-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 3E 33333EEEEE TEMPLE OV PSYCHICK YOUTH 3E 333EEE ON-LINE TRANSMISSION 1.09 3E 33333EEEEE 23 september, 1991 3E -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1) Editorial 2) AMOUR FOU 3) CHAOS 4) ASSASSINS by Peter Lamborn Wilson 5) Thee CAMPOUT 6) Current Velocity by Funky Chicken -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1) Here we are at another Equinox...and with a beautiful Full Moon to light up thee Night as we touch our selves and make our selves wH0LE... got some good news and some bad news...thee good news is CHAOS is back in print (see 2) thee bad news is that we WILL no longer include it in thee Transmissions...go buy it...it is X-cellent... COYOTE=KALI "Change only comes from the barrel of a gun!" -Mao Tse Tung -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2) Hakim Bey's CHAOS is reprinted in a larger book called _TAZ_ (Temporary Autonomous Zone) by Autonomedia. It contains all the shorter essays which he's had published in zines as well as a lovely essay on pirate utopias and autonomy. Discovering bey's writings in a zine: always a cause for celebration. finding a whole new book? jamboree in edge city. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 3) CHAOS by Hakim Bey Chapter 3 AMOUR FOU Amour fou is not a Social Democracy, it is not a Parliament of Two. The minutes of its secret meetins deal with meanings too enormous but too precise for prose. Not this, not that -its Book of Emblems trembles in your hand. Naturally it shits on schoolmasters & police, but it sneers at liberationists & ideologues as well -it is not a cleam will-lit room. A topological charlatan laid out its corridors & abandoned parks, its ambush-decor of luminous black & membranous maniacal red. Each of us owns half the map -like two renaissance potentates we define a new culture with our anathematized mingling of bodies, merging of liquids -the Imaginal seams of our City-state blur in our sweat. Ontological anarchism never came back from its last fishing trip. So long as no one squeals to the FBI, CHAOS cares nothing for the future of civiliaztion. Amour fou breeds only by accident -its primary goal is ingestion of the Galaxy. A conspiracy of transmutation. Its only concern for the Family lies in the possibility of incest (Grow your own!" "Every human a Pharoah!") -O most sincere of reader, my semblance, my brother/sister! -& in the masturbation of a child it finds concealed (like a japanese-paper-flower-pill) the image of the crumbling of the State. Words belong to those who use them only till someone else steals them back. The Surrealists disgraced themselves by selling amour fou to the ghost-machine of Abstraction -they sought in their uncosciousness only power over others, & in this they followed de Sade (who wanted "freedom" only for grown-up whitemen to eviscerate women & children). Amour fou is saturated with its own aesthetic, it fills itself to the borders of itself with the trajectories of its own gestures, it runs on angels' clocks, it is not a fit fate for commisars & shopkeepers. Its ego evaporates in the mutability of desire, its communal spirit withers in the selfishness of obsession. Amour fou involves non-ordinary sexuality the way sorcery demands non-ordinary consciousness. The anglo-saxon post-Protestant world channels all its suppressed sensuality into advertising & splits itself into clashing mobs: hysterical prudes vs. promiscuous clones & former-ex-singles. AF doesn't want to join anyone's army, it takes no part in the Gender Wars, it is bored by equal opportunity employment (in fact it refuses to work for a living), it doesn't complain, doesn't explain, never votes & never pays taxes. AF would like to see every bastard ("lovechild") come to term & birthed -Af thrives on anti-entropic devices -AF loves to be molested by children -AF is better than prayer, better than sinsemilla -AF takes its own palm-trees & moon wherever it goes. AF admires tropicalismo, sabotage, break-dancing, Layla & Manjun, the smells of gunpowder & sperm. AF is always illegal, whether it's disguised as a marriage or a boyscout troop -always drunk, whether on the wine of its own secretions or the smoke of its own polymorphous virtues. It is not the derangement of the senses but rather their apotheosis -not the result of freedom but rather its precondition. Lux et voluptas. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 4) "Secrets of the Assassins" by Peter Lamborn Wilson (an excerpt from SCANDAL) I. A Fatimid Chrestomathy On the seventeenth of Ramazan, Hassan II, upon whose mention be peace... caused his followers to come to Alamut. They raised four great banners...white red yellow & green...at the four corners of the minbar. At noon he came down from the fortress & in a most perfect manner mounted the pulpit. Baring his sword he cried: O inhabitants of the worlds, djinn, men & angels! Someone has come to me in secret from the Imam, who has lifted from you the burden of the Law & brought you to the Resurrection. Then he set up a table & seated the people to break the fast. On that day they showed their joy with wine & repose. II. The Chains of the Law Metaphysics abandons the city: all the greystone angels which decorate the bridge come to life & flap heavily up into the low mist. Everything on either side of the skin falls subject to doubt. Quick! reconstruct something to outlive this betrayal... The cupbearer...call him the Saki for the sake of style...remains when all else fails; and desire, the unhealed wound. Sometimes a crack opens between the two, like the rose I set between myself & the Saki. Everything else is losing its grip: a spectral flight of luminous gulls across the low grey sky, over the bridge. And the Law abandons us, another ponderous escape of stone angels. I have no reason to love the Law...why should I? Must I refuse the wine i the cup & the shaman's embroidered robe, all to pay a price? no realization without Law, sin & hell? the city's redsmoke image! Now darkness...in the darkness appears another angel...no way of knowing if it can be trusted...certainly not carved of stone...it looks like the Saki...it filters into the imagination like trembling smoke. It opens this book, A Fatimid Chrestomathy: on a certain day an angelic yout ascended a throne on a mountaintop in lost Persia, announcing that the chains of the Law have been broken. I have no idea who is speaking, who is being spoken to. I swear by my pen I do not believe or disbelieve. The mist closes over the bridge like tuberculosis. (London) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 4)TOPY Campout 1991 Listen... listen... listen...five beautiful wolf-angels spent eight days, where forest meets sea, exploring a rocky beach, themselves and each other... Why do the hike-in's always have to be such traumatic events? But we did get a feel for how untransversible rain forest can be when we had to flee the incoming tide by scaling that hill... think positive... "that which does not kill me makes me stronger"-Nietsche after staying that first night on a very imense beach...we scouted out a more secluded spot three or four miles south of sands point trail head... there overlooking a stretch of rocky beach, tide pools and "scaries" we made our home for the next week...that very night we did our first group rite...a rope ritual that jason led....tied left-hand to our neighbor's right and right-hand to our neighbor's left...we sat in a circle and contemplated how we had willingly bound ourselves to each other and to TOPY which was represented by the rope...we moved out onto the beach...testing our bounds, dancing and singing..."we circle around, we circle around...wearing our long wing feathers...." then we cut thee physical rope which bound us together...but during our stay there we left knotted lengths about our wrists...badges of our L-ov-E... on tuesday night which was a very special evening E saw me first northern lights...it began as a shimmering white sheet...but then it spread rainbow rays upwards...covering Big Dipper completely with red...thee colour ov KALI...on wednesday evening we held our first sweat...we drummed and chanted songs to all our "relations"...heating thee rocks to an eiry red-glowing, translucency...once inside we poured water on thee rocks...thee waves ov steam were almost too much...facing thee flames outside our lodge with me eyes closed E saw swirling, dancing images similiar to using thee Dreamachine...thee combination ov heat, chanting and deep breathing was very mind altering...it was as if E was hollow and a flame which began in me perianum...burned higher twirling around itself...up and out thee top ov me head...E then calmed myself enough to ask for water...but was incapable of holding thee bottle...one ov me dear brothers had to for me...thee next sweat was during thee day, thee stones seemed hotter and we burned resin...thee waves ov steam were too much this timE and as E lay on me back trying to breath...E realize one ov me greatest fears...being a vegetable from an accident or stroke...though a painful and draining experience...this second sweat was also very cleansing....friday... a day filled with "torchure and mootiltlation"...among which was our MOONDANCE (combination ball- and sun-dance)...bradley and E pierced ourselves in thee chest above thee left nipple...mine entry and exit points were about an inch apart and then line was pulled through...we then pierced an apple each...threaded thee line through the apple and then tied thee end to a tree branch...as we danced thee others drummed...it seemed timeless...but E watched thee moon rise above thee trees...at first it hurt but as E begin to get thee apple bouncing about in thee air thee pain left...thee bouncing apple was hypnotic to watch and thee line was pulling me skin away from me chest by a couple ov inches...it felt as if E was flying and at one point E felt as if a hand was massaging my heart...and E was overcome by a great sense ov L-ov-E... every thing was very vivid and colours seemed to become very bright and shift in spectrum...we danced until thee line wore threww thee apples and then finally broke...afterwards we performed a group sigil...we agreed on a combination ov a group focal point, but to also incorporate our own sigils...so within a huge sigil which stretched from the edge ov thee forest to thee sea...there six sections one for each ov our sigils and an empty space for our dream lovers...we anointed each other and thee remainder was poured on thee sand for our dream-lovers as well as thee network as a whole and its sigil we had drawn, upon thee fire and into thee sea as offerings to thee respective spirits...it was me first group sigil and though it could have been more dynamic it was still very powerful...thee following day our last full day at thee campsite...a few of us decided to indulge in psychedelics...thee three ov us took a hike up along thee beach...past an incredibly huge, flat, sandy beach which stretched out forever it seemed, thee entire length filled with jellyfish washed ashore...an LSD nightmare...past a rocky point with beautiful tidal pools...past cambodian temples and gigantic bonsai tress...past a valkyrie with waist length golden braids...past vince from france...past thee ravens' impenetrable fortress...we sat on thee beach and watched the sun dance on thee sea...E picked up a white crystal stone which seemed to pulsate with its own inner light...E realized then that E was peaking so E kissed my brothers goodbye and left them behind...bones bleached on thee beach...and began walking back to thee campsite...stopping twice...once to howl in thee cave-tunnel and another when a lone man stopped and asked me where "we" were...it was hard to keep from laughing in his face...giving an esoteric answer like, "we are standing in thee middle ov thee Pure Land ov thee Fine Dharma" or cutting his throat...as E walked back E shape changed...a gnarled old sage, a king, a bird flying, a snake slithering, a warrior, a monk, a mad man in an empty land...and thee entire journey thee winds ov timE were howling...like flowers unfolding...when E arrived at thee campsite E could not talk, but E wished to express to gabriel me L-ov-E for him...so while E hugged him E blew in his ear & then he blew in me ear and it sounded just like thee wind howling...and E knew on some level that he understood...a psychick transmission...which E cannot express adequately in words... then E lay on thee beach watching thee sun's arc across thee sky, and as E contemplated thee stange opacity ov thee sky and at thee same time its awesome infinitude...E was horrified and thee sky turned into a blue-black face with three eyes...which took a great bite out ov me...E thought about what E had read in thee Psychedelic Xperience and thee Tibetan Book ov thee Dead and calmed myself by realizing that all things are objects ov mind including this and that E should become one with my devourer...later E realized that this was essentially thee tantrik evening ritual called "gcod"....E felt renewed...filled with Energy and capable ov doing whatever is needed to be done...E then played in the forest for a while...watching the huge insects fly by with their rainbow coloured tails....at sunset E told gabriel that E realized that today was not thee last day that tomorrow would be quite an adventure hiking out...and for that matter thee day after that would also be filled with adventure and thee next day and so on and even though each ov us might go our own separate paths each ov us would always be right here at this hearth...with all ov our dream-lovers. a mad love from an empty land Lung sTong sMyonpa (COYOTE 131) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Funkychicken actively studies empathogenic and entactogenic compounds. Wearing Lizards and Ecstatic Shaman motifs, leaving the body. Who scared him into meat? Into shit forever? Hassan I Sabbah whispers, the end of words is at hand. Unblinking lizard eyes? A theory? A Seduction? Only the television idiot box Sign of a Decaying Order's death grip. ISDN? World Band? With limitless possibilities we are frozen. Rabbits in headlights, Unless ourselvings we steal away. 24-hr assault with car alarms, radio alarm clocks, 1 hour lunches, stop signs, high heeled shoes dangled from feet. Who Are? If a great writer creates his predecessors, then MF shall be the undoing of Derrida, Baudrillard, Hakim Bey, Peter Lambourn Wilson, Foucault, Bataille, Wittgenstein, Bob Black, RAWilson, and Henry. The Entire Path is achieved in a Single Step. I AM The Real. (current velocity) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- END TOPY ON-LINE TRANSMISSION 1.09