Black Books

 

What are you saying now? It sounded different then.

Canine wagging, canine snarling etc. And now you want me to do it again? How do you explain this contradiction?

“You must find an explanation for yourself.”

Cheap excuse!

Damned witch stuff

But as you, ghostly double, can’t do it, I will demonstrate to you that I can:

Back then it was personal, now it is transpersonal. Do you grasp it at all?

Apparently not. So what is it about the human wit? Indeed you are wanting!

What good would it do you if I perished? Admit it, you have a thing for me.

You, mother, listen, I am your husband in spirit.

You, serpent, listen, I am your father in spirit. You should respect me and never again treat me like a dog.

The torture you have put me to shall come back on you, not as vengeance but poetic justice.

Each one has his share.

Even if Abraxas threw me to the floor, I would not prostrate myself before you, but before mighty Abraxas.

He might mock me, even tear me into pieces and shatter me.

Then it will be put on you because you left me defenseless. I could turn bitter toward you.

You are powerless. What use do you have for me?

I will learn canine wagging before Abraxas, so he won’t squash me.

Perhaps men protect me better.

Crucify yourself, serpent. Mother, embrace the trunk; and that way abide for the 1,000 years until your redemption.

Verily, enough and more than enough of the torment of men.

You shall taste the desire for death arising from unbelievable excruciation, you, who have lived from this torment of men.

Maria was a mother of man, Christ was a man.

No longer should man be rent by you, rend yourself.

The daimons might take the torture of Christ and its mystery across to their kingdom for the 1,000 years.

Stop provoking human frenzy, so that man rages against himself.

That is why I separate you and put you opposite one another so that you will recognize each other.

Mother look at your son, the black serpent monstrosity with the lion’s mane.

Son, look at your mother, she is all and nothing.

Strive toward her and despair of her and in her.

Coil, full of rage and helplessly, you abysmal slithering body, flicker, flame, and sear the nothingness that engulfs you maternally so horribly.

But let man return to his huts and green deserts, to his solitude among the many.

I swear to you, you hideous madness of Abraxas, turn your paws against the eternal Pleroma, let go of man.

He is too puny and an unworthy sacrifice to your power. We are whining dogs before you, the lion.

This hunting hound is of no use to you.

Oh man, don’t forget your divine weapon, your wit.

You, the weakling, were given a dread venomous sting with which you could also lame Gods. ~The Black Books, Vol. VI, Page 218-219