Party At The World's End

 "She went down beyond the mountains and disappeared between the crease of sky and land, like a great eyelid folding shut. No one knows what happened out in the Black Hills, but I imagine she lies buried in a rusty coffin under the stars. She had Marilyn's enchanting haze, Hendrix's cool, Morrison's smoldering insanity, but the grave was still surely bare. Not that it mattered. Her face was burned into all our minds, forever young, the mantra of every generation's counter-culture. And on nights when the desert crickets sing her tune, they say one day she will rise again. On that day, there is no telling the kind of vengeance she'll demand of us. Fair is fair.

They say, when she fell from Heaven she wore a crown of jagged stars that slit the skies throat. They say she loved them all, in the secret corners of their shallow sleep. Strangers, at the last. They say a lot of things. They’re all lies. Everything is already written."

Party At The World's End2nd Edition is Available NOW. 

(Print only, $11. eBook available but is 1st edition until next week.)

Rome Wasn't Burnt In A Day

"Grant Morrison's The Invisibles meets Fight Club, with ...a completely unique take on what makes myth tick," said Underground Reviews, and that's exactly what you get with this lean book, no choice but look the void right in the eye. As Nietzsche famously said, "When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you." He knew the storm is coming. The fabric of the self, the fabric of a society, of a culture, of a species, all may reach the point of rupture without recognition. Is that not even more true in the psyche that wishes to distract, to look elsewhere, to numb out the terrible truth, that we live in that void already. It is an absence, the myth of no myths, no meanings.

Which sounds fucking awful, doesn't it?

Who could have predicted it'd be a band on the road that set it all off, the mad Bacchae and their rock apocalypse?

So don't be sad. The party is going to be a blast, drinking and fucking to the edges of oblivion; riding off with Lilith and Ariadne, Dionysus, transexual Jesus and Artemis into that sunset, (because who wants to remain virginal at the end of the world?) They offer polyamory and LSD instead of jealousy and fear, spiritual transformation instead of a 9-5 grind. When they pull into your town and open the door, who in their right mind wouldn't hop aboard? The feds say "these kids have to be crazy to go with 'those people.'"

Machines shouldn't speak for men. You'd have to be crazy not to go.

The joy, the release, at the end of all things is absolute. It's the getting there that's Hell. We must find our way out together, or not at all.

Those who wander through life without knowing who they are: No more. Unlock the Fallen God within your sleeping self. All it takes is the right story. Contact the Order of the Hidden Path, begin your initiation now. There is no time to waste.

-Gabriel De Leon, 2012. OHO, OHP.

Take a mad ride past the event horizon of sanity with the band Babylon, in the final days of the American Empire. First in the psychedelic occult, myth and fairy-tale laced urban fantasy series, the Fallen Cycle.

Party At The World's End

404 Documents, first contact

Contained within this podcast.

First initiation protocol contained in this podcast beyond the 10 minute mark. Cyphers for later narratives. Also included is an excerpt from Transmedia Litany, with Genesis P. Orridge & Joseph Matheny. All of the music and content that makes up this podcasts is home-grown, recorded in various home & psuedo-professional studios.

Some links you may want to check out after / while you listen:ZenseiderZ, the rough version of the MHB informercial (c2000), the Join My Cult! eBook, fallen nation.

404 Documents elevent: The Dream #1

(More 404.) 


"We don't die, it's much worse: we vanish. In other words, we never were. There is no reality." Petr Král

As I said, everything was already starting to change for me. These things begin little by little. It seems that all at once there is an audible snap and your life is wholly different. But when we look back we can see that it was actually a long time coming. It seemed to begin with my dreams that night.

I was on a giant battleship, which was - I think - steaming toward the US capitol. I’m not sure how, but in some way I understood that our mission was a last ditch effort to save the American Dream. Crew were carrying missiles back and forth through the hull. Screams, smoke, flashing lights. Amidst the commotion, I inquired what they were planning on doing with those, (the were sidewinders, air-to-air, we had no planes onboard, what the hell good were they?)
One of the crew awkwardly dropped one and an auto-door slammed shut on it with a clink.

Everything seemed to stop. The rocking of the boat. The yelling and carrying on of the crew. Even the sloshing of the waves below deck. All our eyes went toward thousands of pounds of munitions, rolling around on the floor as the doors opened and slammed shut again. And then the gut-wracking moment. There was a sucking oomph and metal and bodies became high velocity shrapnel themselves, shearing people like they were little more than paper cut-out dolls. I was lying on the ground and I wondered when this was, was this world war 3? Was this the Queen Mary? Was I alive? What the hell was going on?

I thought I was waking up for the first time, at that moment, but of course I was neither awake nor aware. But it seemed that I was. And if things can seem so true and yet be complete lies, then what can we trust, really?

ketchup & fried circuitry

Agent 139 suddenly rose. “I am the monkey flower!” he proclaimed. The waitress grunted and began ambling his way, prepared to tell him to sit in his seat and be a good patron. The Agent gave her such a withering stare that she stopped in mid-stride.

“Hear me out!” he screamed. Even the suits in non-smoking stopped, their forks dangling in their suddenly limp hands.

“Fuck it all. Thirty million years of evolution for ‘Singled Out,’ the Spice Girls, and sublimated brutality. Thirty million years and Eminem is the most forward thinking artist on the air? Come on and come off it, you fucking disappoint me. You’re letting your religious iconography be populated by the likes of DMX and Pepsi Cola? I’ll have another hit off the joint and continue to be mindfucked by the boys on the major networks. I mean, I am, after all, nothing more than a product of this…rightright? That my consciousness is not congruent with the agreed upon world view—that is a fluke, a minor mishap, an inconvenience at my expense? A country based on the rights of the many at the expense of the one—who ever thought that the many consists of the one?—and we expect to have individuality? Individuality is itself a trap, a sham. What does this strip-mall of insecurity, this plethora of sensory overstimulation lack? To use the terminology of our late syphilitic friend, a will to power, a will to meaning.”

At this Frederick looked confused. “Late?” he asked. The Agent did not pause, however. He had a far away, highly ecstatic look in his eyes. The tone of his voice had changed, it was now deep and powerful. Johny could see that he was brandishing a curved hunting dagger behind his back.

“Why do you call yourself 139?” Johny asked suddenly, completely spoiling the mood.

139 looked over his shoulder at him. “Top of mind awareness… branding and marketing haven’t you been listening?”

Eros For Life

“Everywhere I go, in every experience, I see life constantly on the verge of death, the intensity of it almost overflowing, overwhelming me precisely because every thing is, from the moment of its creation, so  close to its own annihilation. Life exists to the extent that it stands in  stubborn and harsh contrast to its own non-existence. One who is alive, truly alive, experiences Eros for life, as the tension between what we see  as being through becoming is contrasted with the darkness, the hallow  absence—not the light!—at the end of the process.

Through this we may see the first will-to-meaning in the struggle between the secret gravity of our end  being ahead and behind us, and our constant attempt to create a beginning, an eternally present moment, right now.

The Bedtime Stories With The Antichrist Show

Episode 1

Episode 2

Where in the world is Agent 156?