Fantastic Black Magic Sex Secrets of the Zen Baptists Monks Revealed!

 

ZEN NEVER DIED, it just smells that way. Primordial uncarved block, sole worshipful monster, inert & spontaneous, more ultraviolet than any mythology (like the shadows before Babylon), the original undifferentiated oneness-of-being still radiates serene as the black pennants of Satanist Soccer moms, random & perpetually intoxicated.Zen comes before all principles of order & entropy, it’s neither a god nor a maggot, its idiotic desires encompass & define every possible choreography, all meaningless aethers & enochian dogs : its masks are crystallization’s of its own facelessness, like clouds.Everything in nature is perfectly real including consciousness, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Not only have the chains of the Sex been broken, they never existed; demons never guarded the stars, the Empire never got started, Eros never grew a beard, and the Gods don’t give a shit about your football team. No, listen, what happened was this: they lied to you, sold you ideas of good & evil, gave you distrust of your body & shame for your prophethood of sex, invented words of disgust for your molecular love,mesmerized you with inattention, bored you with civilization & all its usurious emotions.There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you’re the monarch of your own skin–your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream,urgent as the blueness of sky, or the dead churlishness of a Mantis Bride killing it’s mate.
To shed all the illusory rights & hesitations of history demands the economy of some legendary Stone Age, a time before time–sages not teachers, shamans not priests, bards not lords, hunters not police, gatherers of paleolithic laziness, gentle as blood, going naked for a sign or painted as birds, poised on the wave of explicit presence,reading Tarot at the moment of autoerotique asphyxiation, the clockless now ever of the Tao. Ceremonial Magicians cast burning glances at anything or anyone capable of bearing witness to their condition,their fever of lux et voluptas, as Warlocks of the IIV degree have sex with manikins in honor of Anton Lavey.
I am awake only in what I love & desire to the point of terror, Taoism, Zen, Demonology and Teratology, the scientific study of congenital abnormalities and abnormal formations –everything else is just shrouded smoking Mirrors, Big Mac anesthesia, shit-for-brains, sub-reptilian ennui of Neilson family pipe dreams, banal censorship & useless pain.Zen Monks and Taoists act as spies, saboteurs, criminals of amour fuckyourmother, neither selfless nor selfish, accessible as children, mannered as barbarians,like drunken dwarves high on DMT chafed with obsessions but not controlled by them, underemployed and underestimated, sensually deranged, wolf angels, God Killers,mirrors for contemplation, eyes like flowers, pirates of all signs & meanings.

 

 

Here we are crawling the cracks between walls of Satanism, Christianity and Paganism, state school & factory, all the paranoid american dreams cut by your mother into bite size pieces. Cut off from the Occult community by feral nostalgia, side by side with Traditional witchcraft and Thai Occultism, Animist Sorcery and Sacred Botany and Goetic Greek Revival,we tunnel after lost words, imaginary books.The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden calf that connects us:illegal fucking in the Graveyards of the New Age. If I were to kiss you here they’d call it an act of Magick, as the Greatest Zen Sex Magician of all time once wrote between a young monsoon’s Mons Veneris:

 

 

even if Buddha himself kneeled at my deathbed
he wouldn’t be worth shit

self other right wrong wasting your life arguing
you’re happy really you are happy

forget what the masters wrote truth’s a razor
each instant sitting here you and I being here

no masters only you the master is you
wonderful no? a beautiful woman’s hot vagina’s full of love
I’ve given up trying to put out the fire of my body

if you don’t break rules you’re an ass not human
women start us passion comes and goes until death

I love taking my new girl blind Mori on a spring picnic
I love seeing her exquisite free face its moist sexual heat shine

your name Mori means forest like the infinite fresh
green distances of your blindness

how is my hand like Mori’s?
it’s her freedom I love when I’m sick she makes me hard
fingers lips rove everywhere bring my followers joy

I’m whole as long as I hear you singing
then emptiness when you stop

a woman is enlightenment when you’re with her and the red thread
of both your passions flares inside you and you see

I remember one quiet afternoon she fished out my cock
bent over played with it in her mouth for at least an hour

for us no difference between reading eating singing
making love not one thing or the other

once while she was cooking I kneeled put my head between her warm dark legs
up her skirt kissed and licked and sucked her until she came

she’d play with it almost anywhere day and night
touch it with the deepest part of herself

and the nights inside you rocking
smelling the odor of your thighs is everything

I think of your death think of us touching
my head quiet in your lap  –Ikkyu

 

 

So those are the Fantastic Black Magic Sex Secrets of the Zen Baptists Monks, use them wisely, and with care.

Stay Gold folks…

 

Sources:

Ikkyu: Crow With No Mouth: 15th Century Zen Master by Stephen Berg

CHAOS: THE BROADSHEETS OF ONTOLOGICAL ANARCHISM: Hakim Bey

 

Fantastic Black Magic Sex Secrets of the Zen Baptists Monks Revealed! was originally published on The Hidden Left Hand

The Five-Phoenixes Dragon Sprout (Aspidium falcadum; wood fern)

The Five-Phoenixes Dragon Sprout (Aspidium falcadum; wood fern)

Deep within the mountain streams,
Phoenixes Five is their name;
These the alchemist esteems,
And their lushness will acclaim.
Harvesting the leaves is done
Only in the seasons blest;
Fifth moon or mid-autumn—
Under these the task is best.
Strange the name and strange the shape—
This is no prosaic thing—
For the leaves distinctly ape
Phoenix tail and phoenix wing.

The Embroidered Carpet Dragon Sprout
(Euphorbia humifusa Willd. or Thyme-Leaf Spurge) Deep within the mountain range
You will find this mystic plant, And its properties are strange, Hidden powers it will grant.
Flowers red, and red its leaves,
And the leaves are round like coins; Strange effects the sage achieves— To the humble leaves he joins
Some realgar—the result could be 57
Medicine’s made successfully;
Eaten as a sacred cut
This will give longevity. 11873435_933156530056597_7214181191280642033_n

Art and words by Vincent Piazza Copyright 2015

The Five-Phoenixes Dragon Sprout (Aspidium falcadum; wood fern) was originally published on The Hidden Left Hand

Image

Squid-Head

In a dream I saw the city in a shadow, and the river beyond.

Siting where the river meets the sky,  fancy and illusion get drunk on rum and bad intent.

In a dream it was also that squid-head that called to me, for when awake I never hear squid.

Perhaps it is natural for me to see them awake,but dreaming is how I am reminded of who I have been.
I preferred to be awake,but that’s just the lie I tell myself to keep the dreams at bay.

What I wrote was laughed at by those Squid Heads,much better that, then silence.

The more I withdraw from the world,the more silent I became,a sound impossible to describe on paper

Naked in ugliness, this foul thing called reality……..
squid headArtwork and Poem by Vincent Piazza, Copyright 2015

Playing the tune that only you can hear…

Chaos Theory, along with scientific applications, shows that chaos is the random occurrence of variables with-
in the world we know which can create drastic changes. “Chaos” and “anarchy” are not one; though the true
Spiritual Anarchist will prefer them to be on some level. Random variables, of course, can be asserted to be
“free will” – man’s ability to move with this randomness as though he were at one with it. A “free spirit” may
not be complete random but is, in essence, random at critical moments which makes his actions that much
harder to gauge unless the entire spectrum of the time he’s moving in can be viewed.
an·ar·chy ( n r-k )
n. pl. an·ar·chies
• Absence of any form of political authority.playing to the crowd
• Political disorder and confusion.
• Absence of any cohesive principle, such as a common standard or purpose.

 

 

 

 

If we take a close look at the definition of anarchy, of course, we can see a very big discrepancy in the defini-
tions.The major problem I have is the lower two definitions, which are cultural memes based on a series of
cultural assumptions.The first is that if one lacks a central figure of philosophy, or government, then everything
is going to go straight to shit and fall apart.This is a pretty idiotic statement, considering that we’ve actually
had a series of tribal cultures throughout history without a central form of governance which did just fine
until the white-man came along and decided to fuck things up with his way of viewing reality.Let me ask you a question, then.You sit every day on a chair, when you go to sit down. If I remove the chair,
where do you think you’ll sit if you need to? On the ground. Let’s take this same concept and apply it to gov-
ernment: if we take away a government, what will man do? Man, for the most part, will govern himself. Much
the same way we actually do every day; of course, there are always going to be a few who threaten to break
down these basic principles. But do you really think wide-spread raping and pillaging will occur if living just
down the street is a group of Muslims willing to shoot you if you so much as touch their daughter? Probably
not.
What, then, does that leave us with? How do we work with this concept at all, and is it relevant to us? I
believe it is; I have no doubt that others will disagree on principle. First, the idea of “revolution” needs to be
tossed out and it is in all honesty a key to the concept of anarchy. Revolution, when viewed at historical level,
always leads to even more oppressive systems of government.We obviously don’t need that at the moment,
despite any issues some of us (myself, for example) may have with the way the government currently operate.Insurrection, on the other hand, does not need a revolution to occur; it simply needs willing participants who
following the brief period return to an almost normal viewpoint of life. Insurrection normally occurs when
those involved are simply tired of the way things are being done and decide to shake their fists at the govern-
ment as a whole. However, you may have noticed thus far that I’ve focused on the government – and what
Magician really cares all that much for politics? What we need to realize is that Government and Organized
Religion are two sides of the same threshold: control. Control with a big “c,” if you can dig it.
Heresy is a means of social resistance; you and I are all ready, in the eyes of the organized religions out there,
anarchists eating away at their philosophies.The root for heresy is the Latin Haeresis, which means “to
choose.” Our great plot against all of them is to choose for ourselves.Take a moment to consider that.We’ve
chosen for ourselves…
We’ve circumvented their control over us and decided that we have the means and technologies, spiritually, to
do what they claim to do.We are their biggest and most potent enemy because we simply don’t need them;
the same can be applied to the State, which can make us just as dangerous…and how do we go about this without getting arrested?

ART SABOTAGE STRIVES TO be perfectly exemplary but at the same time retain an element of opacity–not propaganda but aesthetic shock–appallingly direct yet also subtly angled– action-as-metaphor.
Art Sabotage is the dark side of Poetic Terrorism–creation- through-destruction–but it cannot serve any Party, nor any nihilism, nor even art itself. Just as the banishment of illusion enhances awareness, so the demolition of aesthetic blight sweetens the air of the world of discourse, of the Other. Art Sabotage serves only consciousness, attentiveness, awakeness.

A-S goes beyond paranoia, beyond deconstruction–the ultimate criticism–physical attack on offensive art– aesthetic jihad. The slightest taint of petty ego-icity or even of personal taste spoils its purity & vitiates its force. A-S can never seek power–only release it.

Individual artworks (even the worst) are largely irrelevant- -A-S seeks to damage institutions which use art to diminish consciousness & profit by delusion. This or that poet or painter cannot be condemned for lack of vision–but malign Ideas can be assaulted through the artifacts they generate. MUZAK is designed to hypnotize & control–its machinery can be smashed.

Public book burnings–why should rednecks & Customs officials monopolize this weapon? Novels about children possessed by demons; the New York Times bestseller list; feminist tracts against pornography; schoolbooks (especially Social Studies, Civics, Health); piles of New York Post , Village Voice & other supermarket papers; choice gleanings of Xtian publishers; a few Harlequin Romances–a festive atmosphere, wine-bottles & joints passed around on a clear autumn afternoon.

To throw money away at the Stock Exchange was pretty decent Poetic Terrorism–but to destroy the money would have been good Art Sabotage. To seize TV transmission & broadcast a few pirated minutes of incendiary Chaote art would constitute a feat of PT–but simply to blow up the transmission tower would be perfectly adequate Art Sabotage. If certain galleries & museums deserve an occasional brick through their windows–not destruction, but a jolt to complacency–then what about BANKS? Galleries turn beauty into a commodity but banks transmute Imagination into feces and debt. Wouldn’t the world gain a degree of beauty with each bank that could be made to tremble…or fall? But how? Art Sabotage should probably stay away from politics (it’s so boring)–but not from banks.

Don’t picket–vandalize. Don’t protest–deface. When ugliness, poor design & stupid waste are forced upon you, turn Luddite, throw your shoe in the works, retaliate. Smash the symbols of the Empire in the name of nothing but the heart’s longing for grace.

 

grace

Sources:The Magician as Spiritual Anarchist, by:Saint Faust, Imperium Magus.,The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism By: Hakim Bey

Art Copyright 2015 Vincent Piazza

 

Playing the tune that only you can hear… was originally published on The Hidden Left Hand

Cutting the Darkness

Cutting the darknessAll things spring from Germs and Rot, you are reduced to what you’ve come from.

Only by Cutting the Darkness may we ever truly know ourselves, or anyone else.

Under many forms these things are ever being reproduced, mutilated, and manipulated.

Round and round, like a wheel, ever turning and wearing thin.

Covered in Darkness that I’ve Cut to fit, I shine in black Light.

This is called equilibrium.

And he who holds the scales is God.

Art and Poem Copyright 2015 -Vincent Piazza

Cutting the Darkness was originally published on The Hidden Left Hand