GOSPEL OF LUCIFER

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Tadeusz Miciński

THE UNDONE

Temptation of the Lord

Christ on the desert

A poem

…He was in the desert for forty days,

tempted by Satan.

Mark I.13

Translated by: iLucifer

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Copyright: iLucifer

This translation is intended as a public domain. You may copy

and distribute it in any way you like as long as it is given away

for free. If you want to copy and distribute it in order to sell it

you will have to get a written permission from me first.

Canterbury 2008.

www.gospeloflucifer.com

www.myspace.com/iiiLucifer

e-mail: iiiLucifer@yahoo.co.uk

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TRANSLATOR’S FOREWORD

Here is presented “The Gospel of Lucifer”. This is a translation of a

poem “Niedokonany”(“The Undone“) by Tadeusz Miciński. It is based

on the 1931 polish edition. Main subject of the poem is the dialogue

that Jesus Christ had with Lucifer during his forty days fasting in the

desert, but here it is given how remembered by Lucifer, not Jesus‟

apostles. The first ten chapters are the mystical self revelation of

Lucifer, then comes the account of the debate that Lucifer had with

Jesus. Although the final chapters of the book see the destruction and

subsequent redemption of Lucifer, this is still the only gospel where

Lucifer actually have a say instead of just being used as a scapegoat for

Christian preachers.

iLucifer.

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,,Why hast Thou fallen from Heaven, Lucifer?”

1. I scatter my words like sea sand from my palms – who will cognize

the depths from their sough?

2. Golden scent of roses and anemones intoxicates me – starry eyes of

Demons pierce me through – but the dark Dawns of my being

wander through the dark night.

3. The end draws near and I may still withdraw – terrible whispers

drip to my heart like venom of the snakes hung above the Titans'

lair.

4. In the giant chasms the cathedrals crush, freezing breath blows

from the stony wall – – run away from the dying worlds!

5. Nails of my feet betrayed me amidst the stillness of

boundless desert; stony hands of fear crushed my arms – screams

should not appal these sites!

6. For how long do I stand at the granite gate and don't dare to assail –

o, terrifying sough of the things unknown!

7. To the bottom of the onyx bowl fall drops of blood – calmly

resounded the voice of magical spells, a thrill shuddered with

gloomy towers and dully, without waft the gate drew aside.

8. Freezing fire slides on my bones, my arms numbed in convulsive

strain. On the wall of the void, polished like a mirror I can see a

Shadow – ghost…

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,,And I turned to see the voice that spoke

with me. And in the midst of the seven

golden candlesticks One like unto the Son

of Man, clothed with a garment down to

the feet…and His feet as though they

burned in a furnace – and His voice as the

sound of many waters – –”

1. Entrails scorched with a fire of damnation, which the waters of the

world will extinguish not.

2. Moan of thousands doomed in the void that has no bounds!

3. No day, no dusk, no dawn, no awakening – but from infinity into

infinity: darkness.

4. Amidst the immortal silence roar of crushing ice heaps – black,

smouldering stars in obsessive swirls.

5. My wings span seven thousand fold epochs from the revolt of

angels to the demise of a mammoth on the Earth and beyond.

6. Never flight into the upper realms – excessive weight draws into

the depth, claws hook to ascents.

7. My voice resembles the noise of burning cities, mountain quakes

and forests crushed with thunder, the roar of hailstorms and the

whizzing of the sea.

8. But when I want:

I sing the swan songs –

magic flute warbles behind the grove –

and flowers‟ sough I mimic with silver voice,

and I charmingly chirp, like forest birds.

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,,There we feel an immense joy, which says: I shall end!”

1. Choosing fate – I have chosen an excess of pain, so that no one may

surpass me.

2. The King therefore is my name –

Lord of the Dying – Archangel of Pride – the Damned – – but the

universe forgot my name, which is:

The Undone!…

3. For I am the cradle – grave. Faded and rotten sprouts within my

insides, like a dead embryo in a living mother: –

4. from the cave of arch-being and not dripping into the womb of the

all-ness, in me they take place like a dream smoke, like a shadow of

a sea eagle above the tide.

5. My might knows no bounds: above the towers of blasphemies is my

crown, underneath the prisoners' dungeons is my throne, in the

chasms of the world the princely troops.

6. In the sub aqueous grottos of the ocean the cry of my dream-sights,

in the craters of lava – hashish of my raptures, in the sea-storms –

the bed of my lusts.

7. Leprosy and plague from my breath; madness of infinity from my

expectations; live unbound from my curses!

8. On the range of destinies the all-being breaking with a torture

wheel – one of the nightmares that die, being conceived in the heart

of the Undone.

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1. In the dismal void, carved with fjords, winds the road of the shores

of infinity.

2. On the shore of the misty sea necrosis of the stone have enfolded

me, freezing wind nestles to me in the sough of the dark mystery.

3. All the herbs of my soul have decayed, the moon stopped in run,

the sea of my waters have stilled in the lack of lunation.

4. Heavens crushed me, volcanoes lit in me and died out; the Shadow

of the unknown passed through me and my face enfolded with a

mask of a stone.

5. Sad is my being until the unknown, ultimate expanse of darkness

that will never be lit by flying comets – in this after-death

dimension – where all the longing have ceased and the eternity of

pain begins.

6. The Ether hasn't delivered me, the stars haven't conceived me – the

wings of Cherubs carried me and then dropped, as a stone too great.

7. I am the silence full of unknown moans, stillness above the

volcanoes burning in the dark.

8. The eternity bygone dwells in me, and the one yet to come – hangs

above my soul like a giant rock.

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,,I begin myself, when I please.”

1. Underground swirls of cry pierced through the foundation of my

being. The sea frothed with wild roar in the caves of my sadness,

my pain resurrected from a deaf lake of death under the dome of the

mountain of doom.

2. In the night of times – I am the half-stone snake on my throne,

within an immense hall, with columns aglow.

I carve my heart, on a blood stained block of agate I scribe with

thunderbolts the words of the invincible truth.

3. I create the statues of lights and with one blow I thrust them down

into a dismal, chaotic swirl of a never going to manifest Sight.

4. I reign and rule the shadows; I devour the stars; I guard the entrance

to the secret Valley, where fire and ice devour the pilgriming

ghosts.

5. Naked I wonder through the ice-deserts with the burning torch of

my heart that has drunk the immortality.

6. Shadows of monstrous trees plunge their mouldering arms into the

musty depths: the ghosts float in a boat on the river Styx – and the

dead elevate their gaze onto me – the chosen ones I give my hand

and lead on my steps, others with a wail of annihilation fly towards

the misty, swirling cataracts.

7. More and more terrible in the gravely glow of the moon heap the

black basalts, covered with helmets of silver glaciers – immense

waters of the depths, charmed by Pain that has no name.

8. Underneath the mountain range of these summits of shapes and

weights unknown to imagination knowing the mountains only as

folds of the earth – but not able to rise to the mountains that are a

revolt against every gravity and law – descent these ghosts, unto the

eminent and the only real Absurd – the Non-Being.

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,,My mouth amidst all things,

I overthrow face down the gods

of the ominous stars.”

1. In the temple of the dead God rage the fight of ghosts: they swarm

and tread in the dark, wanting to touch my wings from behind the

bars.

2. I, the hierophant of ghosts, celebrate at the flaming altar, that is a

testimony of breaking with the Order and the annihilation of God –

Standing as a motionless statue of the eternal change – from a ruby

chalice I drink my being: The Soul.

3. Her admired name floats with endless litany through the thousand

fold labyrinths of the palace of the dead sun: on the altar of dreams

I read the Book of Annihilation and one after another I break the

hieratic seals.

4. My mitre, armed with all dawns, lightens the void and blackens the

sky, towering above accessible to no one the realm of the Non-

Being.

5. I listen with delight to screams and cry of torture, standing on a

pulpit of a star deceased before the eternity –

my harp quivers with rapture and the song like a sea fling its

breasts unto me, bringing me jewels of the depths: myriads of the

Ocean waves dance before me, and that Ocean is of moans.

6. I behold: as a hero climbs the walls of my fort and touching my

turrets with a bleeding hand, meets a flaming arrow from my bow,

that will pierce through the eyes sadder than the subterranean lakes.

7. I behold: when an infant prince on a rotten paillasse with eyes

clairvoyant, like that of a ghost, watches the countless crimes of his

clan, and a grave of his mother, whom he must curse.

8. I behold: as a wizard locked in a glowing tower, with joints strained

from wheels and chains, with a dying glance hums the triumph of

Magic –

for in the dark castle-chapel they lead an infant prince to receive

the Host from the hands of a monk initiated into necromancy. His

father, the king – immersed in a blasphemous prayer, courtiers

crowd with pale faces – and now the black Host touches the lips of

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the going to heaven child and a bloody knife with one cut severs

this angelic head.

Hung by the hair from the womb of infernal Belphegor it starts to

speak with an unearthly, quiet and terrible voice – and the king

starts up, hearing the roar of falling hells, which he has already

entered in his life.

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,,I know the names and I know the forms

which no one knows.”

1. Raging, black and cold waterfall of sin is breaking on the rocks and

with bloody hurricanes illuminates the bottomless ravines.

2. The pilgrims eternally walk through the gorges and mouldy

bridges, knock silently to my hall – and once they pass the

threshold – they are already insane.

3. In the tomb of buried alive I hear the strange sough: the tongues

bitten, blackened and swollen whispering to me the secret of the

last confession.

4. At my feet I see the down-trodden being of him, who was bringing

salvation to the world and has fallen in half way: magnetic eyes

fixed on the hieroglyph of my heart to read it and to accuse it.

5. I wander in the catacomb of dreams that are my garden – next to

the demon of thought, with whom I am bound for centuries.

6. My spring like face became like a dead moon furrowed with

grooves, my eyes burned out unto the black suns of the condemned

wisdom.

7. In the silence of midnight divinations, in the greenish radiance of

the dying sun Love comes to me, when I hang naked amidst the

mocking mirrors, like a flying bird, when it falls on the sharp thorn

of the poisonous bush: northern Lights arise with an abrupt flame,

billowing oceans of unknown hopes humming, flooding the

ominous, majestic glaciers. Is that Love?

8. Amidst the interstellar coldness of my thought this dream congeals

into the clouds uncried – and ominous radiance enfolds me, like a

phosphoresce of Antarctic ice in the night.

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,,The world is not sustained else then by the mystery –

which is not entrusted even to the highest of Angels”.

1. A sailor, pushed out of course by ice floats, tries to evaluate from a

bearing of a magnetic needle an unknown to him southern tide: in a

proportion of an earthworm to comets flying through infinity –

effort of men to mine: on the magical zodiac of Trismegistos I draw

the hyperbole of Salvation.

2. The moonbeam swayed and turned back. Struck with a depth of a

discovery foretelling the new Dawn of Chaos, I chipped a club of a

star frozen with icicles, going to greet the Creation.

3. And when on my tops the trans-astral hurricanes and frost – lower

regions of my wings tear through the fiery forests of agaves,

through the plains steaming with blood, strewn with white-flowers

of skulls – through the ruins of the holy cities and monasteries.

4. And I stood in the gloomy tomb of Luna, gazing at the stars in

reverie, circling in the yard of their prison, and when the smallest

one of them measured the length of her chain, I turned my sight to

the range of that Gaya.

5. The giants lived here in vaulted caves – they had kingdoms and

they build starry towers, immersed in their bygone glory of the

demiurges.

6. Second moon, that circled around the Earth with its' companion –

started to fall under my sight, swirling with increasing speed, lavas

tore the crust in him and burst out, making it unto like a butchers

face, monstrified with horror.

And the giants Giborim in madness of fear hide into the chasms –

7. Having pity on them, I reached out my hand – the ocean waves rose

like snakes towards a wizard and with a noise of crushing

Himalayas fell on the seashore towns, billowed with foam on the

tops of the temples, hit at the stony terrace of the mountains,

assailing, gushing forth, roaring, joined with the storms of raging

air, whipped with a whizz of cyclones and run to the middle of the

highest earthly plateau, Pamir – and were just about to assail with

storm on those kings with the rest of the nations clinging to the

rocks of Hindukush and Kuen-Lun –

– I saw mastodons and atlantosaures fighting with titans for a place

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on the mountains tops –

8. And then the moon collapsed, falling from the sky like a heavy,

monstrous lamp and burning the air ahead, bloody, monstrous,

belching with flames, grinded the Earth into the dust of the new

Chaos.

Such destruction revealed to me it‟s' terrible, inner vanity – so

what, if the Earth losing ancient giants, will swarm with beetles –

people, like an excrement lying on the Milky Way of stars – – or if

she remains empty – what difference does that make?

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,,Who is he who conquers the world –

only the one who believes he is the Son of God.”

1. And when down beneath me the vaults of the earthly firmament

cracked from hurricanes and the rain of thunderbolts –

2. Then unknown to me magnetic sight fell into my secret depths and

wandered there – like a lightning bolt I went after him wanting to

snatch.

3. It floats silently, but with infinite speed, I circled in vain the

farthest nebulae of the stars.

4. And I climbed on top of the Mountain of the world.

Ghosts fill this most terrible of the deserts, crying noiselessly

amidst the crushed mausoleums and columns – congealed weed of

lavas entwined the wondrous bas-reliefs of purgatory and the

valleys of tears, ablaze meteors belched here with fire, black frost

crushed enamelled sarcophagi. In a gloomy minster there was

smouldering the spirit of a star that died for the world.

5. Whose is the funeral – whose is the lament – whose footsteps

pacing on the floor? Swarm of veiled ghosts floats along, scorching

my womb with candle lights – thousands of lips, like fiery wounds,

proclaim to me an antiphon of suffering:

Every star brought forth a million genii, and three millions of stars

are passing me by, signing their names in the Book of Annihilation.

6. And the vaults began to tremble from the hurricane of lightning

bolts – swarm of insane ghosts demand that I shall tear apart a Son

of God on the altar of nothingness, and shudder with a soul of the

Silent Void. And I read in the depths of the sky, asking for destiny –

and seven meteors fell and with an azure snake engraved on the

darkness the name – Emanuel.

7. Before the dimensions and beings were conceived, going to exile –

I cried the hurricane night – for the last time Emanuel's eyes and

lips bid farewell to mine.

8. Clenched the terrible, inaccessible chasms amidst which I walked

feeling that behind the horizon are the truths eternal and divine,

which I haven't cognised.

From the tomb of Luna I gazed at rolling before me in space the

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mouldy skull of Gaya.

Demon of silence, clasped his hands, looks into my fainted and

with the madness of the moon clouding now eyes – lies seals on the

tombs of mysteries which I haven't opened for centuries, not

knowing the name of the Unknown.

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1. And like a Fatum hung above the world, I looked again – the

humankind aphids coated their Mother‟s body, crawling in misery

and bitter resentments, building from sand their shrines to Weal

and Woe.

2. Multiplying like silica in the waters of the northern seas under the

rays of the sun, they gave me an opportunity of listening to the

murmur of the cities of millions, where ruled the Janus fetish –

Moloch – Mamon – to whom into his fiery hands mothers dancing

threw their babies, and from the belching mouth of a god a phallus

stuck out.

3. I saw the tribes in famine typhus, expelled by war to boundless

north, I saw the kainite of India, who made laws crushing the weak

– turning them into the damned castes of kuravers, dombars,

pariahs – sentenced to a fellowship of corpses and hyenas: millions

of stuffed parasites praised the mercy of God.

4. I saw the kings of orangutangs, who thrust iron sceptres into

prayerful eyes of slaves – conquerors, who with a spear gouged out

the eyes of the kneeling, holding them by the lips pierced with wire

– before me burned the treasures of Sardanapal, and he with them,

amidst his harlots.

5. I saw how the positive electricity of the Sun and the negative

magnetism of the Moon made of the Earth a medium supple for

impregnation –

and I began to think inside her, to want inside her – and she was

possessed by me.

6. And I taught those longing for liberation that every heavenly body

has its own magnetic colour: azure of Saturn, purple of Jupiter,

redness of Mars, gold of the Sun, yellow of Venus, violet of

Mercury, blackness of Uranus, green of Neptune. From the angles

of their magnetic influences I cast forth the aspects for the people

of the Earth: each of them physically was the microcosmos of his

planet, on which he lived, but with his soul he was a symbol of the

starry abyss of the sky, of meteors, nebulae, but above all of the

infinity –

and in this microcosmos was reflecting the Anamnesis of the all-

being – for his hands searched in the darkness hands of the spirits

inconceivably higher- like Sephirot or lower like Lemurs, that is

the astral shadows of apes.

7. Ecstatics talked with one another from one end of the world to the

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other, crossing the chasms over God and reaching to the gates of

Paradise, guarded by an angel with Bull‟s head but with winged

lightning-bolts. Whirlwinds and hurricanes of astral light were seen

by the sick convulsionists, who could be beaten with iron rods,

without being harmed – their bones bending, their bodies floating in

the air. The wizards dared for all, to achieve all.

Larvae hurried to sacrificial bowls, lured by blood – wizards,

cursing the intellect and hope for immortality of the soul – were

turning into reality their hallucinations above the rotten ponds of

light in their brains.

Whoever once stepped on the threshold of the other world – had to

die in a terrible and strange way.

River of moans of Cocytus, sea of oblivion of Lethe, cold waterfall

of sin of Acheron, whirl of fire of Phlegethon, that twisted with

snakes and squirmed amidst its terrible darkness – that is the hell,

which my worshippers were entering alive.

8. The priest was revealing the last of Eleusian secrets, approaching

swiftly to the adept and whispering: ,,Osiris is the Black God.” And

then the Earth became for an adept a book of Magic, where capital

letters were the temples, and statements formed of the towns.

Souls of my priests, immersed in the astral light, have seen the

reflections of the most concealed thoughts and the most

inconceivable insights, by the power of that divine being that

dwells on the desert of the soul, like a statue of Memnon, in a

sitting motionless posture, gazing behind the horizon, where the

sun does not yet rise, and only the bloodlike purple floods his brow.

This is Nemesha of Kabbala – Adam Kadmon – the Man of Milky

Way of Astrologers.

Seven strings of Orpheus‟ lyre, like spheres of Chaldean planets,

wanted to replace people with gods – and faint images of

experiences – with eternal flames of the other worlds. The ship of

Argonauts made of prophetic oaks of Dodone – that is the spirit of

a visionaire – sailed to those lands, where the mountains encroach

the mountains, lights ascend on eternal thoughts.

page of the manuscript missing -

-( from the 1931 edition)

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1. Amidst the stone desert in the violet dusks of the sunset sat a Man.

2. Fasting and mortifications emaciated His form – white robe, worn

by those whom Prophet John baptized in the waters of Jordan – and

I saw in His eyes on the background of a hunger fever the great

visions of the Messiah. Equal pain hasn‟t arisen in the chasms of

the Earth – and never a reflection of an equal beauty. Is that Him?

But the spirit of my brother Cherub trapped in a human corpse

shone like a ruby in a puddle.

3. Then I swiftly gave him a vision, and I showed him the great Indian

forest where the Self-Saving mortified themselves: and leading

Him amidst those motionless statues of mortification, I spoke:

Thousands of ascetics, those who spend their lives in the great

forests of the Himalayas – in the winter the cold freezes them, in

the summer they are like inside a burning oven – they suffer

terrible fear in the night when in the dead forest something crawls

and wisses, rings with thousands bells and howls like the abyss of

the sea – – Hearts of them all are overflown with immense pity –

And in Your heart, Son of Man, there is pity. They feed on one

grain of rice a day, every second or even every seventh day – and

from that their bodies become dried and touching their bellies they

can count the bones of their spines. And also You, Son of Man,

mortify yourself, not eating honey from the forest, or from the oasis

dates, not drinking water from the cisterns cold, shaded – and you

mortify yourself to quench the Thirst, like when Jehova demanded

from his Nation in the desert during the forty years of wandering.

4. May you, like your Nation, wish these deserts to blossom with

rustling corn, that there was no hunger typhus and no mothers

selling their children because of hunger.

Arise then, become a Man conquering Angels – Azrael –

even the most terrible ascesis will not take You, nor the humankind,

across the shaky bridge, from which the great abyss of the roaring

waters of Life is seen.

Brighten Your mind, drawing from the fullness of being – nourish

your blood with food and drink from all over the Earth.

If Moses hit the rock with a staff to draw water for one bunch of

wretched nomads, draw You alive powers for all the Nations of the

Earth, amongst whom you will find many, made like if today by the

hand of the Demiurge. May the fields sough with abundant,

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plentiful corn. May the Golden Age fulfil on the Earth, like in the

Song of Rut and Noemi, the great blessing for which yearn, to

which aspire to the lawgivers Manu and Zarathustra, Lao-Tse and

Likurg, and even Moses and Joseph – all good kings and all the

wise men. Remind yourself about the Prosperous Years in Egypt,

which fed the Earth – do You see these ears of wheat, every rank

ear made of seven ears?

And You will become the new great Jussuf of the world, the

safeguard of its well-being.

As Ezekiel XVI says: I bathed You with my waters and washed

You of blood – I anointed You with balsamic oil – and adorned

with jewels, I put armlets on Your arms and necklace on your neck

– and I put a bandeau on Your forehead and hair, an earring in Your

ear, and a wonderful crown on Your head.

You have made altars of my goods.

But what are worth the pitiful promises of Ezekiel –

Against my power, that like a tent woven with gold, will spread

above You, fading here like a bush of human misery?

5. I will flood You with Grace in remembrance of my brother Cherub

– I will set Your throne on the col of the highest fulfilments of

humankind.

6. Great cedars of Lebanon soughed to Him, from the fields and

meadows odours came, like from the Joyous Arabia, the setting sun

clad Him in scarlet, and I was like a statue of Memnon, singing a

hymn to Horus:

7. I will initiate You into the wisdom and silence of the peaks, Your

command will become a cry of thousands ready to die – Your

people, orderly and wealthy like bees in the bee-hives will submit

to Your Law, that will fill their lives from the cradle to the grave –

and when dying they will hold the talisman of Your Name, O the

best of the merciful wise-men!

8. In the hanging gardens – amidst the lakes, on the mountain slopes –

Your palace of the black Amazons in panthers‟ hides – hyperborean

warriors, like statues hewn in the ice, will safeguard Your treasuries

and gynaecium.

Son of Man, you will become the King of the Earth, not in a

poetical allegory, but you will take her heart to your sunny hands –

like now the sun has embraced You whole.

And You will delight the Magis with the most perfect wine of

wisdom. Torches of fragrant larches and ambergrises will burn in

priceless bowls, each of which was once a cause for long lasting

wars between the kings. On the sarcophagi of nephrite the

inscriptions of Your victories from the cataracts of Nile to camphor

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forests on the islands, where the flocks of sylenuses live above the

bay of turquoise peacocks. Messiah of the Earth – here the

Chaldean Magis, who are called Princes of Heaven, will surround

You in these fabulous buildings of Persepolis, on which there are

engraved the revelations of the Magus of the Golden Star.

You will live long like patriarchs – You will die like a blooming

bush in the fire of dreams, for I will force the Earth to give You her

whole breast – Moonlike women, like dwellers of heaven of the

Hindu nymph Apsharas – and I will lead You as a god Vishnu into

the worm womb of the ocean waves, filled with the visions of

Nirvana. Who will be before you all those, who‟s Words haven‟t

yet silenced in the Void?

Salomon – Nimrod – Iskandar the Great drivers of Your chariots,

Semiramis, Judith and Medea servants of Your bed. One thousand

and one love nights of queen Saba, of which the arameic shepherds

told You about, will fulfil in Your reign – happier than Jemshid,

who, look! on the star quadriga floats through the sapphire-black,

calmed yet from the storms – Ocean of my will.

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1. The Sun has set, rosy gardens of clouds scattered into ashes – He –

like one of the desert stones – by a caprice of nature turned into a

man, eyelashes shining with drops of an evening dew – sat

motionless with wide opened and I don‟t know what seeing now

eyes.

Suddenly He sickened me – when with pale lips He whispered: Not

only with bread man lives, but with every word coming from the

lips of God – (Mark, 4)

He opened a narrow gate – and He didn‟t go through the wide gate

and wide road which led, as He thought, to damnation. And many

are those who wander there – but He was alone.

And His gate was narrow and the road was narrow that led, as He

thought, to life: and few are those who find it.

Pointing at me to the Shadows, he spoke –

Beware of the false prophets that come covered with Golden

Fleece, but inside they are jerking wolves – If one does not fulfil

the Word of God – then when the waters rise and hurricanes roar

and assail the Temple of the Soul – It will fall, for it was build on

the sand.

2. I twisted the desert sand into a cyclone, it howled in my hand with

thousand fold rage – I brandished at him with a Veil of Death, with

a hurricane wind I blew at his face with gravels – snatched from the

black shores of an ancient sea. Kingdoms and Mights followed after

me.

3. Is that You – Messiah, longed for by Your Nation, wretched from

the torment of Babylon thraldom, from Sassanid persecutions, from

Roman war?

Art ,,Thy robes red from the blood of the enemies?”, Hast Thou led

Thy Folk to suck the milk of nations and to feed on the breasts of

the kings? Hast Juda arise as a lion assailing the enemies in the

woods by night? Who is false? You – or Moses and the Prophets!

4. You do not desire to reign – for Your eyes detest purples and

brooches, Your arm is too weak for a brass bow and on Your chest

there hangs no eagle snatched from the sky with an iron bolt! Look

at the porch of my palace – the king approaches to the altar, where

flickers the Joyous Flame –

5. and You – adoptee of a carpenter, borned illegitimately – scorned

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by many sons of Your mother – sanctimonious spawn of David,

who ordered to cut in half with wooden sows all the captives of the

conquered land –

6. Rabbi of the poor in spirit and of harlots – demagogue of the never-

content rabbis and slave swarm – wandering thaumaturge, Egypt

overflows with your likes – the Earth knows thousands better than

You, like Jamis, Yogis and Manteurs –

7. You are unworthy even to light the torch of obedience to Brahmins

of Delhi and Benares – !

8. A miser, shelling grains on desolate roads – you regard yourself as

the Son of God?! Your excrements lie about the roads; you lose

your semen in dirty dreams – Is that how the sons of gods walk?

You, chandala of the world, you want to rule the world – Jew?

I know Your racial ambition, secret and devouring You unto

madness – here on the desert you want to infirm yourself in a

conviction, that Yours is the power over Israel and all other nations

remaining under the rule of Satan, as Your circumcises nobly

believe. –You, by the power and benevolence of the Sun suspended

from decomposition, animal organism – you think that you can

raise the dead – and at the end of the world You will awake them? –

You, of whom not one bone will be left, undevoured by tamarisks

or unscattered by the winds! you dream – that you were already

before the Birth as Logos: inspired Word of the Primeval –

You will allow that Your won with hardship, not knowing anything,

anyway, about the world and its‟ laws, bumpkins – will proclaim

that: you are the Only Son of God, that you were in Paradise, that

you have created things seen and unseen, Thrones and Mights, as a

first-born of the dead!

Telling to hide these myths for a time, you will boss around like a

Messiah, arriving with triumph to Jerusalem – and what crime is

equal to that of killing in the nation the most beautiful of its‟ faiths,

arisen in the moment of some proud rapture, the faith in the

triumph of the Earthly Messiah! For the crime of these failed hopes

the nation will kill You – but You even from the cross will be

throwing glowing embers on the heads of Your folk – Madman, in

the unlit night of Your mind you have set on fire the Home of Thy

Mother Earth with this insane urge to martyrdom. Not enough has

Your nation undergone of that, from the hands alone of the Iron

Assyrian?

24

1. Dusk of night shaped itself into a terrible hell of an Assyrian

fortress surrounded by the muddy Euphrates, where nothing was

seen except for the swarming crowds.

2. Then the silver ball struck with moan, proclaiming midnight –

resounded the song of goddess Ishtar, who was entering behind the

monstruous walls amidst the moats rotting with human flesh – she

awaited her beloved in the temple of Heaven – and now after his

shadow she descends into Hell.

3. Butchery demons' hands, hideous, cold, ripped her robes off,

jewels, and a belt of wondrous opals – but the goddess naked walks

radiant with love –

And women came to her, who sell themselves for a holy coin in

Kumirni for one night in their lives – and the muddy wave of these

holy coins flew, drowning them – after them run licentious soldier

hosts of Nergal, the God of Hell. Trying to escape women jumped

on the ships – but soldiers let the lions out of the iron dungeons –

jerking, biting, roaring monsters – and the infernal king and

soldiers of darkness with arrows crush the spines of slaves – and

the king himself gouges out with a spear the eyes of the kneeling.

4. Ishtar – known to You, loved by You – a soul that you meet in every

myth as Isis, Anahita and Persephone – shelters with a crowd of

woman into a fort surrounded with walls, where in the depths of the

sky the Chaldean Magis' Zigurat towers shine with colours and

gold.

5. But the butchers clad in iron vests conquer this holy fort with

storm, from machines they throw flaming balls, with battering rams

they strike and crush natches in the walls – chariots in three or four

crush those to whom death on a battlefield was the most merciful

fate – amidst the onslaught the king fans himself – watching the

orgies of savage soldiers on the bodies of slain and dying

priestesses.

6. Will Thou not defend her? on the lonely Zigurat tower You appear,

pale and excessively sad youth, in mourning robes and a slave

chain around your neck – and gazing at the stars you beg them for

mercy for Your Ishtar disgraced –

once you read her fate from the depths of the sky, you threw the

astral tablet into the Void and it broke drawn down by the terrible

25

breath of the Earth.

7. You did not defend her – that altar of flesh, that was destined for

You – others took and defiled – – you behold: Ishtar stands at the

Ocean cliff, poor, wretched, in the mud hut covered with dust,

drying fishing nets, feeding her wretched offspring conceived of

shame – and the sign, she is praying to – is the sign of the Devil!

And withered reeds sough around her and the sandy desert spreads

into infinite distance.

8. As deep as the winged bulls carved of black diorite and the epitaphs

of cuneiform and statues of mighty lords are buried in the ground,

as deep I would abase the foes of Your nation – and on a high

throne You would sit with Ishtar Soul – Your beloved, and that

Tarpeian Rock that threatens to fall on Your wretched nation you

would turn into a mountain of glory, but You must bravely walk to

the statue of Isis – untie the covering veil and in Thyself thoroughly

cognize the great destiny of the lonely Soul, reigning supreme by

itself – without the delusion of God!

26

1. Don't you desire the royal tiara? Are Thou the Seer that Thou

knoweth, that the greatest might in Solitude most terribly weights?

Or maybe you are one of those fallen from the heaven, who's

already seen the Void, flying through it like a meteor? Or maybe –

I, going into the Void, on your bosom, Cherub, have cried a

hurricane night? – Follow me, Your beloved, to the islands of the

Archipelago –

2. Argonauts – we sail out, passing the brass pillars of the Strong Man

– into the vastness of the sea – this is the wildly roaring Atlantic.

But no. I can only see You as a pitiful Jew – be raised to the higher

Hellenic culture. – Man – cognize Thyself, dreaming on the womb

of Mother Nature.

3. Misty Hyades never cloud the horizon, through the sky of the

deepest sapphire float the swans in caress loved by the radiant and

wise God.

4. Fragrant forests of resinous pines, tall and green, their spiky hair

smell of violets – azure waterfalls sough from the hills through

terraces of crusted lava. Butterflies as diverse as the morning

embroidery of the sun on the fjord plunge into flowers that

Persephone has sown in here – above the waters flowing from giant

rocks into the Abyss of Styx – amidst the pillars of the ancient Gate

of the Lions charmingly coiled with the leaves of acanthus, Hermes

plays the pipes – half body of a god, the other of a goat – and shy

nymphs with mountain chamois eyes – listen to him – timidly

gazing into precipice –

5. Don't be afraid of a god in a beast – go with him – he will lead You

to the mountains, that heap like the gods' palaces of onyx – there

you will live – God of Inspiration amongst the beautiful fairies in

the halls of cedar, amber and gold – in the morning attending with

them to the holy prayer of the Sun in the grottos shaded with

laurels, where Castalian spring murmurs amongst stalagmites,

flowing with melodious sound from a slope of an azure glacier.

6. And you will lead with a harp those hosts of nymphs humming on

flowery meadows their honest and tender songs and when you will

immerse yourself into the ecstasy of the Sun – as Apollo Musagetes

– they will help to pollinate the flowers, to guide the tide of rapid

streams, where colourful trouts spawn. Then You will ascend to that

gloomy mountains, where Prometheus suffers till now and You will

27

liberate him with a blessing of a creative smile, and the nymphs,

like clouds gilded with an evening dusk, will coil around Your

inaccessible mountain retreats.

7. Can you see the Ocean from the height? What else do you want

above its song – every wave is like a Queen adorned with jewels of

the depths, and the tritons hurricanes sing to her their prophetic

rage – can you see there, on the rock, immaculate, dreamed out of

foam, Amphitrite? Around her givers of joy with breasts radiant of

love, bathing in the bay under mango trees, flowering with ruby

flowers. Look, frightened with your arrival she runs to the woods,

where ferns slash her hips and fire flies shine in her raven hair,

curling and wet from an evening dew.

Amphitrite awaits You – stretches hands out to You – this not the

common, earthly love!

The Night with its dusk will join tree branches with stars – and You

go with her to those sky high mountains – Centaurs after you,

bodies raised, like statues of bronze, swim across wide forest rivers

and once they reach the shore run through the plains – and far in

the mountains their hoof beats are heard.

Mother Cybele will not withhold any secrets from you – strange

and deep are her tales, wise like the Earth, full of prophetic

instincts, in which the beings serenely die, like snow melting on the

mountains.

8. Here you will be reborn as a God of Initiation Iacchus – the

conqueror of India, the great Lord of Greece – you will rise the

sacrificial bowl into which the Sun will extract of the Earth, pierced

with its rays, seminal juices and wine.

You, the holy, divine Androgyne with the horns of Amun, son of

thunders, tamer of tigers – will seize the Earth with the religion of

immortal beauty.

And that matters not, that Tyrrhenian pirates will capture You,

sleeping in the grotto carry to the ship, thinking that the God of

Inspiration is their slave, suddenly, on the sea, their ship

transfigures, masts blossom with vine like the vine matrix – satyrs

play on the waves with panthers and the bacchantes ride on the

dolphins or unicorns –

some pirates jump in fear to the sea, others kneel down, becoming

Your apostles.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

In a moment this legend dreamed out by the winged souls of seers

will disappear underneath the dark, howling Ocean – the

submerged rock will protrude as a shelter for a sea monster –

toothed, swirling abyss will become a terror to sailors, object of

28

hate to furious waves.

If you want – I will save this paradise for You – Of my joy I have

made a hecatomb for madness, but I know where spring the sources

of purest inspirations – where above Tartarus wheel in the air the

Phoenix birds for proudest bolts.

29

,,For also his brothers believed in him not.”

1. Grey rain fell – freezing the body to the bones – poor clothes

soaked and crusted with ice – cold wind of the night blew from

Lebanon. Translucent mountains arouse before Him – but

underneath each one of them there was a chasm – and swirled a

terrible whirl. And I saw from His eyes as from windows opened

wide the land of terrible sadness and doubt.

2. And I talked to him, like to Epipsychidion, who seized with

madness wants to throw himself into the dark waterfall of the

underground Styx – –

You are filled with Love – of a different kind, though – You want to

receive the tribute of love from all hearts. That is lofty and

tempting – but is it not equal to conquering the world with a

weapon of everlasting lie against the everlasting misery of live:

slaves, wretches, misers – and those timid of conscience,

compassionate, mimosous – will swing to every slight breeze,

bringing the Good News, cruel and cold Divinity of Jehovah will

turn into a preparing a nice surprise Father Comforter – By killing

his Son he will seal with blood for eternal liege whole of the Earth

– that seal will lure millions of hearts, like the sacrificial pit lures

the larvae – and no one anymore will bother to verify if there is

anything real behind this solemn oath, but that the Righteous One

died for the Truth! As if it was not possible to die in the an easiest

and the most lofty way just for a hallucination.

3. After You Martyred – like after a rat catcher playing the pipes – go

the martyrs in the bloody glow of ecstasy – after You go herds of

the one day butterflies seized with a frenzy of love – they fall into

the dark depths, searching for infinity, unaware that fishers' hands

will knead of their flesh the bait balls for the fish. Despite the

torment, or rather the sake of the torment, out of the dirty river of

life crawl out new and new swarms wanting to climb the trees of

mystical raptures – and neither fire nor beaks of voracious, or

rather, reasonable fowl will manage to counter this urge to

martyrdom – stronger then the obviousness! For so great is the

30

terror of the Unknown that humankind at any price, of trampling

over its logic, its wisdom, its dignity of truth – will colour the

darkness with a shoddy and of monstrously distorted perspective

fresco of Paradise – and then the mob will announce – opened

heaven awaits us, there above the Eight Blessings on the Mount .

4. And the life old and wise will look at Your democratic magic with

disgust, knowing that Mundus vult decipi – ergo the Nations will

present You with a blood count of the renouncement of life – and

the crowds will go to Your empty tomb and will strike the bells for

the dying – for the resurrections – but do not rejoice! The

unfulfilled promises will be worse than the torment of the damned,

which you keep reserved for the disobedient to You, o Loving One!

– enraged, anyway never having the right – swarm – will put on its

altar the Harlot of the Mind with the same fanaticism as was putting

before the Absurd of Faith.

5. I know You – for I know what I once was! Your dream is the

Eucharist of the worlds – the immense banquet on which the alive

faithful in the act of faith amidst the eternal life will commune with

all their friends on earth and in heaven in forgetfulness about the

impossible and the too-logical, about the time of billions of eons –

and the space above us too vast and too cold for the heaven of good

shepherds… A dream – why not? less worth though than the

Heraclitus' Thunderbolt that rules the world – and War, that is the

Father of the great things – – Your comforting administered with

this martyred and tyrannical fanaticism: that the Father only for you

prepared the place in Heaven, and to others you say – Go away,

Satan.

6. But they will break the thought free from the iron girdle of

Theology – at the stake and at the pillory they will learn how tastes

the freedom of Your Apostles – those who will see the nations slain

in the name of love, glorious ancient civilizations butchered by the

maniacs of the cross – and in crowded towns filled with churches

will hear the hymn of the bells struck by Black Death – – their

doubts matter not! they deserved it – and first they should well

deserve for this honour to spit on the cross.

7. But what shall we say about Your followers who will somehow fit

you into reality – about those for whom Your promises of Heaven

will become lucrative trade on the Earth – They, having the

monopoly for your Name (Joshua, if I remember well, my friend?),

will go to convert followers of Shiva – putting on the shamelessly

immortal and wonderful statue of a God Your tiny, little symbol –

and then justify that with proselytic zeal; when they will grab in

their greedy hands all of the soul trade and the immense multitude

31

of wealth – they will do it as an Order poor by the rule, and in Your

name they will listen to the confessions so to unfetter the soul from

spider-webs of conscience. They will come to such brilliant ideas,

that in the danger of life it is allowed to trample over a child – if

only it was baptized in Your Name! – and so they will trample over

you, Child! to secure for themselves the space to revel in between

the clenched crates of Your Holy Grate wringing out the souls

grown of blood – on the White Host – and the farther – the more

false, the more – absurd.

8. So then, heroic nations, praising the thunder, fire, free thought –

scorning the smallness of a haven on rough waters of Infinity – will

enter under the low and not light at all yoke of Thy humility. With

so great a fire will stand aflame the oldest strongholds of

philosophical thought, burned to the ground; with so great a pain

will seize standing on the verge of the pit, crowds of those

redeemed – ,,heirs of heaven" – with such a laughter of irony will

flood the far too costly anecdote of Primordial Sin followed by

Redemption, that I allow You, Rabbi Joshua, to draw a pound of

blood from humankinds' heart – but mind you – not too much, not

one micron more –

'cause then the reprisal would start, and a pound would be cut out

of Your thought –

and that would be so amusing!…

32

,,All these things will I give Thee if Thou wilt fall down

and bow to me – –”

1. Glee and natural cynicism, my dear Friend! Do you remember that

Phoenician temple at which columns you stared for a long while in

the glorious city Sidon; the columns were carved as green-haired

palms, and each palm was gnawed at by a nest of mice, those were

fret by weasels, on those a jackal assailed, on a jackal – a hyena,

then a shepherd beat a hyena with a club, and a shepherd was

robbed by a soldier, a soldier by a king, a king by a priest, a priest

by a banker, a banker by a courtesan, a courtesan by adonis, adonis

by – and there because of dusk and height You could not see – but

anyway you got a clear picture of a grotesque humour of life: from

the top is born and their remains – the lowest of life. Do you really

think that Tabor or Golgotha will be an exception from that rule?

2. It is pointless to waste Your beautiful years on mortifying yourself

for the sins of humankind, who will never stop committing them

(and in that they must be acknowledged to have a healthy and

natural instinct.)

3. Before it‟s too late turn away from the Theological tract, get away

from this Jewish darkness where Kether Malkuth of Queen Esther

is the only Sun, and death by your curses of Haman and the 75

thousands the most important, and immensely contributing to

humankind event from the history of the chosen Nation –

Turn away, I say, from this track of unkempt wretches onto the

wide, lined with cedars road to Alexandria –

Look, what scenery: – palms, the temple, silent waters of the Nile,

the sky like carnelian – giant, with a violet shadow, statue of

Memnon – the Nile is rising: – the city on the islands, the

moonbeam breaks into a rainbow spectre, in the distance red desert

rocks –

Enter the town: – aside a cemetery of sepulchres hewn in the rock,

above them a pyramid and Sphinx – their shadows seem like ghosts

– –

Walk along the giant statues of jasper for which the sepulchres‟

entrance gates barely reach above the ankles – walk through the

streets lively with eastern crowds from Ganges unto the British

Isles, go to that Academy of all faiths where right now they debate

33

the Chaldean work of priest Beroz with Egyptian Menethon:

compare for yourself the mythology in this way and you will see

how small a honour it is to be a Son of God – a god, I mean, like

Jehovah – one of the smallest and of illegitimate origin usurper in

the universal Pantheon.

4. Eminent – and full of unquenchable desires, and due to my discreet

friendship richer than Sardanapal and the Kings of Kashmir in the

means and ideas of revel – in the violet cloak of the Emperors you

will parade through the park of acacias of the eastern capital, like a

male Aphrodite – You, chieftain of love, intrigue and most witty

distychons.

5. Its dusk – louder and louder roar the waves of the sea. Leaning on

the statue of Queen Thmu, You chase with a thought that sapphire

star from a constellation of the Swan whose distance the old priest

explained to you in the halls of the labyrinth.

6. From a melancholic group of cypress trees you caught the sight of

her, whose wisdom, charm and unearthly intuition is the object of

adoration to all genii of the realm of the great Rome. You follow

her trace to the underground temple of Toher, passing the guards

with agreed word (for you will guess everything – your Will shall

spread over all human conceit) – through the darkness of the

colonnade you go there, where on the altar burns fuddling like a

flower from a hashish vision – the fire of the god Thoth, that is the

Hindu Yama. There she stopped – come near – and speak with her –

and never will this temple hear such wisdom and such eloquence as

your dialogue about love – after death. Your heads will lower down

reading together a verse from the Book of the Dead – gently You

caught the head of an azure cobra which, guarding the priestess,

curved above her as the lightning of death – and You threw it into

the flame of the altar.

Love to you! you say to her with a prayer spell, to that wondrous

one, whose hair flicker like a golden waterfall, great eyes terrifying

as the souls of the stars, and now glowing with some earthly and

unearthly rapture of affection – and there is no Law above you, but

the swinging trees – you are Adam and Eve, and more beautiful –

some gods from the northern saga in the garden where blossom the

apples of the sun –

Love to you, she replies, telling you with the most wonderful music

of prophetic thoughts that she must die –

7. She died –

such a glow of rapture, terror and secret joy reflected on her

moonlike face, that Horus was acknowledged as a perpetrator of

her dreamlike death, the altars blossomed with a glow of candle

34

lights and azure lotuses.

8. In the afterlife love – visiting the mummy in the rocks of the

hundred gate Thebes, you will write a poem in the colours of those

tapestries, where deep peacock colours, gold-red flowers of lusts,

grey heaps of dusty earth, green, virgin forests of Colchis, steppes

of Auzone, sapphire depths of the Euxynian Sea – darkened during

the thousands of years, hanging in the temple: for she will tell You

from beyond the grave and on the block of Your heart will carve

with lightning bolts the Great Mystery.

With her spirit you will spend the sweetest, sublime moments

before your death in a retreat, where tranquillity of the sea,

mountains and the forests will enwing Your soul in the practise of

the highest Knowledge, that does not permit duality, error and

destruction. You will be Permanent – son of the Permanent,

conceived and brought up in the city of Permanence.

You will be a being of secret names, for yourself and your beloved

You will build palaces for millions of years.

Leaving the barge of life you will kneel amongst the stars – and

you will see her, approaching to You – reigning by now on the

sphere of a more divine planet –

Love to You, she says, playing the music of Saturns‟ rings – Love

to You. And You will reply to her – Love to You!…

35

1. But with Thy infinite soul I know, that you will not find love. So

look: I am in the desert eternally alone. Over the dead valleys of

eternal mountains – I cool my glowing forehead on the heap of the

diamonds. Wandering through the underground – I dip my heart

into the lake of molten lava – and so I remain! and may nothing

awake me!

2. At the entrance to the grotto a hurricane from some tropical world

fills with music myriads of basalt pillars – in the sough of the

crackling sea, amidst falling mountaintops – the dark storm is

thundering everything around –

I walk out and my shut with despair eyes I light up like two giant

volcanoes – I spread my wings like an albatross before a flight,

slowly circling I ascend like a monstrous cross, not moving the

giant wing amidst the lightning bolts, – I hang above the sea, which

is one ceaseless moaning, untamed in the madness of its terror.

I ascend by the tempest of lightning bolts that are dying out as

instantly as my faiths – hurricanes from the earth and the ocean fill

me with lust, with desire.

3. Enter with me into the gorges or canyons of the rivers of the other,

unknown to You world, deep vast chasms, carved with giant steps

in the desert rocks. Churning currents – I bathe amidst the swirls –

and thousands of lips kissing me – azure lips, green, gold, white,

foaming lips. And heated I walk with my lingam aroused like an

immense obelisk or a Indian tower, to the grottos of hot springs –

and I knell down, searching for joy. The Earth in her birth giving

spasm glows with lewdness of plants – ancient ferns, archaic

horsetails as big as palms – and I lovingly copulate with the whole

jungle, through which stroll Mastodons with terrible fangs, curved

like two wheels of death – with Atlantosaurs covered with scales,

with birds with monstrous jaws –

with all the lewdness of the life of forests, swamps and on the

bottom of the sea in the dance of shark and sepias all that burns up

within my Cronos-like insides – and blackened with licentious

spasm, deeper and deeper I cover myself with the layers of the

earth – fertile, abundant, female, smelling with thousands of strong

deadly-deliscious odours.

My lingam, full of potential fires of flaming lava, like from the

cauldron of Hekate, ejects with semen of those raging rivers,

36

growling in the womb of the Earth, tearing her apart, ravaging her

hot, voluptuous caves where stalagmites are the matrix ground. The

stalagmites gaze into the lakes, where lotus queens nestle to giant

rocks. –

Magnetic thrills of my hymns stagger even the subterranean beings

of Tartarus, never able to see the Sun – with a sudden onset of a

great cyclone I rise the waters of Cocytus with its blind shadows

and twist them into a giant pillar up to the roof of a cave.– So

freeze me my cold, infernal thoughts during my lustful coupling

with the Earth.

And the cave will remain forever crystallized – and the queens of

my dreams will listen to the tale of horror, that will drip to them

drop after drop, melody after melody, rage after rage, and finally

burst out secret, mystical with all the glory of the Earth and Beyond

– in the ravage of all faiths – –

4. Floating like that through sinuous underground rivers, I emerge in

the lake of lava amidst the billowing fumes on the coral island of

the Pacific Ocean, and here in the night I appear in flames as a

Maori god terribly beautiful – for in there beauty cannot be but

terrible – I appear to those wild, brass-bodied Madonnas with eyes

like stars burning in the gulf of the sea, with hair thick like the

forest grown on the lavic slope.

Sating them with flames of terrible lusts – I lead them unto the

rocks, from which to walk only in the air – they fall into the sea,

swim after my phosphoric trail – still swim, hoping to see me again

– and they will see me not: but in the dark depths!

5. Remember what I tell You, You, who like allegories: rajas and

Brahmins who commit a grave sin – must purify themselves –

that is done in a way of symbolic rebirth: the sinner must pass

through the statue of gold, cast for this purpose, and which

represents female power – in a form of a woman –

You and I sin by being Undone of our thoughts and lusts. – I come

back to that from which I started this my spell – that You are filled

with a fire of love –

and at this moment I open the cloister gates – and to preying at the

altar princess-nun – I prompt a strange thought, that You are her

beloved –

and she naked, cast off her robes – walks on a cold floor amidst the

candelabras – runs after you – singing an obsessed Song of the

Songs.

Carried by the inconceivable charm of music she will throw herself

on the cross –

and she will crucify with you –

37

renouncing for You a husband and sons if she had them – or a

lover, if she didn‟t want to have – and so she will ascend on her

yearning but thinking that on Your hands into the world of

boundless delight –

The cloister stilled, appalled by the horror of this mystical descent

into hell –

– – suddenly the gates tremble, dimmed lights bend to the ground

like snakes –

I am with her –

I am killing her –

I am crucifying her on the cross of the obsessed infernal swastika –

leading her and raping her in my heavens below – for You will be

already gone –

And later, when they burn her as a concubine of Satan – – I will be

with her – you will not again – You will never be for a soul that

before You have known me!

6. Are You wearied of listening to me? not to me you are listening to,

but to the roar of the sea raging against confining rocks.

7. Not to me you are listening to – The Prince of Darkness! – but to

that desert, that formed where Your Heavens so easily dissolved.

8. Not to me you are listening to, listen You! but to yourself – for I am

not, only you are alone – killing yourself with thoughts – prophet of

the Kingdom of Heaven –

you pray, o yes – or rather I together with You rise in my desperate

might up to your faith that there is the other One above – above the

Thinker – I am the Darkness – Thrice Real!

Let‟s pray, pray if you please –

38

“Ye are of this world: but I am not of this world.”

1. Our Father – who art in Heaven, Thy Will be done as is in me – –

Mysterious and full of wonder is that being, but you will not find in

him even one seed to build the Kingdom of Heaven.

2. John the Prophet baptized you with a splash of silent Jordan, but I

will plunge You into the terrible depths of the sea, never lit by the

Sun –

what phosphoric cities lie in there, what demons with giant teeth

light their feasts with lamps hung on the long baleens?

crabs operate the drowned –

octopi fight obsessed with lust – –

3. The Sea is the realm of evil spirits – Angramanean, the evil thinker,

here I live; Xerxes, worshipper of the Sun, wanting to subdue the

evil powers – beat the sea with a chain – but You are afraid of the

sea – and the pigs possessed by demons you want to drive into it – I

forgive You such smallness!.. superstitious man from a land race,

patching up the heavenly abodes for the poor in spirit. – Great is the

sea, and terrible – forever adverse to Your instinct!

4. You walk through the meadows adorned with Salomon‟s lilies – A

stream flows amidst the „forget-me-not‟s – and here – – a few

leeches drill holes in innocent fishes… cursed, for they are the

subjects of mine, the Prince of Darkness…

5. Go to the woods, soothe yourself with the sough of the trees – what

a carved roots – trees pulled out of the earth – want a war they fight

there in the darkness of the earth – that dull roar – in the mountains

a bear assailed a calmly grazing bull – the bull terrified runs – and

falls into the precipice – and as if it jumped into your Heaven –

stilled!

6. Dusk falls – fantastic forest giants you see at your feet – a burrow

cushioned with silk – green diamonds shine inside – venomous

hooks of a tarantula pierce the crickets‟ brain, who chirping happily,

fell into the abyss of that malicious monster – whom together with

the lilies and birds of the sky I have made – verily, the Prince,

Prince of this world!

7. Crying you go aside, dear Dreamer – – flowers will proclaim to

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You a prayer to Your Father: do not go there, where in the putrid

pond grow carnivorous sundews, strangling with its hooked hand

the “innocent” flies.

And do not look into these dark chalices of nepenthes filled with a

fluid that drowns butterflies – enjoy, o yes, delight, with the

Bluebottles and that laborious bee – sadly we are both mistaken –

we are watching an exquisite Ichneumonid wasp – “Let‟s follow

Her” – she lied her egg on a fat caterpillars back, the artful felon

paralyses the victim, puncturing the plexus of the motion nerves,

but not touching the digestive nerves – for what? I don‟t dare to

announce – but maybe You can already see – to what leads the

“motherly” instinct of a wasp: she keeps alive a fresh food supply

for her pupa, and in a horrible sleep, unable to move – the

caterpillar feels devoured alive by a little innocent one…

And you trusted so much the weak beings, “the innocent ones” –

8. In the valley without exit – the Earth – a flower fills with the dew

and the Sun – but the soul fills with ashes and tears.

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1. So there is no You, Christ the Son of God?… you never were,

nonsense… you cannot be!

2. I am not telling You then to follow the way of evil and death, but

sail out on the harping seas of infinite north – sail for months,

whole years with electric fires of the Northern Lights above the

mast.

And there, behind the terrible whirl that devours the ships – on the

greenish northern sea there is an island with volcanoes – there live

the Gods of the terrible Niflheimr: malicious, tricky Loki, wise,

omniscient Freyr; joyous with his spring-like angelness Balder –

Into these forests of darkly firs – hide in the mountains with

Gudrun who is heroic and seeing, touching her breasts you will

gaze at the ice-floats flickering on the sea. The Moon joined all

mountain tops – on their edge, like a white priest, cries with those

mists in the valleys, with the terrible, all encompassing cry.

3. But you will be without tears. You will walk with a companion of a

dismal, but yet terribly luminous life, over an immense desert of

black lava curving towards the sea in twists of some

incomprehensible to people dignity – pain.

4. I do not spin for you anymore prophetic thoughts that are only

building for your heart the tower of Temptation, where as if no one

could understand no one – but it is only higher and higher – and

more terrible – – –

5. I led You out of body onto this infinite journey through the narrow,

dimmed for your eyes, path of Being – wanting you to cognize,

dissolving like a vanishing cloud, your dreamed for – Jehovah.

Go then, go – the road to Jerusalem in the dark of the night – a herd

of oxen led to a slaughter in the capital – tomorrow Jerusalem must

be fed with a herd of these sad, gloomy beings, whose horns form

like into a giant crown of thorns –

6. And he walked away after forty days in the desert where he

mortified himself for his nation –

And I only regret that I haven‟t led Him into the most terrible Hell,

about which his God seem to have forgotten – the hell of the abyss

of madness. I haven‟t spoken to Him at all about the most simple –

the most sad things.

7. And then I saw Him amidst the mob – and I saw Him led to death

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by the mob.

8. He died –

like dreamers usually die on the cross – or on the bed – from nails –

or from the microbes – what difference does that make? one soul or

another the Heavenly Father abandoned once and for all – and does

not want to know anything about her – anymore.

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1. I don‟t know why the fate brought me to this doleful pageant of the

Earth?

2. This planet is not for the mighty, for conquistadors – but for the

misers, whose name is – countless, and for those holy apes of

Benares who with impunity trample the fields and destroy the crops

– and the same they do with civilization.

3. I will go to the great steppes of Tartaria to research the saline

plants…

4. This world here on the Lebanon became so gravely dismal –

5. And even the Venus star does not bathe anymore in the waves of

the sea – but painfully, like the lamp of Psyche, dies down.

6. The Moon is wearied after a night that has led to no revelations –

7. In the distance at the foot of the abandoned temple a jackal howls.

8. Is it not the highest fulfilment of the purpose of the temple if the

Spirit abandons her? and flies away from her like from a bad

smelling yet nest?

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1. When the cry oppresses me and wormlike thoughts bite through my

heart – I see You, my Love, with angels above the azure cataract of

glaciers in the col – separating Your world – and my depths.

2. I do not speak from the excess of pain and disgrace: You are my

heart, you martyred – Undone…

I do not want solace from anywhere – I am asking My Shadow to

kill me, like I killed You – Light.

3. I am locked in the mountains that are coming together and coming

apart coming and in their grip they crush a flying eagle in half-way.

I say nothing more, but I only have one sentence with my ancient

signature on myself: annihilation.

4. I am the guardian of the night, despite the lamp that I light in the

infinity; I am standing on the crossroads of misery, in the valley of

a putrid lake.

I am a fetish of misery, and I only deserve to exist not.

I am saying this in the necrosis of an ice-city of my Ragnarok,

hung with its towers down towards the depth.

5. Ice- fire pierces me through and like a sword twists in the insides of

my being, searching for the heart.

My own touch freezes and repulses me. Black snakes squirm in the

rivers of my arteries and exit through the craters of abscesses.

To what could I compare my pain? with what could I measure the

time and depth of my torment?

With an insane, inward-turned sight – grasping with hands the air

above, I entered into the bitter waters of death, shaken with spasm.

In the cloud of burning ashes the green sun shines for me like the

emerald of a basilisk.

6. I walk on the crusted with mountains bottom of the sea, amidst

monsters and the shining drowned on the ships.

I walk into the dusk of the unlit yet cemetery – I nestle to the root

of an alga – the soul of a plant paled and huddled up, like a child

who saw a murderer in the night.

7. And I lay a curse on my memory and on my down-trodden love and

on my pride – and on my bravery and on the sparkle of a creative

fire that burns in the dark mountains amidst the insane desolation.

And I cursed my heart – and my thought – and my boundlessness –

and my abyss – and my divinity – and my misery – and all.

And I cursed my moan and my silence, and every one of the stars –

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and every piece of the Earth, on which everything hurts me, hurts

me so much!

8. And I burst out under the ocean pressure of my Will.

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– Behind the smoky pane in the hovel, where the hungry and restless

spiders weave their webs for the flies – a red flower, enamoured of

Sirius – enamoured of the most splendid of the stars of the infinite sky!

It was fading now – with its whole soul it immersed in voiceless

adoration – and the Star, shining through the dim pane, coloured the

glass with rainbow –

dusty spider webs seemed like a robe of a queen, strewn with costly

embroidery of the starry rime.

The ray of the star fell on the bed of a dying beggar-woman and lay a

divine kiss on a brow already cold – – –

– Jesus in a dim hovel – in the azure rings, that vibrate around Him,

and children in shirts girdled with a sash, with eyes like ice-floats, with

hair matted like flax, nestled to His knees – faces with inherited

animality turning angel-like now, in the dark panes of the eyes there

shone the immensities of the sunny August anneals. Aged paralytic

who many a merchant slashed with a knife on the throat, shivered in

ague of deadly remorse for a life, sunk in sin and dust – – –

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The twilight densed, the towering prison walls, the smouldering

cressets lit the terror of a musty, like a well of demons, yard.

From musty cells, where prisoners in grey rags were chained to the

floor – resounded the imbued with pain brigand songs for freedom, and

for not a few tears bedew the black, mouldy bread.

A rebel was to be executed. He was led to the yard. A structure stood

here, shameful like in the old was the cross. A priest in a black, trailing

robe stood beside him – the executor tied his hands to the back – and

soldiers with blades frown their faces, full of hate.

With the lantern the prisoner was led on the steps, and just when the

meteor was flying through the sky, the noose was put on his neck – the

priest approached him with a sign of Salvation and Love, but the

prisoner, young, bold Rebel, pushed him away quietly, but without a

smile – and climbed on the last step, that was pulled from under his

feet. He saw the meteor.

– He hung with his hands, like if he wanted to give a sign…

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Now discard, o my Soul, all the rattle of thoughts, with which you

wanted to magnetize the heart and turn its pole –

Don‟t be afraid!

Run out naked into this dark night, where the freezing hurricane breaks

the trees of Your hopes, – run out naked into this dark night and on the

cross strain your hands – and may the frozen nails tear your bones

apart – O, pain is what you need, to comprehend the pain, that He

absorbed in the desert of the world – when Satan: Your Shadow! that

expands where He does not shine – hung with copper claws above his

armless heart.

And the sky watched with its terrified stars, and like a harlot wrapped

with its mourn the face of the Milky Way.

Become even darker, o my Soul, so that you could see through this

abyss –

do not be scared of this mortal river, whose icy swirls you must cross

to be free from the thought of the Undone.

Do you see these heads, plunging in thoughtless sordidness, these

bodies bathing in the bog – and no rock will force these intestines to

crawl like snakes towards the Sun!

The name of the doubtful is My name – it is: Legion. But He is one –

and thousands of invisible hands throw giant stones at Him – creating,

however, unwillingly temples for Him! and unaware of that, the

crushed monsters giggle, with eyes cold like the void.

O my Spirit, what have you done with the days bygone? And where are

those, whose echo have silenced amidst the mountains of death? Who

descended through the dark steps into the depth of oblivion?

On the mountains of the Earth the cross blackens, that freezes the short

days of spring and happiness. And now they lead me with mournful

songs amidst the candle lights.

And the silent voice – unknown – unearthly – spoken inside me: “Trust

me – I conquered the world.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

So may his be the glory and praise and adoration, now and in eternity,

on the Earth – as in there – in the Jerusalem of Heaven.

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LUCIFER

I am the dark divine flame amidst the storms,

flying with moan to afar – like a dull midnight bell –

I light in the mountain dusks the redness of dawn

with a spark of my pains, with a star of my languor.

I am the king of comets – but the spirit swirls in me

like desert dust into a transient pyramid –

I am the bolt of the thunders – but calmer then the tomb

I hide the eyesore and deadness of my graves.

I – the abyss of the rainbows – but I could cry over myself

like a cold wind over the withered reeds in the pond –

I am the glow of volcanoes – but through muddy valleys

I stalk, like a funeral, with bore and mourn.

The sea plays the harps – billows the blaze of paradise –

and the sun – my enemy, the sun! rises praising God.