The Throne of Cesare Borgia

The Throne of Cesare Borgia

The Blood that Lives on in the Soil

Sept 29, 2017
On the hurricane-lashed hillsides of Puerto Rico, the blood oozes up from the soil.
    It is blood that has been there a long time. It is blood that remembers the extortions of Columbus and the rascally company that was waiting for him to return from these Caribbean islands with gold to reward their investments. It is blood that remembers how Native peoples were admonished to turn from the Native faith than had made them so gentle, and compelled to deliver their prayers to an icon which claimed to be an image of Jesus the Christ, but which was actually a portrait of Cesare Borgia.
    It is in the nature of the blood that is seeping from the inundated hillsides to urge the Puerto Rican people to want to build again. Ever since the landing of the Philistine pirates under the command of Christopher Columbus, Puerto Rico has become overly acquainted with recurrent catastrophes. But the blood that is seeping shall also ensure that what is rebuilt shall be different from everything that has gone before.

A Carnival Hosted by Demons

     For one thing, ever since the day when the Dominicans arrived with Columbus, the throne of Cesare Borgia has been a heavy weight upon the soul of Puerto Rico. The Throne of Cruelty arrived in Puerto Rico with the second voyage of  Columbus. From that moment on, the fortunes of the Native Taino people descended into a flume of genocidal catastrophe.

      Heroic warriors bought their people a little time – but Comandante Ponce de Leon was as ruthless as the pounce of the lion for which he had been named.

      The propensity of Juan Ponce de Leon and his underlings for cutting off peoples’ hands, demonstrates that they were the descendants in spirit, if not in the actual flesh, of the notorious Umayyads. In fact, Juan Ponce de Leon was a Crude Oil Brother. In his time, since men had not yet discovered how to extract blood from the earth, and since in consequence they had no Crude Oil with which to perform their pollutions, they had to burn living human beings instead.

      It should therefore come as no surprise that, after they had killed all the men and raped all the women on the island, these Crude Oil Brothers should cause the scene of their crimes, this island which we now call Puerto Rico to become the center of the Most Catholic Inquisition in the Western Hemisphere.

      Even after their abominations had brought the nation of Spain down to the most abject humiliation, the Crude Oil Brothers persisted in blazing trails through the most tangled thickets of injustice. In order to understand how they were able to get away with this, it is necessary to understand a very Satanic doctrine which was conjured up by the same series of Anti-Popes whose perversion of religious principles drove Martin Luther to declare a revolution against the Catholic Order. It is a most curious thing that even though the Protestant nations repudiated almost every other sophistry of the papists, this Satanic Doctrine of Discovery not only survived the Protestant Reformation, but was destined to become the foundation upon which American real estate law erected its superstructure.

      It really should be called, The Doctrine of Satanic Possession.

The Reason for Lent

March 6, 2016

      It used to be said that the Sun never sets on the British Empire. Today, that Empire has been humbled and transformed into a Commonwealth. While that Commonwealth has been struggling to acknowledge its debt to non-European sources, the great ideal of a world that would be governed by Fair Play has been replaced by a Chaosium in which strange things fall from the clouds and winged mechanical drones home in from the skies to kill people who are celebrating their weddings.

      The day is sunny and on the lower elevations, wildflowers are beginning to blossom. Nevertheless, at these higher altitudes, patches and even expanses of snow remain on the ground.

      Thieu and I are driving out to place flowers on the memorial to Henry Demonford which has been erected over his grave.

      All about the cemetery, it is snowy. It is only the naked stones that rise up to proclaim that here lie creatures who once used to be called human beings. These stones, indeed, proclaim the destined end of all our mortal striving.

      The chill and melancholy wind reminds us that there was nevertheless a profound rationale driving the aspirations of those of us who came to maturity during those fateful years of the 20^th Century. The chill that hangs in the atmosphere today reminds us that if we committed ourselves to act in foolish ways, there was nevertheless a purity of motive which is today becoming increasingly obscured under the residues of post-traumatic compulsions.

      There was a time, only a few decades ago, when most of us had great hopes. We saw, quite briefly, a vision of the sun – but then the world became tormented by the spectre of a cruel shadow which is eager to impose compulsions, and which is intent on the extermination of any cultural influence which questions the all too superficial dogmas of its self-appointed leaders.

      We, who had wanted to believe that the women among us were sweet angels, whose breasts swelled only with the milk of human kindness, were to learn that this is not true either. Weary of suffering for our causes, these women began to make little deals with the Other Side. As we discovered, the Cruel God whom we had allowed to claim Heaven had left a cruel shadow here on earth.

      That cruel shadow took the form of an economic incentive which pitted men and women against each other on the stage of a Theater of Cruelty. Nevertheless, I did not have the sense to save my life, and found myself falling in love with these women.

The Ground About the Tomb

Henry’s tomb is marked by an angel who is pouring out an amphora. At the angel’s feet, a plaque is inscribed:

It’s not the power of guns and bombs
But the grace which can heal the wounded heart Which shall finally conquer all

    Thieu and I leave flowers on the grave, and say a little prayer for the departed. And I find myself wondering why it is only we, the old soldiers who have managed to keep none of the commandments, who can see through the web of deception the social neurosis has woven.

      Can it be that our whole society is highballing down the main line to Satanhood, and that one can only recognize this after one has made a personal decision to leap from the train that is carrying everyone down to destruction?

      I now begin to understand, just why the sickness of the world is so distressing. The choice between heaven and hell belongs to those of us who have died and returned to the earth. When first we grasped this truth, we strove with might and mein to move the world. We pledged ourselves eternally to some social ideal, even though we remained in denial concerning the hubris and the power-lust which hide beneath the cross of the Crusader.

        In the world of Eternal Recurrence, Lancelot falls once again from his horse. He grasps then what it was he loved and then betrayed. He's looked up into heaven, seen Valkyries descending. In polite society, he'll speak of them as angels. He begs them for mercy, forgiveness and healing; they remain in heaven, teasing him all the way as he hobbles along into town. From the depths of his heart he cries out. If it he could renounce everything, would angels please release him from this world?

      And the Valkyries laugh. "You ask us why your world is chiseled from the essence of pain? You ask us why your love has been unwise? Look then to find a lady writhing on a stake. And the man who has judged she should burn -- he thought he had self-mastery, but why this fatal flaw? Return to the world in our service -- redeem her from this jealousy which turns every prophecy false."

      He rides then into town, beholds the lady burning as a witch. It's then he knows the cause of foolish love. We love, because the pain of love sustains the soul against all baser fires. And the soul rapine has shattered may only survive by throwing itself to the flame.

The Paranoid Alien Looks at Public Health on Earth

The Paranoid Alien Looks at Public Health on Earth

 

Boxing Day, 1994

Hello, out there in Radioland. This is Paranoid Alien Radio, broadcasting on 1519 Killing Hurts.

      What has become of our Victory over the Shadow, which we had believed had been won for all time by the heroes of the 1940's?

      About the same time your sister began developing breasts, she discovered that the Great Abomination was not the Silence of God, but rather, the inability of the weary partisans of the ‘40's to admit that the downfall of the Twisted Cross had been only a provisional victory. The luminescence of 1946 proved to be a False Dawn. We subsequently learned, that until the Powers that rule this world are made accountable to the cries of those who suffer because they have been left behind, these brazen Powers shall attempt to use material technology to reverse the direction of the Wheel of Karma.

      That is why the constellations beneath which children were born in the ‘60's gleamed so brightly, in the canopy of a night which was so dark that nearly every intelligent person contemplated suicide.

      Maybe it’s a miracle that anything survived. Or maybe it’s just that the Creator has a rather perverse sense of humor. 

 

Bulletin on the Public Health of Your Planet

 

(Alien Voice with mechanical Intonation)

• Good morning from Paranoid Alien Radio, broadcasting on 1519 killing hurts, and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. In the interest of public health upon your planet, we must warn you of a plague which is to be taken just as seriously as the White Plague that swept through all of Continental Europe during the 1940's.
• When you study the Holocaust and the Gotterdammerung, you usually leave out the influence of the Anti-man Djinn. Yes, certain stars do have anthropologists who do come around to take pictures of the savages torturing each other. They are tricked when you nibble at each other with lovebites, because their reptile minds can’t understand how it is possible to love and hate at the same time. But so long as you let yourself be ruled by games of serious dominance and submission, you’ll find you are caught in the nets of Cosmic Imperialists, who want to keep you bound in rituals of self-destruction, because they fear the day that your perversities shall become fashionable among their reptile-women.
• That is why you are suffering from this epidemic. We know that the first thing your rulers will do, shall be to try to control the epidemic through rites of human sacrifice. When this doesn’t work they shall try torturing victims, in hopes that the Gods shall smile. Because they live their days in the shadow of enormous pride, they can’t understand why the appetite of the Cruel Gods for human blood seems to escalate like a heroin habit.
• That is why we Paranoid Aliens have had to come down to inspect your military installations. We have had to intervene, because we are the only ones who are being allowed to question the chastity of your heroic soldiers. We may need to carry some of you off; this may be the only way that we can put an end to the gang-rapes that a certain group of us hears about when it tunes in to the voices of the mothers’ prayers.
• It would have been better if you had allowed the soldiers to drag all their harlots in tow. Then, at least, there might have been some honor, and some accountability for how they were spreading their own social diseases among the natives.
• It would be even better if these women were to gang together, to comfort and protect each other, and to demand the proper rites of atonement from men who’ve subjected their loved ones to pain and humiliation. When our Paranoid Alien Public Health Officers are able to observe this sort of response, we shall be able to conclude that your species is developing an immune reaction that is capable of suppressing the disease. Until that time comes, we shall need to continue our inspections, and we may need to carry some of your leaders off for special re-educational sessions.

 

A Place Where Mutually Incompatible Universes Collide

 

Hello there, let me introduce myself. I have come to your Great American Desert. I shall let you call me, “Roswell Man.”

      Some of you shall question, whether I should be called a man at all. The experts on who is a man are supposed to be the Anthropologists – but I’ve found that these Anthropologists are prejudiced against us Flying Saucer People. So prejudiced, that if one of us has a motor vehicle accident in New Mexico, he gets turned over to the Feds for scientific dissection.

      If you want to know, that is the reason why I am a Paranoid Alien. But I’ve been down here long enough to discover that, in the plains that are now staked with oil derricks, almost everyone is just as paranoid as I am..

      The Staked Plain of New Mexico is a place where several mutually incompatible universes are colliding. In most of the towns except Roswell, it’s snake-oil evangelism and Seven-Day Creationism. On the military bases it’s top-secret agendas and random particles from the nuclear physics lab. Out where the money is made, it’s drilling rigs send out by Napoleonic consortiums, as well as the human trafficking in illegal workers. Is it any wonder, with all this crazy-making, that there are Native villages in which a new Jesus gets nailed to a cross every year?

      If shoes are put out on the doorstep the next day, Christ has survived his ordeal.

Given the sort of confusion that your economic system imposes on the conscience, I really don’t think it’s surprising that some people want to believe in me as a God, while some of your leading theologians will insist that I must be the very Devil.

      Since my race is more like yours than I care to admit, it’s possible we may end up becoming your devils. But just for the record, the only reason I was flying around over Roswell the day of my motor vehicle accident, is that I was gathering data for a post-graduate thesis in Anthropology. As an anthropologist myself, I am aware that the cross-cultural excuse for Imperialism is that it is better for a people to be under the occupation of masters who rule by The Book, than to allow them to wallow forever in child-sacrifice and civil wars.

      When I deliver my report to the Starlords, I shall advise all to take solemn warning from the sinful conquests and terrible downgoings of the Conquistador caste in Roswell. I pray to what you call Allah that, in the fearful event that we are mandated by the Star Council to be your protectors, the people of my star shall do better than those of your planet have done in similar situations.

But knowing as I do the terrible similarity between my race and yours, I cannot guarantee it.

5. Reliable informed sources indicate than even though their home planet is many light years away, at warp-speed they can arrive here in 15 minutes.

Encounter With the Fire Marshall

Encounter With the Fire Marshall

April 2, 1994

    Again, Regina and I are seated at her breakfast nook table, when the ghost of Soren Kirkegaard flies in from Denmark to join us.  He introduces himself as the Fire Marshall.

    “If we would be spiritual explorers,” declares Soren, “we must acknowledge that the karmic road is paved with gravel. And if we accept that we are the adopted brothers and sisters of the God Who Died on the Cross, then we must also accept that we shall have our turns to scream and groan when the slaves get flogged.  It’s only those who are too punch-drunk with pain to say no to God, who can win the good race, and gain admission to the House of Lords in Heaven.”

    “You are the one who were the bandit,” Regina critiques. “You were the one who frightened the Church and the State by proclaiming that you had been led to establish, not a new theology, but a division of natural science which would examine social parasites!”

    “I wished to lead the people of sincere devotion away from the decadent castles of Ludvig, so that they could build the kind of defenses which would be of some actual value in resisting the coming tide of bestiality,” the Fire-Marshal answers. “The masses of so-called Christians will not join me in this effort, because their leaders have too much regard for a fine purse. But when they recognize the nature of the plague which is encroaching, and which is carried by the amiable mediocrity of popular Christianity, the few who are healers shall appreciate my vision of the Vanishing Point. Quite simply, we must be able to look at everything from both unbelief and faith, so that we may develop a hyperbolic relationship to the True and Unattainable Ideal.

    “Once we have developed that sort of quiet and inward relationship, we shall be able to appreciate the potential oil wells that lie beneath so many avocado ranches and other small and independent farms. We also shall appreciate that certain resources must remain potential, until the rapacity of certain economic systems have been chastised. You see it every day, but you refuse to look. You say that God takes care of his own, but what happens when the smallholders try to hold back the developers’ bulldozers? Of course, their petit-romanticism is too small for the world, and therefore doomed for failure – but is the more efficient System of the Beast that drives it out, any sort of real improvement?”

 

Encounter with the Real Peoples' Grandfather

Behold another voice, whose visible image at the table appears as a scowling tribal face, a mask carved rather crudely out of a log:

      “Before you go on and on in your discussion of what is or is not appropriate for a Christian, I believe that I have a right to ask of you one little question. By a Christian do you mean a Lutheran or a Methodist – which is to say, one whose life is programmed by the ideological structions of the mercantile idealism of Europe? Or does being a “Believer” imply a relationship with the sense of Prophesy which you recognize in Jesus the Christ, but which so-called primitive peoples also see in the teachings of Medicine People like Deganiwidah or the White Buffalo Woman?”

      “Ho there!” chuckles the Fire Marshall. “I now see what it is I longed to seek through travel, but despaired of finding on account of the thorn in my flesh. That is not a little thing you ask of me. I know that our Western Civilization is going down, and that on this account the man of discretion is likely to be the solitary.”

      “But love lurks in the woods,” insists Regina. “Your world is knocked out of equilibrium, because the weight of large estates and big crimelord houses puts everything out of balance. You can’t have love while you are trying to shoot a gatling gun. It is only when you can begin to appreciate the inspiration in the flowing water, that love has a chance to survive.”

      “In order to become a people,” grins the crudely carved wooden mask, “you’ve got to develop traditions of courtesy, which are founded on the awareness of past inspirations. Or you can act like the Crude Oil Brothers, who are always bringing in their mercenaries to take all the valued resources away from the little brown men. It’s just like your domestic violence problem. Whether it’s gas and oil rights or the rights to favors in bed – your so-called Christians have shown the world that they are not to be trusted. Or at least, not until you have begun to let your women have a chance to civilize you.”

Spider-Woman and the Smoking Chimney

    “Look at the board on which the cruel game is played,” declares The Happy Hunting Ground’s attorney-general. “Look how the rules all have been re-written by the God of Jealousy. You turn everything in life into an all-out struggle, and then, to make sure no one else can win, you change the rules as you go. For this reason, we’re convicting Jealousy of High Treason. Has the Felon Angel anything to plead?”
    “I don’t think he has any answer,” witnesses the Fire Marshall, “because Felon Apollyon knows that anything he declares may be used by the prosecution. And, as the Fire Marshal, I have got to take the Prosecutor’s side. I have seen too many instances of arson, and all of the evidence seems to indicate that the Indo-European Gods have not only managed a hostile takeover of Christianity, but that they are using the resulting consortium as a pretext for burning and imprisoning women.”

    “Let us examine the scene of the crime from the perspective of the Back Door,” imparts the Crudely Notched Mask. “Then, I believe, you shall see how the Guardian of the Ice and the Oceans would look at what has been coming down ever since Europe’s so-called enlightenment. Ever since the end of the Dark Ages, we have noticed that more and more hot smoke has been rising up from Europe’s chimneys. At first, it was just blacksmiths building fires so they could manufacture swords and armor for the knights.
    “The kings in those days thought they owned it all. What they did not understand, as they looked out on their Large Estates from the Manor Houses and Castles they farmed out to their vassals, was that their conquest of the common people was only the first stage in a process of avalanching entropy. The kings will try to develop enough prosperity to satisfy the people, and hope to settle down to a 500 year long Elizabethan Age, where gentlemen from varied nations shall duel upon the Spanish Main.
    “The Spider-Woman who spun and wove this fine tapestry died, and was remembered for the next 500 years as a lady who got tired of torturing her boyfriends and became a little old maid. The next kings were to find that Elizabeth’s peace could not last 50 years, let alone 500. For one thing, there were now by far too many chimneys, through which more and more smoke was rising up to disfigure the ozone. Beyond that, the Royal Privateers were becoming Disloyal Rats, and financing their treasonous aims through the most dishonorable sorts of commerce. No Crusader at the walls of Jerusalem has ever smitten a Saracen with such venom, as the Masters of the European Chimneys now inflicted on Africa.
    “You-all have studied the Great Bourgeois Rebellions in High School. What your instructors neglected to mention, was that these rebellions were simply the turbulence that was being generated by more and more smoke that was going up more and more chimneys. About the same time that Kings and their loyal retainers started getting their heads chopped off, the chimneys began reaching a critical mass, and chimneys started building chimneys. It wasn’t just the armory blacksmith anymore – now any little hamlet with a mill had to have a chimney too, so that a boiler could be stoked till it produced live steam.
    “And now the boilers with their chimneys were starting to walk over the land and across the Great Waters. Wherever these walking chimneys would travel, stationary chimneys would rise up to service the traveling chimneys. We have arrived at the point at which the Chief Engineers will try to stop this proliferation of chimneys, and will find out that they cannot. They will try to spread the alarm that all of the chimneys built since 1980 are united in a Communist conspiracy, and that any new chimney must be licensed by an old chimney – but in the end they will fail. We, who are the Spirits on the Northern Mountains, could have informed them long ago, just what an avalanche is all about – but the Chief Engineers were always too proud to listen.”