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The entire tradition of Western Occultism is just a giant troll

Started by THE QLIPHITISER, July 23, 2018, 04:43:16 AM

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hooplala

He's not kidding. Hamilton was a halfway decent burg at one point.

Then Howl tried the poutine.
"Soon all of us will have special names" — Professor Brian O'Blivion

"Now's not the time to get silly, so wear your big boots and jump on the garbage clowns." — Bob Dylan?

"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)"
— Walt Whitman

Cramulus

Roger's poops didn't make me belive in God, but they did make me believe in the devil.

Doktor Howl

Quote from: Hoopla! on October 02, 2018, 03:44:15 AM
He's not kidding. Hamilton was a halfway decent burg at one point.

Then Howl tried the poutine.

Lies.  That joint was degenerate long before I dropped trou.  They are in fact the only city that didn't NOTICE that I had shit.  Only it's just that Burlington smelled a bit worse, and everyone moved from Mississauga to Pickering.
Molon Lube

Doktor Howl

Quote from: Cramulus on October 02, 2018, 01:02:12 PM
Roger's poops didn't make me belive in God, but they did make me believe in the devil.

Yes, but he's dead.  Can we talk about ME now?
Molon Lube

Slyph

I had a weird thought when I was reading about some Grimoire or other and it was this;

It does not make narrative sense to imagine that in antiquity, a person might write a meaningless book that seems superfically magical. The narrative of a sixteenth century, dusty "book of spells" that is just abject nonsense and means nothing does not suit, it does not fit. We refuse to believe it. We will go to extraordinary lengths to justify that this text means something / does something... Rationalizing it as like, okay, it actually allows us to do something magic. Or; it contains great truths if it is interpreted poetically and knowingly...

The idea that one day Some Bloke might sit down and go; ho fucking hum I'm going to draw a bunch of angles and write spooky things in an odd tone... Then I'm going to sign it with my weird made up name... Magister Magus Glenn Ravenwhiteround. It's too... Simultaneously mundane and weird. It is completely unsatisfactory to us so we never even Think it.

Yet Livejournal existed.

altered

Quote from: Slyph on January 04, 2019, 05:16:42 AM
I had a weird thought when I was reading about some Grimoire or other and it was this;

It does not make narrative sense to imagine that in antiquity, a person might write a meaningless book that seems superfically magical. The narrative of a sixteenth century, dusty "book of spells" that is just abject nonsense and means nothing does not suit, it does not fit. We refuse to believe it. We will go to extraordinary lengths to justify that this text means something / does something... Rationalizing it as like, okay, it actually allows us to do something magic. Or; it contains great truths if it is interpreted poetically and knowingly...

The idea that one day Some Bloke might sit down and go; ho fucking hum I'm going to draw a bunch of angles and write spooky things in an odd tone... Then I'm going to sign it with my weird made up name... Magister Magus Glenn Ravenwhiteround. It's too... Simultaneously mundane and weird. It is completely unsatisfactory to us so we never even Think it.

Yet Livejournal existed.

You also have hucksters (I have something people want to hear, and it's all already bullshit, might as well write more bullshit) and genuine proto-scientists. The latter is especially true of farmer's almanac type documents and earlier, the kind of magical texts associated with the nobility.

But your concept there has some historical backing too. I present to you my favorite real life werewolf tale ever. http://www.philosophyforlife.org/the-good-werewolf/
"I am that worst of all type of criminal...I cannot bring myself to do what you tell me, because you told me."

There's over 100 of us in this meat-suit. You'd think it runs like a ship, but it's more like a hundred and ten angry ghosts having an old-school QuakeWorld tournament, three people desperately trying to make sure the gamers don't go hungry or soil themselves, and the Facilities manager weeping in the corner as the garbage piles high.

Slyph

He sounds remarkably like a modern day Otherkin. I can totally see him sitting there by candle-light sketching his OC in charcoal, then by day bumming around in a long oilskin jacket striking poses. All power to him, man. That's actually kind of cool, I love mitties.