Without warning, a hand dug its way up from Mother Earth’s womb like a sprouting plant and grasped Avus’ boot. Avus instantly hurled himself back and frowned.

“What was that?” Samech asked in dismay.

“I guess they missed one.” Avus prepared to draw his sword with caution. Samech followed suit and leveled his serrated spear against the sudden movement of the dirt.

Again, the hand grasped onto anything it could to get the rest of its body out from under the earth. Once extracted from his nearly final resting place, the stranger rolled over on his back, exhausted. He drank in the late evening air as if it were gulps of water. Avus noticed the ring the dirt-covered figure had on its finger with an embedded symbol of a Red Dragon devouring its own tail―the Ouroboros―which indicated to him the vampire’s higher-ranking status. Avus darted forth to the battered stranger laying there, asking, “What the hell happened here?”

He spat up blood and whispered, “The regents of judgment have arrived.”

“What regents? Tell me your name,” Avus asked, seeing if the man could remember anything of his past.

The stranger’s vocal chords could barely muster a reply and finally said, “Kalek.”

Large, gaping wounds covered Kalek’s torso, neck, and face. He took out a handkerchief and wiped away the dirt, blood, and spit that covered his exhausted face.

“Kill me,” Kalek mumbled in between heavy breaths. “They should have finished the job.” More blood leaked from various orifices, including his eyes.

“Your wounds are deep—perhaps deeper than your regeneration factor can handle,” Avus noted. In an act of pity, Avus picked up Kalek and carried him to the carriage with all his strength, placing him inside a black and intricately detailed casket hidden inside.

“What are you doing?” Kalek asked, barely audible.

“Today, fate is on your side. Your number isn’t up yet.” Avus went inside and closed the door. Samech partially revealed his blood-stained fangs and hoped he would come upon a hapless mortal for his delight and sustenance. He sat himself down again upon the rider’s seat of the carriage and signaled the horses to continue down the burnt and ruined roads and crop fields. Kalek closed his eyes and plunged deep into his unconscious night sea sojourn.

***

Long ago…

“One thousand years.”

“No,” the fledgling vampire gasped, standing in the moonlight between the trees. He was on burial grounds now deep within the forest; his kind often met in places such as this for trials, rituals, and the like. “You can’t do this to me; I’ll go mad! This life, my life, would have all been for naught! Please, you cannot do this thing; I-I’ll leave! I’ll leave forever, travel south to the African continent or to eastern Asia. You’ll never hear of me again! Fa-father! Please, surely, you can change their will…!”

The council said nothing. There were five beings wreathed in shadow save for their eyes, which reflected the moonlight with a demonic malevolence. They were seated amongst the branches of the surrounding trees, completely silent like a congregation of living gargoyles. They didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“Why do you not answer me?” Kalek pleaded, his voice breaking with ever-increasing emotion. “Don’t you realize what you’re doing to me?! It would be better for you to kill me utterly; why such a penalty for this crime? Why?”

Still no answer; the tears streamed down his face. They only looked down upon him in his utterly helpless state. He was an infant in terms of pure power to them; if he chose to fight his way out, there would be no hope at all. And it would be worse: They would break him and then imprison him, and with no fresh blood, he could not heal to such an extent. No matter. He would try to run anyway. Fear always distorted logic—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. The vampire broke into a run, a sprint that not even the swiftest of beasts could hope to achieve. Running through the forest, his head was down, arms pumping madly at his sides. He tore past trees, leaping their roots, and skidded on fallen leaves in his mad dash to escape.

The tree limbs slashed through his clothes in dozens of places, but his supernatural regeneration already healed the cuts and scrapes. He was caught before he reached the outskirts of the forest; the Elders, as they were referred to, jumped from tree to tree gracefully. He kicked and bit and thrashed and screamed at the top of his preternatural lungs, shaking the nearby trees and waking villagers for tens of miles around in the serene valley but to no avail. He broke loose once or twice but got no more than a few yards before he was caught again.

Then, they started to beat him. They wanted him to see his punishment, so they directed their strikes to the lungs and throat rather than the skull. They would not murder this vampire. Rather, they would drain him of his blood, leaving only enough for him to remain aware, and then, they would ravage him until he could no longer repair his own wounds. First the lungs to impair his voice, then the arms, legs, fingers, neck. A mound of flesh and bone—undead flesh and bone—trapped for one thousand years as per the council’s verdict.

One thousand years. He couldn’t comprehend the number; he hadn’t even lived that long yet! So much was the fear of the oncoming doom that he could no longer feel the pain. The number kept running through his mind. He dissected it into months, weeks, hours, even to the seconds he would spend in isolation. It was more than torture, even for his kind. They were dragging him across land now at a great speed. He could barely see any more though they did leave both of his eyes. How long was it? It didn’t matter; he’d been cherishing and loathing every moment the wind swept by and through his body. But as all things must, his journey came to an end.

“Cu interneric vas vilieridel ai valaeridine. Mass vilahar cu tinoel,” the council said in unison. There were other sounds there: the remaining blood pumping in his ears, the labored breathing to keep the cells alive, the gentle wind, and the water. The sound of water pushed and pulled at the shore, but the shore wasn’t near him; it was above him—hundreds of feet below the surface.

There was a dull thud next to him and the sound of chains. It began. They were doing to him as they had done to few before: condemning him to a limited death but far worse than any Hell he could imagine. He had done it to one before. Well, he had been on the council. The only thing he physically did was say the final doom: “Cu interneric vas vilieridel ai valaeridine. Mass vilahar cu tinoel. The moon has set, and the new sun rises. Live to see the moon rise again.” Now, it was his turn to be bound to a locked, silver sarcophagus—the Stone of Condemnation littered with sacred inscriptions. The water quickly swept around his body, dragging him down into the watery depths of the seemingly bottomless darkness and would reemerge upon the shores of a new land.

***

“I have committed grave sins, enough that even tyrannical kings would blush at. They are sins black enough to blot out the brightest sun. I despise what I am, what I was made to be. I once thrived in prowling the shadows, roaring like a lion, ready to devour,” Kalek admitted to the aging sage as he faced downward to the intricate designs of battling dragons.

“This is remarkable. You yourself are vampire immortal, and yet you detest all those like you. The majority who are born in the miasma of Hell stay in Hell, totally unbound,” the gaunt-faced, cloaked man declared calmly after a brief period of meditation as he sat cross-legged underneath his vestments of white robe and red, gold dalmatic as he placed his hands palm to palm and raised them above his head and slowly brought them down while continuing, “The chrism light sacrament is meant for the living, not vampire.” The hooded priest’s voice echoed hollowly in the large antechamber, filling the silence with an eerie portent.

Kalek growled with certain disdain swirling in his mind, just begging to withhold blood-curdling conviction beneath his furrowing brow. “I am not a lowly, monstrous thrall or ghoul unable to stand against the faintest trickle of light. Only but a few years ago when I was still exiled had I learned to barely control my darkness.” Kalek paused to take in the cindering fragrance that came from the burning incense within the golden lamp beside the altar and rose.

The hooded mystic sensed the vampire acolyte’s anger while his human eyes were unable to meet the baneful glow of Kalek’s. Kalek circled him slowly, weighing the stranger’s words carefully. “What purposes have you in helping me—altruism perhaps? I find that hard to believe. You are renowned even though you are human and a desert guardian to the chief of your tribe.” The blazing eyes narrowed. “I have already been betrayed twice: once by my father and once by the tribunal of elders of my own nest. I tell you, it will not go well for you if you are the third.” Kalek swung up a spear underneath his long, trailing, initiatory garments, its shivering tip looming barely inches from the man’s throat. “I find little reason to side with you or with anyone else for that matter. Not that I have much to fear from a mortal.”

“You need not side with me but with your own strength. You called for assistance, and like you, I too was once a slave to my past’s shadow. I was a different man then.”

“Fair enough.” Kalek retracted the curved, golden blade of the spear and placed it upon an altar.

The hooded priest reiterated, “There is a certain balance at work. There must be some atonement or contrition, no matter how black your sins.”

With a sinking tone, Kalek off-handedly moaned then said in his baritone voice, “I sired abominable ghouls from men and women alike. I offered sacrifices for the sake of thaumaturgy with no great Arcanum in sight for catharsis. I was like one of the Mastema—the hostile demons of persecution and oppression who were engendered from the fire of angels and the blood of women. I was consumed with bloodlust.” Kalek turned to a sculpted, marble figure of a fiery Seraph. “Humans are just as bloodthirsty. This is a planet of the walking dead—human and vampire alike. And I don’t just mean rotting corpses who suddenly become animate.”

The hooded yet tanned and bearded man remained silent, but Kalek seemed to want his attention as he turned his grimace at him. “The old days are long gone, yet the memories stay alive like remains of the great Holocaust below the cities.”

Kalek stared into the eyes of the marble statue and remained silent for a minute. He never passed on this knowledge to anyone, so why did he feel he needed to talk about it now? But he did answer in the end. “About what occurred before I arrived here, the events that happened before I became an exile—my sealed fate from the machinations of a few craven Elders, one of which you already know.” He continued to mutter, “Why I am what I am. I was born as one of the infernal. And yet can there be salvation for me or my brethren? Or am I cursed eternally?”

“No soul can be eternally cursed, for nothing is permanent. The stings you have felt from your betrayal—you’re longing to know your families’ clandestine fortunes, the desecrating dregs of unending thirst for blood. They are the imprinting desires and attachments left from your ego that is your shadow. Wisdom is its own reward. Ignorance damns itself. God can convert and save the worst of sinners—even vampires. Are you prepared to slay the demon and channel the light from the darkness?” the hooded sage asked Kalek, who sat cross-legged with his head lowered pensively.

Kalek muttered, “Not even the divine light can illuminate my darkness. The old sun has set, and a new moon’s course is run.” His dark gaze swayed to the nude angel holding a downward, spiraling sword with eyes black as the abyss below. “May the new sunrise be great and memorable indeed.”

***

Inside the phantasmagoric chamber of the castle, the raven-black eye of Kalek opened. A slender, feminine form watched him in complete silence, wondering if he would recognize her. Thoughts of his past conjured up within Kalek’s psyche, utterly ravaged in the onslaught as if the Armageddon opened its sweeping mouth. A waltz of advanced mechanical rings surrounded the vampire that emanated sound vibrations, repairing the damage of his cursed flesh while Kalek made a sidelong glance over Cressida as he heard a voice call out his full name. “Kalek Desmarais, I see that you’re awake. You’re the only survivor.” The figure in his blurred vision, divorced from clarity, became more apparent as it moved closer.

Kalek could hardly speak yet attempted to do so and uttered heavily, “Cressida.”

“I’m glad to see you alive. Your reprisal is due in time.”

Kalek merely stared into nothingness as blood trickled down the side of his mouth. The queen placed her hand over the smooth, rotating sphere, and the vibrating treatment stopped. She placed her cold, pale hand on his face, removing trickling drops of blood from his mouth and, in a suggestive manner, licked it from her finger.

“Kalek, it is time you rejoin the covenant, for your period of healing is just about over.”

***

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New Book: Baphomet: The Mystery of the Temple Unveiled

I realize it’s been a long while since I’ve posted an article on this blog. But be of good cheer! A new book I co-wrote with Tracy Twyman is set to come out either late October or early November as the date is currently tentative at the moment. The book is called Baphomet: The Temple Mystery Unveiled. I’ve been working on this book very intently for the last 6-7 months and all my hard work (along with Tracy’s) will finally be revealed for the public to read and carefully consider. Here is the press release for the book over on Tracy’s site. Be on the look out for a Kickstarter with some pertinent details for you beloved truth seekers, to consider supporting us while giving you lot’s of cool goodies, e-books and hardcover books in return. And finally, here is the cover that will be used for the book. I will be posting more details about the book as the weeks pass on. Spread the news far and wide!

Here is the blurb from the inside cover of the book jacket:

Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of? And be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?

For seven centuries, the enigma of Baphomet has mystified both scholars and the general public. Did the Knights Templar really worship a demonic idol of that name? If so, what does the word mean? What is the origin of this figure? What was the nature of the rituals that the Templars performed in secret? What were their covert beliefs? And why, if the Templars initially described their idol as a mummified severed head, is this figure now represented as a hermaphrodite human with the head of a goat?

Authors Tracy R. Twyman and Alexander Rivera have dived head-first into the bottomless abyss of mystery and returned with some astounding wisdom to share. Learn the genesis of these symbols and how they relate to the Witches’ Sabbath, traditions of Sufi Islam, alchemy, Gnosticism, cabalism, the teachings of Hermes Trismegistus, and so much more.

Learn why the Templars and their beloved severed head are frequently associated with John the Baptist, and how this connects to his student, Simon Magus. Discover the known facts about things like the Chinon Parchment, the Book of the Baptism of Fire, the Templar Abraxas seals, and newly-found documents which claim that the Templars discovered the real Temple of Solomon during a secret trip to Mecca.

Join Twyman and Rivera on this exciting adventure into the unknown. Immerse yourself in this knowledge, if your heart has the strength. It is certain that your mind will never be the same.

LVX and God Bless,

Alex.

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