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