Invocation of Almost - Current 93

Almost in the beginning was the murderer

And I fell faceless into the world

Unaware the moon had changed its face

Hallucinatory Mountain arose Atlantine

Constellations warped

Shed wings

Anointing tyranny of stars

I arose as Aleph, the Speller, the Killer

In my mind fractal texts

Broken grammars

Droning like honey

Sweeter than

Ziggurat, ⲁⲙⲛ̄ⲧⲉ

The voice or squeal or fear of Thunder

The thrushfaced Seven

Stars masking the reeds

In the middle of Aleph

As a coiled comet, the meteor

Murderer

My head was red as moons

Bubbling with threats

Doubled like the Trinity I shed

Under the river with the dog and the child

I speak speech and build the Wall again

And close off the storehouse

I dreamt nail veils on the Ka’aba

Dragging the Khabs

Build towers of voices screaming

Astaroth dr eamed vials of sap

I had one gold volume and whispered

«Can I go back to your Satanic flat?»

Killed spiders cold and ford black becks

Cheeks as red as pomegranates

Astaroth blushing curtseying

Smiling «Kiss the bride»

Or «Time is the Crime»

Or «I am true to you as the bluebirdbloodface

Full of grace and lice and moss and confusion»

Tiny voices like thumbs

Arise from Aleph as I was/am/shall be

On the Hallucinatory Mountain

Full of troubles and colours

And the sound of the sand

The perpetual Virgin of Evidence

Sly ghosts hover like gold

And pricks hunger for cats imagined

Burning as sadly as the sun

So where do I start unreal?

I was stripped by time

Part of time

In its flow, its fields

Its mirrors, masks

Strut around me

But bending me too

Did it take me with it?

Was I floating above it?

Through it?

I was an oracle for nothing at all

Not even the birds breaking faces to my past

Back in the form of the Mountain

I envisaged the women

Open to me as 93 Thelemic 93 flowers

The folds splay crazily and shining

Their fast unfurling sunbeams

Forcing bright smudges in my past

But in my mind July or gorgon

The flowers shut

Spring snap sharp and lock

The door and gate and vial and fountain

The fields of rape were barley or wheat

Barely beds for the Killer waiting

Giddy with spores

I planted my past

In all who approached

And prayed for Babron

Lined phrases/boxes

Hymned the breeze