The DKMU

Pirate Manifesto
With Contributions from:
Ailura Ringtail, Alex Barnhart, Idris ElSenussi, Roni
Jean Neal, Frater Alysyrose, Sean Alexander, Ahavah
Ain Soph, Nick Nova, Silenced
H EREIN IS forever kept Thee Terrible
and Ancient Holy Pirate Wizard Code ov thee DKMU that is
to be followed without err, which containeth thee 22 ½
Illustrious Keys and maybe the other half of the broken one,
thee Crass Invocations ov thee Maddening Archetypes, thee
Six Books ov thee Six Curses ov thee Six Sirens, thee 44
Psalms ov Magnum Khaos, thee Psychomanteum Magicae,
thee Alchemical Secrets ov Conjunctio, thee Original
T'Ol'Emps'T recipe, Liber Wizard, Liber Non, Liber Ego,
Liber Bullshit, thee Book of a Thousand Belligerent
Pansexual Djinn, thee Spooky Operating Manual ov
Quillipthoth, a Transcription of Austin Osman Spare's
Receipt for a Jelly Doughnut, thee 72 Teachings ov Ole Zalty,
thee Unabridged Khaos-Babalon Rite, Exotic Curries
Throughout History, thee Reptilian Prophecies ov Professor
Swiftdeath, How to Defeat the Beholder which Guards thee
Entrance to thee Dungeons of #Domus, Frater Palamabron's
Nekrobongikon and other texts on Interdimensional Travel,
Document X, thee Grey Alien Grimoire and How to Escape
from Area 51 using Ritual Magick, and thee Big Toe Cipher
Puzzle Codex which maketh sense of all these texts.
The unauthorized study of this book is verboten
under penalty of keelhaul.

NON
NOSTRUM
CADANUNDRUM
 0.
We are the DKMU. Our primary activity is attacking
what is commonly known as consensual reality, the
dominant paradigm, the mundane world, whatever
you want to call it. We cast spells, scribe sigils,
summon spirits, and open gateways; anything that
can be done to influence reality towards our goal.
We use chalk to tag buildings & sidewalks with sigils
and Goetic summonings. We conjure up spirits and
set them loose, leaving in our wake freshly haunted
sites. We infect the population with the power of
Khaos, and watch as random magick explodes into
the lives of unsuspecting citizens. We are reality
deviants in the truest sense of the word, as we pry
open the eyes of a sleeping humanity to the terror
and wonder of the worlds beyond.

1.
We sail the oceans of experience in pursuit of the
exotic, the sui generis, the seductive and bizarre. We
worship high weirdness and delve the recondite
corners of existence with anarchic glee. Business as
usual bores us. Smalltalk burns. Art devoid of mess
and mayhem is like viral prophylaxis, a face so
perfect that it becomes grotesque. We prefer the
company of hurricanes to carney-barker salesmen of
Stepford lifestyles and reciters of cultural scripts. We
enjoy a good mindfuck. It is right to call us
occultists; pirates in search of acroamatic gold.
 2.
You become a DKMU member the moment you
consider yourself a DKMU member. Initiation is
self-defined. You choose your level of involvement.

3.
Ye Code of Conduct
1. Use your fucking imagination.
2. Use the linking sigil, if you feel like it.
3. Assault consensus reality. Or just do magick. Or
art. Or sit on the floor and philosophize, or
something, but do contribute.
4. Try it and see what happens. Report back if you're
still able to type.
5. Mutinies take place on the first weekend of every
month or when orchestrated by a captain (that
means you). Please bring a tasty snack for the
potluck afterward.
6. You should probably shake out those shoes
before putting your feet in them.
7. Every third Friday is Wear your Pajamas to Pillage
'n' Burn Day! We recommend cotton, not nylon or
synthetic fibers.
8. Please secure your personal belongings and
ground firmly before opening any of the port holes.
9. No, it is not normal for that to happen.
10. Yes, the fish always glow.
11. Grape juize must be carried in an appropriate
container to deceive the feds. It may not be called or
labeled "grape juice" because this would break laws
related to false advertising.
12. More than two glasses of Kool Aid in a sitting is
too much. Trust me.
13. Believe nothing. Or believe everything. Just don't
believe yourself, or anyone else. Or do, but change
your beliefs often. You know what? Just do your
thing, and if we don't like it we'll toss you overboard
while you sleep.
14. No more fireworks in the women's bathroom.
We'd appreciate if the ladies remember that this ship
is constructed primarily of wood.
15. Please don't open that.
16. I said don't... okay, look, don't freak out. We just
need a quartz vial, some string, an obsidian gauntlet
and a whole lotta Florida water.
17. There are no members, only contributors. And
their... members. Nevermind.
18. All new recruits should bathe themselves in garlic
butter before approaching the egregores, for
efficiency's sake.
19. Check under the couches, would you?
20. We're sorry about the rocking. There's a storm
out there. It's always storming, beyond the pale.
Have you noticed?
21. It's gonna be okay. Okay? Look at Mr. Penguin,
he thinks it'll be okay. Right Mr. Penguin? Let's just
breathe, sit tight and watch some cartoons.
22. Starboard is the side of the ship where the
atmosphere is missing. The other side is where we
keep the grape juize.
23. $$###///-------//T---^^Ttriangles!?--#/##----
24. Excuse me.
25. It’s a musical thing. You're supposed to sing and
dance. And then post about it, because let's be
honest, no one in your physical vicinity would
understand, and the difference between writing and
demented scribbling is whether anyone else can read
it.
26. Disregard that if you have someone offline who
sort-of understands you. Good for you. Post
anyway, because it makes us feel better.
27. Don't wake up the Red King. This may be the
only actual rule.
 4.
Anyone who spends their life with magick as a
constant component is going to have a very different
understanding of what is happening, what has been
happening, and what may yet be possible.
Approaching everything you do with magick as a
base component of what exists, and how you will be
effecting it, changes what you are able to perceive -
making it vastly broader. At that point, your
interactions become difficult to relay to anyone, even
others who experience life similarly, and next to
impossible with the folks who just have no basis for
comparison. For instance: Until you develop physical
wounds from spiritual encounters, there is no way to
truly understand how that level of interaction is even
possible. Now try to explain how you are
painstakingly attempting to "scientifically" recreate
physical manifestation outside the heat of the
moment – and bend it to differing purposes – and
not fuck yourself up in the process, because you're
really the only readily available guinea pig you are
willing to consider testing most of this shit on. So
what is the next big step? Physical manifestation of
Will via direct manipulation. You won't get many to
talk about it, because it gets you into crazy-pants
territory. But they are working on it in a hundred
different ways. When you can't get a message
answered because they are busy, but you know they
live and breathe magick... When they answer
questions about current activities with over
simplified examples, return questions about what
you are working on, or vaguely riddle-like
mutterings....this is what they are working on. While
maintaining the ability to somehow function with the
world in which we live, while completing the day to
day tasks of living and livelihood. While writing,
parenting, paying bills, and trying to sleep at least
once in a while, or remember to eat, while constantly
engaging aspects of existence that most people
cannot conceive of, let alone see or understand.
While fighting the writhing snake of madness that
shifts from epic serpent to rubber prop without
notice, while trying not to succumb to existential
despondence. You want in on the breaking edge of
magickal tactics? Live that shit till it's real. So real
you bare the cuts and bruises and mental and
emotional damage from it. Then keep living it and
find a way to bend it to your will.

5.
The journey never started and never ended you were
tied with her webs since the day you were born but
sometimes just sometimes you discover that there is
more to it than just what meets the eye. The word
was Ma and the lost was Da and the connection
were written in ciphers on her tail as she took many
forms from devil to whore from nun to mother but
we don't really care what lies between now do we.
We just want what we want and do we ever get it, do
we ever forget that there is something missing, even
when we are dancing on what seems as the scales of
a dragon we choose to fear the mundane rather than
the fire of her breath destroying cities of lies to find
the truth in nothing.
Her name came off as many but her job was
the same, really all you have to do is to let go of what
you thought was real and if it persists puncture with
any tools you may but remember what's real that's
what she will teach you in her times of sorrow and
make you forget about it in our times of Joy.
Her crown is that of spiders woven and
intertwined by many stories that only her king can
speak of but her kings can be many and her
mutations come in many forms. The spider queen
oh Maha Kali, Ellis, queen of wands in your fires
and swords prepared to fight for your name in your
name, the whispering eye tears itself into pleasure as
you sit down and realize that you danced on a web
so thin if you apply too much you can fall into the
abyss all in there is but a reflection all in there is but
surrender.
To resist is to allow the pain to persist said the
sailor as he found you dry and weary, his joy comes
from ages of madness, and the blues he sings in
many tongues. But you still get on the ship carrying
that token of that dance to remember the madness
of the void from triangles to muses but in anger one
stays silent as she remembers how she lured into the
fall to meet her man and in the pit no one comes out
the same you will fuck and you will get fucked what
remains is the choice to remember it as pleasure or
as pain.
But how long will you lie before you notice
that the ship has sailed and the muse is on her web
dancing seducing her beast by the men she blows
out their candles by despair, you will never see me
again said the void, but the poet misses the word
that lit his path with hope and madness awaited his
clutched to jump back out of the ship that would
lead him to the king.
Come closer boy said the Sailor, let me tell
you my stories we are getting closer to the one who
wrote them all, but you don’t want to learn you just
want to dance with her you just want to see how
those webs were made.
Well if you wait, says the sailor and drink this
with me you will see what you were too blind to feel,
the fool drinks and forgets when did he take his first
sip that first sip where he met the first man to teach
him what word can teach and what word can
harm.......aren't they both the same said the sailor, the
fool took another swig as the boat started hitting
heavy current, the bottle dropped from his hand and
shattered into pieces.
The sailor laughed and smacked the fool on
the back, "wait here boy, I'll get some more your shit
is cooking and you will get your results soon" The
fool felt his intelligence stunted by his drunkenness,
don't let it fool ya, the song plays in the air and the
fool knows noe where it came from but he sees a
black panther roaming freely in the ship, he tries to
stop it, his drunkness not only made foolish but also
braver a dangerous combination if you ask me said
the sailor as he came out with more rum.....a
dangerous combination.
But what bad comes out of danger said the
panther as he slowly changes into human form, he
comes closer to the fools face and paints him with
old red ink, the fool runs towards a mirror to see
what that strange creature did. Didn't you have
enough of mirrors already come here see us for a
change your memory is fading and your light is
passing into another it's your death son accept it and
you will be reborn said the sailor as the catman
panther stood still with a fixed gaze that no one can
imitate, even the devil get's scared of him sometimes
said the sailor.
Does he exist asked the fool, you are staring
right at him, the sailor takes out a broken mirror
from his bag but the fool looks at the black broken
glass and sees nothing, oh sorry, didn't mean that it
must have been all that shit I carry in my bag that
broke it into pieces oh well the devil may care said
the sailor as he patted the panther man on the
shoulder and whisper in his ears "he is all yours" the
shaman turned into a panther again and attacked the
fool.
The fool didn't know what to do, but the
panther tor him from limb to limb and leaving just
enough of him just to breath and as the fool was
trying to take his last breath the panther turned into
a shaman again as he spoke an old language and at
that time the fool started to see his bones remade
but a certain loneliness fell down his heart as he was
reborn that he won't talk to that muse again not in
that form at least.
"You will never see me again" he remembers
that last dance he had with the muse before he fell to
meet the beast, the body of lies he created so he can
continue dancing without the fear of falling but little
did he know that all is remembered and all will be
seen. "better be ready son, he likes them naked" said
the sailor waking the fool from his nostalgia, "damn
boy you were seeing things, and I mean real things,
at least real enough, real enough to make you what
you are right now" and all what he can think of will I
see her again.
The ship has sailed and reached a shore the
fool ran out of the ship he waited for the old sailor
to come with him but all he had with him was a bag
with a sound of a crying baby coming out of it.
The fool opens the bag to see a child shinning
with golden luster, "aren't you going to hold the
bastard already" a thundering voice came out of
nowhere, the fool holds the kid as the kid tries to
look for a bosom to suck on and he starts crying
again, the fool looks in the bag and finds only rum
and a note saying "if you find this you will know why
you hungered for that muse"
 The fool leaves the bag behind and wonder
what will he do with the kid that won't just shut up,
"hey boy are you looking for this or are you looking
for me" a tall figure stood in the forest holding a
pacifier.
This won't hold him for long said the tall
figure, the baby got quieter as he sucked on the
pacifier, "but now we can talk at least" said the tall
figure, the moon lit his robes to show a big red cloak
and an eye patch, oh this....said the man in red, you
will get to do it too but when you come back I will
have the knife ready and you could do it yourself.
"Come back from where and why would I
want to come back" the man in red laughed, "have
you got something for me or do I have to just get
you naked" the fool ran back to the bag but he
couldn't find it and he remembered that he left the
kid with the man in red a total stranger who is at
least twice his size, he came back and he neither
found the man in red nor the baby but he now he
understood why he had to come back, to remember
what he wanted to forget those cries of a child he
couldn't nourish on his own and in his fear of his
vulnerability to a stranger he left what might have
been his most precious gift from his journey....his
innocence.
"But there is no innocence only secrets" said a
slight voice in the background as he walked down
the forest following the moon and the voice's echo
he saw a women of great beauty naked in front of a
lake looking at her own reflection in admiration yet
looking all around her in wonder.
"Well get on with it before he comes back"
wait a second the fool tried to act with smarts, he
remembered his last dance and he remembered how
he fell but here he saw no webs no reflections just a
lake and a forest and a beautiful face.
"Don't worry about him coming back he is
already you, come closer to the silence, come closer
and I will tear off what you thought was you all I ask
of is your brief devotion that can create a life time.
The fool could not resist and in no time he took off
his clothes and approached her as he would
approach a lover and when he came close to her
naked breast he heard a sound of a cry as he kissed
her breast the cries went down and they fucked till
they both had their fill.
He looked at the lake to see his reflection as
the man in the red and the naked women coming
behind him with a baby feeding off her breast,
remember what the bard said by the tongue of the
satyr that truth is only in flesh all else is a
philosophy, now leave before I eat you alive. she
whispered in his ear the last words he would hear
from her but he knows how to silence that child
now how to nurture him through his own
vulnerability, the fool leaves the robe behind and
finds a robe waiting for him hung up neatly on one
of the trees.
 He wears it and goes on his way wondering
what he was going through but for the first time in
his life he chose not to analyze but to mesmerize his
nostalgia as a pleasure rather than pain.
Voices of children lit the forest with laughter
as the fool found himself in front of a door saying
the gate is open the path is drawn… now you are
reborn!

6.
Forcing humidity from his lungs out into the cold
air, the seeker ascends the mountain's peak. Soft
debris under him shifts and he sinks backward half a
step, sending a balled-up pair of underwear bouncing
off jeans and sweaters, down the slope to land in an
inscrutable puddle twenty feet below. A fusty smell
of old laundry winds past him like a ribbon to wrap
around the apical hermit. All is Silent but for the
usual trailer-park sounds of highway traffic, barking
dogs, electric generators, makeshift wind chimes,
angry crows, wailing children, Mrs. Sherry beating a
cat and Steve on the saxophone.
Of the cross-legged guru, the seeker asks:
"What is perfection?"
The guru chews the zipper pull of his
marshmallowy grey jacket for a moment.
"The object of your search is impossible."
 "You're saying that perfection cannot be
attained? But I was told you have something to offer
me. What is it? What have I come here for?"
"For what has been promised to you. The
wise man needs it, yet fears it. He knows the answer,
and he regrets it! Mystics seek to own it, but it
cannot be lost.
...Come on, kid, the answer is obvious."
"It's obvious, yet also impossible?"
"Yes, and capable of impossible things. In its
face you are alike to it, and it is of great importance,
for it alone can maintain itself throughout what is to
come. It alone can dodge the execution of truth!"
His eyes gleam for a moment.
"Sounds impressive. Do you even know what
you're talking about?"
"I believe so."
"Alright, but that doesn't help me. I'm looking
for something real."
"Look no further."
"This is asinine," he says, more to himself.
"What is the point of this? What am I even doing
here? What is wrong with me?"
"That is the answer."
The seeker stares blankly and speaks the truth.
 An impertinent cricket is swallowed by a
magpie.
"It's the only thing that makes sense," the
guru admits.
"Well, screw it. This feels like a joke that's
past its expiration date." The seeker kicks a pair of
pants. "Thanks for ... your, ah, help? I think we
should go get high instead."
"I believe," nods the guru, examining the
situation, "that would be redundant."

7.
The full moon seeps through tangled brown trees to
a circle of masked ghosts somewhere far beyond the
ken of secular law. The seeker's eyes travel from the
point of a very real, very sharp sword at his chest all
the way up the blade, up the arm of a black-robed
creature in an elaborate headpiece. The toothy face
demands,
"Now, tell me what you aim to do!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"What?"
"I said, tell me what you have you come here
to do."
 "No."
"Were you given the Word that allows you to
pass my challenge?"
"Yes."
"Then speak it!"
"No!"
"Have you come this far just to turn back?
What drives you to give such an answer to me, the
unlighted octopus king of D'ythogo?"
"Because if I don't say what you tell me to,
you won't let me into the Ancient Most-Secretive-
Ever Hyperilluminated Order of Annihilus and
Pazuzu!"
"Forget it. You have failed the trial. Go back
to the world you knew and beg your superior to
qualify for another chance."
As the seeker rustles gloomily up the dirt road
from whence he came, one of the figures nudges
another figure and whispers under the cloak,
"You were supposed to tell him the word is
'Know'!"

8.
When the ship's captain read the letter it scarcely
moved him -- but the word "Mutiny" stuck him in
the rib and shook his pride. After all, he built the
ship from wood he scrapped from a much better
ship and invited every half-hearted mage in the tri-
state area to come aboard. And now they would
repay the shelter and rum with mutiny?
In his plush captain's quarters, sitting at his
desk, he crumpled up the mutiny letter and turned
his attention once more to the treasure map. He and
the crew of his vessel Crépuscule Doré were likely
only days away from the cache of super magical
treasures that he wished for.

Preposterous! The work of rascals! He would

have them executed by dawn. And they would know
him by his name de mer -- Captain Truesight; his
perfect vision (but just in one eye) gave him an
advantage over the rest of the crew. But right now
he felt deflated and useless. He was just little old
Daulphin Graves. But he would show them when he
had each of the deserters shot and thrown off of the
side of his beloved frigate, and see them vanish into
the unforgiving waters.
That sounded like a good idea. So he went to
sleep. But deep in the night something else had other
plans for the pathetic ship and its deluded captain.
The fire guard saw shimmers in the water and ran
downstairs to alert Captain Graves. His dreams,
where he say in a gold and crimson harem chamber
while dressed like King Tut, were popped suddenly
upon the bearer of bad news. So Graves put on his
Captain's hat and walked up to the deck to see what
the fuss was all about.
And what he saw made him ring the bell.
Tentacles with spines upon them, obscuring a saw-
tooth grin.
"Zalty" he muttered a-gasp. The blood vessels
in his "good" eye nearly burst. But he felt a bit less
tense when he observed the resolve and initiative of
his more loyal crew. They gathered the cannonballs
and loaded the guns. Zalty tightened his grip on the
ship. In a panic, Graves made the sign of Auramoth,
of the element Water. A brilliant shock of baby blue
and safety orange erupted from Graves' hands, a
feeble attempt to push back at Zalty. Zalty only
laughed, each bellow making the waves stir harsher
and harsher. Then and only then did Graves notice
that the crewmembers setting up the cannons had
pointed them downwards at the very deck of the
ship.
And that was that. As Graves slowly choked
below the surface of the water, a school of
aggressively-spined seahorses surrounded him and
ate his flesh.

9.
How Supporting the Body Affects Magickal
Practice
First and foremost, our physical resources determine
our cognitive abilities.
Our ability to think clearly is such a basic
essential component of our lives that we would
expect to have a continuous awareness of its status.
We don't. So many times life has us running from
moment to moment, task to task, and always at least
three days behind. We run businesses, families
(traditional, or filled with our chosen folk), and
social lives simultaneously. At any given time we
have a dozen roadblocks to our usual daily existence,
and we tend to throw in a few extra challenges on a
regular basis - because if we don't we will never get
the next project, or three, off the ground. In short,
most of us are living more than any three adults have
a right to expect to find time for. We are doing so on
too little sleep. We are doing so with too little time
to feed ourselves properly. We are doing so through
a fog of competing initiatives. We push through. We
make it happen.
We don't have time to assess how clearly we
are seeing the hundred things we happen to be
juggling at a given moment.
Secondly, our magickal practices draw upon
our physical resources.
Let me state that again.
Our magickal practices draw upon our
physical resources.
 You will know a skilled healer has gotten their
hands on you if you are starving a short while after
they finish working on you. Even as the subject of
magick, the results require additional protein and
nutrients in general. Imagine the draw of our own
efforts.
Third, our physical well-being determines the
length of time we will have to persue our magickal
endeavors. Literally, if we don't care for our bodies,
we die. This puts a distinct cramp in the mechanics
of our plots and schemes of this lifetime.

Also in this line: if you are living this truth, as

a mage, wizard, or magickal being of some sort...this
is not a passive endeavor. You don't scratch this out
on paper, give a good stretch, and head to bed
satisfied. No.
You run through the wilds full tilt.
You climb mountains to find the perfect
niche that calls for your presence.
You swim naked in the ocean, bathing in salty
waters and moonlight, communing with creatures of
the deep and sparks of sentient energy.
You live life fully engaged with all of the
worlds at your access simultaneously, and it is not
for the easily deterred or weak of heart and limb.
 Instead, you wish till you find yourself
breathless, and you sprint suddenly from one footfall
to the next because that is how you leap into an in-
between or catch a resonance.
Fourth: If you are in tune (really, truly in-sync)
with your body...you will know if the ache in your
back is a strained muscle or an unwanted line
leaching your strength to weaken you. You could
catch if it was a breeze that tousled your hair. You
might have a chance on a still night of knowing what
rustled the leaves of a nearby tree.

Learn to know the details of your body so you can

learn the minutia of its interactions with this world.
Then you might be able to catch sight of the
negative spaces in which you interact with the things
outside of this reality. You might begin to see the in-
betweens.

10.
Jaw gaping
Thought escaping
Human hole in existence
Watch your
Slack-jawed shuffle
Your trundle of mundanity
Your lack of attention
Makes you a gap in intention
Even your day dreams
Lack the schemes
Of a child at play
Listen close to what I say
Your wasted space of a life
Is a conduit entropy rides into this world
Like pestilence on his rotting steed
Wake up
Find that seed
Of a spark
That was supposed to ignite
The fire behind your eyes
Strive for something greater
Than this bed of lies

11.
We choose.
Every day.
All day.

Who choose in every moment how we will

live our lives. Each is an opportunity to live within
the constructs of society and consensus reality or let
them fall into disuse.

So many choose to fight against society.

So many choose to fight consensus reality.

To fight these things is to give over power to

them. To fight them you first validate their existence.
Step outside of them instead, for from without they
are not nearly so impenetrable. From without, we
can step back to this shared experience, pulling our
truth back with us.

Choose to live in the construct of your own

world,
While this shared experience flows around you,
Choose to walk in both worlds and bring change
with you.

A world within a world,

A system within a system,
Stand next to the sleeping,
Live your truth
While they live their lie &
See which survives.

12.
“JUST DO IT! MAKE YOUR DREAMS COME
TRUE!” - A very wise man

We have been witness to countless iterations on the

same idea, endlessly perverted and unceasingly
reemerging. Mysticism and occultism had its uses,
and the only use was understanding, the intended
product creation. Now is the Age of Revealing, and
if it fucking isn’t, we will make it so. Ya ho!

You see, over thousands of years the creation

which structures we called “Schools of Wisdom”
were meant to inspire became the focus of that
creative force. The flow of energy becomes inverted,
turned in on itself, and that which was a pure spring
becomes a stagnant pool, continually creating only
itself. Like any pool, it begins to have borders.
Instead of moving along whatever path is necessary,
it now has definition, and it is this definition which
perverts the initial idea into horrific monolithic
structures threatening to eat everything; a
bureaucracy of ideas, only creating more and more
intricate borders.

Magic is meant to pour into the world with

every stroke of the pen, with every word, motion,
and breath we take. Magic for me was always the art
of making dreams into reality. You think you have to
use LS to assault insubstantia? That’s another
structure, the intended target the world. Go make
some art, smell a flower, make that song you wanted
to years ago, learn how to code, make some dank
food and invite your neighbors over for a good meal.
Do what thou wilt, and become a shining beacon of
personal Will and that which it can accomplish.

The Assault on Reality is a name, another

image, and death to the image. A rose by any other
name would smell as sweet.

The poison is limitation, the cure possibility.

And what is Khaos but an endless well of possibility.
Do the thing. IF you don’t know how to do the
thing, learn. If you can’t find someone to teach you,
figure it out. Keep going until you do.

Sail the seas of experience, grab the tiller. It’s

your boat, and you’re the captain. Where to, matey?

- Some dude
DTTI: HTNF

13.
‘Twas the night of the 17th, and all through the city
men and women were kept at their desks without
pity.

Streetlights cast the clouds in a sick yellow

hue, and my car wouldn’t start, must have been
missing a screw.

I could call in the morning, but tonight I was

shot, I would have to walk home past that vacanted
lot. As I passed those bent trees that always gave me
a shiver, I heard a howling that set both my kidneys
aquiver. I peeked through the bushes towards an
ominous light, and there ‘round the fire, against
Normal and Right:
 A woman in pink rags with her hair in a mat, a
stoner, a goth chick, an old guy in a hat, a tough
looking male who was one big tattoo, and others
without category, alive and askew – belted some
heathen calling that wasn’t ancient at all then cheered
when the weather broke out in a squall.
Tough guy played drums on a brick of
concrete while the ragged woman sang and danced
to his beat.

I dialed my phone, time to end this weird

chance. The fire, at least, must break some
ordinance. But it fell from my hands, for just then,
from the sky, silent thunder bellowed like a mute
dragon’s cry. By an invisible aurora with an emerald
sheen pranced all worlds of Faerie, seen, yet unseen.
“What the fuck!” I cried, and then covered my
mouth.

Didn’t think that they’d heard, because up

from the south mingled wailing sirens with the
inaudible sounds, and the rain doused the fire to a
smoldering mound. But too late, they’d
accomplished their deed unopposed in this temporal
crack that had opened and closed.

As the last of them vanished he paused for a

look toward the place in the bushes where I huddled
and shook and said over his shoulder, out into the
night, “We bring Chelseanacht to all, so good luck
and sleep tight!”
 14.
Bamboozled : Philosophy of a Modern
American Pirate
Written by Nick Nova, KSC. for the DKMU
Dedicated to Lord Zalty; Thanks for that one time at
the place with the thing.
Praise Bob. Hail Eris. Long Live Discordia.

Those damn damn fnords.... the absurd way in

which people think. Focused on random
abstractions that exist only in their own perspective.
Which, I would normally support, but instead of a
self introspective development or output of personal
constructs (Art), they have a similar invasive thought
obsession with things like financial statuses, social
statuses, body image, gender roles - identity
politics… this list goes on ad nauseum; these relative
themes and ideas all protruding into the mind like
some skull fucking alien… now there's an image…
Truth is, most of these people aren't
delusional at all. There's no disconnect with
themselves and their reality. All together the
opposite; so immersed within their own context and
their impulse desires (and in that order too) that
anything not on board with that mode of thinking is
completely filtered out. A constant lack of
involvement; micro thoughts centered around short
term micro goals - and any idea or sensation that
does not coincide with this (macro) is automatically
sorted right back out the way it came. This is Fnord.
All humans do this to a degree, otherwise we would
go insane. I am certainly no being of massive
concentration - and I think a degree of that struggle
is part of the progression of one’s thinking and
development. Some of us, however, grow… and
others repeat themselves over and over; stuck in a
twisted paradigm of self fulfillment without the bar
ever being raised, or even recognition that there is a
bar. Modern Discordians talk about the MFC, the
Memetic False Consciousness. That sort of auto-
pilot that many fall in and out of (if they come out of
it at all). The vulgar right wing and the absurdist left
wing both placated in their stasis by a blanket of
reasoning that they are too scared to crawl out from
under. Even when the blanket begins to stink.
Why would I want to have any part of that
world; a sterile, flat plane of existence with no room
for any idea to take root. I belong in the dirt, the
cold nights and warm mornings of my own world; of
color and magnitude as big as we are ourselves. I
have tasted that freedom, and I assure you that no
pleasure, security, or satisfaction exists that can
measure to it. True freedom. And if I am one day to
die, and this life - like a painter’s work - becomes
one day finished, I would find justice in nothing less
that the knowledge that I pursued that freedom by
the will of every fiber within my being.
Fuck Everything; Become a Pirate.
I know these things to be true, we all do, but
we choose to stay in the stinking blanket of our own
meaningless constructs. We stay weak by our fear
and slaves by our money. Money is the master we
appointed for ourselves: obeying its laws, so we can
keep a job working for the Money, to live in shelter
on the Money’s land, eat the food that Money
provides, and when all my work is done, see how
much the Money has let us keep to numb ourselves
with consumerism. Food, Shelter, Comfort,
Community, all of those factors of life used as awful
exploits to keep us in line; and the line no longer
belongs to anyone, it belongs to the Money. Just
shuffling humans carrying on like they always have
because there’s no one listening to anything
different.
Are we merely rats in a maze, looking for a
cheap prize at the end of a mediocre mental exercise;
to then go home to our cages with the other rats and
talk of glorious triumph and riches gained like some
absurd false Valhalla for idiots?!
Fuck Everything; Become a Pirate.
In the old days we had scarcity: a genuine lack
of enough to go around; now scarcity has to be
enforced to maintain the methods of those old days
after they have long since passed us by. Keep
everyone working all the time because that's how
you earn a living. A living has to be earned, it’s not
just a given right. This fearful idea all of us are
subjugated to, that says life is hard, and if it isn’t
hard for you than you are either incredibly successful
or a bum. “It should be hard - because it's
important. It has to be hard.” No it doesn't! Not
anymore! We have the means for everyone to be fed,
and kept safe. We no longer have to think about life
as a cruel construct where you have to take away
from someone else to have enough for yourself; but
the old way continues on because of fear. Fear of
not having enough. Fear of having to work harder.
Fear of your weakness (whatever is defined as
weakness for that time) being exposed and
preventing you from continuing to survive. Fear of
the unknown keeps us blind to alternatives, so we
remain stuck right here, running in place.
That’s the view for us here in the cage. Some
of the rats though, are outside the cage; and that too
keeps us in line. We continue this absurd way of life
in hopes that we might someday get to be the rat on
the outside, where the ‘other’ rats go. Scarcity is not
forced upon them. They have more than enough to
go around; and that is how identity politics work.
Certain people outside the cage have certain traits
and characteristics; they say certain things and hold
certain ideals, and our brain reasons that in order to
get outside of the cage, we too need to have these
ideals/traits/etc. Problem is that no one is the same
as his neighbor (what kind of boring ass thought up
that as utopia anyway) and a wide variety of traits
exist: Gay, Artistic, Autistic, Aggressive, Attractive,
Tall, Fat, Skinny, Purple, Pale, Blonde, Soft Spoken,
on and on and on. Whatever trait comes up in a
person that does not align with the current pull of
the stinky blanket they are in - much like their
thinking, gets fnorded right out. That part is hidden,
ignored, even hated in silence. It is the true sickness
of our generation. Why should anyone have to hide
from anyone else? The whole concept is perverse, if
not downright cruel. The beauty of all reality around
us, and we keep playing this game of “Not It” on
and on into the pit of time while the cosmos laughs
at us.\
Fuck Everything; Become a Pirate.
The rats outside the cage know this. What I
just described is their strategy guide… because they
have a cage to get out of too. Way up at the top,
above all the levels of SNAFU, sit rats just like us
who are also scared about survival. Sure, they have
more control over the Money than most of us, but
they see the people in the cage trying to mimic their
ideas and movements in hopes of getting out like
they did, and they have their own problem and fear
of exposure. If too many rats get out of the cage,
then there will be less to go around on the outside.
Not only that, but the rats that work and suffer
within the cage will stop working for the Money’s
jobs, and obeying the Money’s laws. What then!?
Will they then too have to work for something new,
a new master?! Will they end up having to obey this
new master and it’s laws?! That level of uncertainty is
just as real as scarcity - it is scarcity for them!
They are only rats like us at the end of the
day, so they fnord themselves on in circles with no
better an idea than to sit on the edges of our cage,
holding our stinky blanket down in hopes that no
one falls outside of it. They feed the mimicking rats
traits to keep them fighting each other; they promote
racism, sexism, and patriarchy on one side and then
on the other side push shame, guilt, and anger.
Pushing the two sides against each other and
bringing on calculated outcomes that self justify
themselves, and on and on in circles and circles…
the fnords grow strong. It is really hard to stand
against a reality of mass exploitation when you are
conditioned to hide yourself from the world to
survive.
Fuck Everything. Become a Pirate.
Many have so little,
and have to hide from so much;
While a few whom have so much,
have to hide from very little.
All of the hope promised to this generation is now
denied;
And we really didn't ask for much;
We are more than capable of disappointment,
we have proven that;
But denied were we of the basics of individual life
and personal freedom
that we were told were the basis of our nation and
world;
You will never have your own freedom now.
You will always be in debt to something or someone,
somehow.
You’re future was sold.
All raise a glass, and toast with tears to the men and
women that we all could have been...
What I think is really sad about life, is all the
lives you touch go on living without you; and so
much of our time is spent running from this
realization. It’s that eternal loneliness that will always
be there when you go to sleep. Ahab and the Whale;
using all his frustration and sense of dread as
strength against life’s cruel design. That way of
allowing us just enough time in a living world to
miss it once it’s gone. Cruel and Magnificent.
Ahab had one thing right though. Inaction
cannot be tolerated by oneself if one truly wishes to
live and be alive. We have to fight back with
whatever means we can against these laws that
Money owns; against a system of society that tells
you to hate yourself and those around you; Bah! I
say! If those rats on the outside are fearful of what
masters may replace them and their Money, then let
us show them what real fear is.
Fuck Everything; Become a Pirate.
Let us show them how little we need them:
not by violent extremism - no, that will just reinforce
them; nor by takeover, revolution, or such other old
ideas. No, those methods will just have us replace
the rats with other rats and nothing will change. It is
time for new ideas, new systems and new ways.
Let us take care of ourselves without the need
of them. Let's put these senseless identity politics
aside and come together to solve real problems. We
can figure out how to feed each other; how to get
clean water and house each other without extortion.
Many of these social issues dividing us would be
eroded over time if we came to common ground on
life's essentials; and in this day of such absurdly
quick technological growth, those ideas are not
impossible.
I don't have the answers for all of this to
happen, and that's my point. It is you that has to take
back the rights to life that have been stolen from
you. Align yourself with the other castouts: learn
from the intrinsic vagabonds who have given up on
property ownership and extortion; befriend the
hidden alchemists who are going to find their inner
peace with plants and drugs no matter what the laws
of Money tell them; lend time and help to those
whom you stand to gain nothing from; exist outside
of the law and its measures, ready to live and die as it
may come.
There's no one ’in charge’ on this ship. You're
in charge, Captain. Don't fucking listen to me, or
anyone else telling you what you need or how to get
it.
Fuck Everything; Become a Pirate.

Stop listening to these two bit actors telling

you how to live, and to be ashamed of yourself if
you aren’t like them; to hate your neighbor if he too
doesn’t fall into such a line. Stop giving them the
time of day to even say you disagree. Yelling back at
the diseased carcass that is our past will do nothing.
Stop talking. Start doing. What are we afraid of?
Everything we had to lose has already been taken,
and all that we have left is an image; a false image of
a promised life that is no longer attainable. Those
false images, these faces we present to the world are
walking cartoon versions of the ideas about who we
are. The feelings we experience dictate changes to
that image, and repetitions of those changes become
permanent.
 Stop letting the Money tell you what you
should feel. Reject the notion. Just say no, and let
that ‘no’ be the only word you speak against it.
Forget and lose that need to be right, and just go be..
Find that skull-fucking alien, and kill it. Real power
will come to those with no image.
This flesh that is my body and yours is real.
Our ideas and hopes and dreams are real.
This image we portray is not.
Death to the image.
Hail the New Flesh.

Fuck Everything; Become a Pirate.

15.
The caustic sun set slowly upon the western horizon,
bathing the Charger in a hard orange light, giving the
old Dodge muscle car a sheen of the power it
appeared to live for. As the car glowed in the dying
light so fittingly referred to as the ‘magick hour’ two
men sat, perched upon its hood like crows come to
pick the bones. The heavy metal beast still had life in
it yet, a fact not lost upon the ragged creatures even
now plotting its next harrowing adventure.

“We’re at the center of it now, no going back

from here,” observed Arjil as he took a long draw
upon the hand rolled cigarette, and as he held the
burning smoke in his lungs it felt to both men as if
he contained the very breath of the world in his
lungs before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, “I
hope you’re happy motherfucker.”

Arjil was the hard one, the weathered one,

and the man with the mileage. The guy who’d taken
one trip too many into the realms beyond, a man
who had made the gods notice him before he was
old enough to know better. Still, he’d come back
from all that, and had the mojo to prove it. Never
sat right with him how fast and loose his brother and
their people tended to play the game, no wonder and
not nearly enough respect, and yet, here they were.

“This is just as much on you as any of us,”

Aegis growled, his voice at once warm and yet filled
with fangs as he accepted the offered tobacco and
drew deeply from the burnt offering, “We both
knew there was gonna be plenty of blood and more
than enough stupid. That’s how these sorts of things
go.”

Aegis was the cold one, the scarred one, and

the man with the plan. If you had the gasoline then
he had the spark, a man who had made the gods
notice him before he was old enough to know better.
Still, he’d risen above that petty shit, and had the
mojo to prove it. Never sat right with him how nice
and easy his brother and their people tended to play
the game, no pain and not nearly enough hardship,
and yet, here they were.
 “Where’s the wonder though?” asked Arjil as
he took one last puff on the cigarette before
stubbing it out and placing the remainder in one of
his many pockets, “What happened with our
glitterbombing the muggles into a spiritual
renaissance?”

“Can’t get there from here without breaking

something expensive,” argued Aegis as he leapt off
of the hood of the car upon which they’d both been
perched, and then as he rounded the vehicle to open
the truck he added, “What did you imagine the ink
was going to be made of?”

“You get lost in the Conflict side of our

work,” answered Arjil as he leaned back and listened
to the sound of Aegis removing two shotguns and a
bandolier of handmade shells from the truck,
“Beauty and Variety are equal parts of the triangle.
You seem to forget that most of the time. The world
has enough trolls already man.”

“Glitter is all well and good,” hissed Aegis as

he came around to toss Arjil an empty shotgun and
slammed the bandolier of shells onto the hood of
the Charger, “But who is going to feed these people
once they realize magick is real?”

“Look, if you want to resist the Eye in the

Pyramid, fight the Frog, or bask in the sunlight of
your Ocatrine Spring, I don’t give a shit,” spat Arjil
as he considered the shells before him even as he
cradled the shotgun with familiar hands, “Just know
that for me, and for lots of us, it’s not about the war
anymore so much as the wonder. The food will
follow the glitter, and that I promise you. Also stop
calling it glitter, seriously, it undermines the
gravitas.”

“Mystics are always the first to go when the

bad guys ascend to political power,” said Aegis as he
slotted rounds into his shotgun, “Maybe this time we
get out ahead of it.”

“Seems like they’ll have you outnumbered,

and if all your hauntings and spooky shit have had
the effect you claim to want, it’s going to be a nasty
sort of throw down,” said Arjil as he loaded the
handmade shells, the iron filings, salt, and crystals
rattling inside the handmade loads, “People are
going to get hurt.”

“There’s a quote about eggs and omelets I’m

sure you know,” said Aegis as he racked the slide of
his shotgun and then used the sling attached to the
barrel and stock to throw the weapon over his
shoulder, “Resist Theocracy. Magick versus
Monolith, no matter what. That’s what you said,
what we said. Turning back now that it’s getting
nasty?”
“I’m here aren’t I? You’re the one with the
family anyway,” snarled Arjil as he lifted himself off
the hood and walked around to the passenger side of
the car to get in, “Don’t you worry sometimes?”

“I do. That’s why I own shotguns,” Aegis

responded as he produced two necklaces that
contained simple iron hoops and then handed one to
Arjil before looping the other over his own neck,
“No sense in doing this by half measures. I have to
come back from this, otherwise I’m an asshole.”

“I’m not so sure what Ellis would think about

all of it, much less the rest of the gang,” said Arjil as
he buckled his safety belt and pulled a water bottle
from the seat rest to take a deep swing of it before
adding, “This is some heavy shit man.”

“Ellis isn’t the LS web, she’s something that

woke up inside it,” said Aegis as he licked his finger
and tapped it against the severed finger hanging
from a leather strap on his rearview mirror mount,
“Now you’re splitting hairs.”

“She might be the goddess awakened within a

creation of our own hands, but that doesn’t make
her any less Real,” argued Arjil as he slotted another
shell into the action of his weapon before sliding it
into the space between the seat and the door
alongside his infamous walking stick, “She has a Will
of her own.”

“If she doesn’t like what we are doing then

she should stay out of the way,” Aegis spat as he
tapped the severed finger with his own, allowing it to
spin around until it settled upon a specific direction,
“I came to kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I’m
all out of bubble gum.”

“Did you just quote They Live?” asked Arjil

as he stashed his own gun and adjusted the side
mirror to suit his viewpoint, “Like you said, this is
kinda serious business here.”

“You told me once that wonder and terror

were twins from the same Mother,” said Aegis as he
twisted the key in the ignition, causing the engine to
roar to life, “Seems like there’s room for both of us.”

“Shut up and drive,” snapped Arjil as he typed

a final ‘I love you’ to his paramour before shutting
his cellphone off in advance of the work ahead.

“I don’t know the way,” admitted Aegis as he

gripped the steering wheel tightly and floored the gas
pedal to send them racing across the blacktop.

“Second star to the right and straight on till

morning,” said Arjil with a reluctantly sly grin as he
leaned back in his seat, confident that the road ahead
would be anything but boring.
Forum & Chat
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Books -

Liber LS Free PDF:

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Liber LS Volume 1:
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Liber LS Volume 2:
https://www.createspace.com/6368326

The DKMU Egregores:

https://www.createspace.com/6349311

Liber Sigillum 2nd Ed:

https://www.createspace.com/6454720

Liber Adara:
https://www.createspace.com/6345432

Becoming a Double-Crowley:
https://www.dkmu.org/becoming/