Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

the junky from fix to fix. If you somehow circumvent this polarity, then
you have also circumvented the universe, and taken away your will to
live. The junky isn’t more addicted to heroin than you are to your identifying
desires, you just happen to have a less vicious habit.
The concept is the same: the satisfaction of the urge doesn’t happen in
the act itself but rather in the conceptualization of it. The perfect moment
that we’re waiting for never seems to come. There’s something that
occurs between the day before and the day after that we always miss. All
too soon it’s the day after, and we have to go out again—again to blink at
the wrong moment. Did I miss that moment I’ve been waiting for?
Taking it down a level of magnitude, more into the particular, we can
take a new look at this magnetic pull. Every night I was consumed within
visual representations of this—a swirling, brilliantly-colored vortex:
every expression of sexual desire from lust to love was expressed to me
in vivid detail. And it was also in these dreams that I finally found a
nexus of these two poles. Bodies and minds moved together towards one
unifying goal, which was the evolution of the race to the point of self
recognition in the other. The more we could stoke the fire of life together
and direct it towards that goal, the better. Time was running out.
The entire experience was curiously non-corporeal. It wasn’t like they
show it in movies, and it isn’t like Catholics dream of it. There was
always a sweetness, as in romance, but no implication of anything except
for the interaction in the moment. I did notice that some characters in
these dreams would return, but I also felt none of the compulsions I had
had in many anxiety dreams I would have, representing the other side of
my feelings about the matter, of falling in love and then losing my love,
or of jealousy, or of betrayal. It wasn’t Crowley who put the thought in
my head—it had always seemed strange to me that people do not take
their fill of love, when and with whom they please, with the intention of
opening up still further, letting go of the need to hold on, which restricts
pleasure and chokes the freedom of ones inherent, pure intentionality
without the weeds—”should,” “don’t,” “shouldn’t,” “could have,” and
the rest. Birth and death is our passage from and to the silence. Why
shouldn’t we all rejoice now in this manifest chaos that exists, like a star,
above the vast desert?
In these rituals, no holding on to form or order was possible—there
was no responsibility for us to compromise, or be anything other than
that outpouring of pleasure. Societal identities were irrelevant. Maybe, in
addition to my obsession with dissolving social standards, I was driven
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