All Hail The Elkhund, The Accursed Hunter! Cast into the Abyss as Shiva with a third eye which four Angels were cast out shaped as Satan, The Grail… Count Dracula, Oliver Cromwell, George Washington, Jim Morrison… all were the true reincarnations of the Elkhund, as am I! It is truly a Fairie Tayle of The Gestapo for all of Isengard to Beholde… All Hail The Elkhund!
“A Flaming Lance Shining Like A Beacon…”
I invented the spacerock riff on welfare… The Jerusalem Commando! *Four Minute Warning*
***Brother Blue Wizard***
“BLITZ HITZ” I.R.A.
PREFACE: “ONE DOLLAR HOT DOG: HUNDRED DOLLAR PAELLA”
Now as always and forever, I’d been a hardcore Hawkwind-head ever since buying the Flicknife edition of “Chronicle Of The Black Sword” in 1988 at age 16. Dorothea was my first lover. We were screwing to Hawkwind’s “Electric Teepee” album in my bed, still tripping on Mescaline, She had a Danzig skull-tat over her ass… It is the early budding days of March, it is 1994… Having watched the beginning of Gwar’s “Phallus In Wonderland” video, the first time we made out together was in the middle of the day, at my apartment in the cold gray sunlight of late winter. I started undressing her, sticking my hand down her crotch. A beautiful metalhead of a girl, Dorothea was a dancer I’d met at a local bar, a slender red haired honey with thin lips, small breasts and a small slightly boyish ass. I was deeply in love with her from the moment we made love and thought I would never see her again. We eventually moved in together at another apartment across town a couple of months later along with two other roomates, Dorothea by then having dyed her red hair black. The others were all gone home for vacation that long stuffy summer we spent together. Having, In excange for an unwanted gold ring my mother had given me when visiting home in Norway for a couple of weeks, bought a silver Mjolne Thor’s Hammer for myself, with a matching Jormundgand World Serpent bracelet for Dorothea. She wore a silver slave bracelet sometimes, and I’d just thought she’d like the Serpent around her arm, though she was quite reluctant to wear it. She leaves me after a few months and there is a fatal shootout between The Blue Angels and The Pagans at a local fund raiser picnic in which her new boyfriend and local Pagans chapter leader is involved. Five long years pass between that hot, sticky, thundering summer of long sticky rainstorms and sunny hot days in New Jersey in the wake of Dorothea hauling ass so fast and unexpectedly…
In the dead of winter, hearing nothing and realizing that the military has decided to shut him down unless he takes immediate action with his surroundings and his own mind, the reptilian stabs a family relative in the middle of night after triggering, and is later arrested and locked in prison overnight. He broadcasts a show on the radio a week later, consciously playing music carrying subliminal messages when played in his chosen order. By this point, everything around him has begun to take on an increasing sense of doom and paranoia. Eventually, the streets around him explode into chaos as the masses of people seem tuned into a single intelligence set to destroy him. Unable to leave town due to a pending court case, he fevereshly spends his time working Magick and unravelling secrets of mystery and war.
Wandering the city streets beleiving to be passing through Hell or The Apocalypse, the wild reptilian works alchemy just to escape. He ends up burning his arms up and takes an overdose of heroin as the pain is unbearable, landing him in the hospital overnight. He decides to dwell within Astrology and Tarot instead.
After a four month binge the drunken Witchdoctor is poisoned with ether in his beer at a bar called New Orleans after being warned with parsley in his kebab. He spits in his poisoned beer glass after being challenged by Magi to do so, in the tradition of “Eder og galle”. On his trek home he hallucinates at every other step, Hellfire burning the skin off his feet.
The mighty Magi Horse juggernauts through Space and The Nine Worlds, its rider Michael Moorcock shouting telepathic commands as the Horse is bombarded with blood clots and brain hemmorhages from telepathic overload during Television Battle. People in the streets scatter in formations and mechanical patterns as the Magi Horse blasts mental barrages of the cosmic Arena from whence he is violently controlled, leaving a trail of dead monks in his wake.
Wandering in East Majick in the dark winter night, and as if from within a magick flask, The Sorcerer has visions of an ancient system of planets. In the silence and quiet darkness of his bedroom, he is urged by other Spirits to seek sanctuary elsewhere, he imagines Solar and Lunar Temples, of forests and deserts. He goes out for a walk in the misty night fog and spots a stray black dog running down the street. He returns home, feeling quite tired and rested. That morning he dreams of himself as his own twin sister and brother dying violently in Islam. He is quite disturbed by the vision of suicide. While he is being harshly interrogated the next morning, he visualizes the world existing as divided into a giant prison colony, and is subsequently released to his own devices. He heads out for breakfast, buying a hot dog at the local Shell station.
After a seeming millenia of wandering through a magickally frozen carnival city of machine-like inhabitants, the Magician stands seemingly hypnotized in the last rays of the cold winter sun, struggling his the way to the local tram station from his building, the Magician shuffles out on yet another seemingly suicidal, though irresistably mysterious trek into the downtown city area. As if captured within a Crystal Ball, fearing his soul will explode and disintegrate in Limbo as if violently driven from his his body lest he breaks the enchantment through concentrated mental force, eventually succeeding, feeling as if his brain is cracking in a cobweb of ice as he enters the station area.
After wandering the neighborhood in a near comatose state of delirium all morning, The Fly rests on heavy feet like a leaden scarecrow at the bus stop for five hours, barely conscious and undecided what to do, unable to move, with buckling knees, hypnotized and motionless as if strung out on heroin. With dedicated concentration he watches people and traffic pass, like a guard posted outside the royal palace. He eventually manages to climb aboard a # 32 bus and almost randomly gets off several stops later. As he struggles walking on in painful spasms, fearing collapse or even death. Suddenly assaulted with terrible pains, it is as if his hands and feet are bleeding from holes brutally nailed through the skin, he sits down by a subway station in a state of delerium. PCP-like hallucinations engulf him within a Magick Box in Hell, of Human Souls being explosively incinerated and mechanically recycled through a Hellish Machinery. A few weeks later, he enters Lingam. He is eventually picked up off the street while resting his constant backpains outside an emergency hospital, and locked away in a mental hospital against his will.
Having lost 20 lbs. and urinating brown for over three weeks in Lingam, the Wizard looks in the mirror, seeing his face is sunken in after numerous Death’s Heads, his long hair matted grey and dead, the skin on his toes and feet no longer painfully burning off in big thick patches, the three blood clots nailed into his forebrain still disturbingly present. The orange syrup juice is spiked with LSD and the rosehip tea with heroin, and the unsettlingly fat and jovial warden seems eager to shoot the blood test he took from him, gesturing like an excited kid with the syringe. Some comfortable paranoia sets in.
In the maximum security section of the mental hospital, trancing out in his cell all day in hypnotized sexual exctacy, partially to Timothy Leary’s “You Can Be Anyone This Time Around”, the LSD Sorcerer climaxes and casts a crowning spell invoking his former Krsna lover and Himself, The World Serpent and Thor’s Hammer, casting it in the name of Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun, invoking Memphis and Osiris, as energy violently pulsates through his body and escaping through his forehead. After the ritual, the Indian maintenance man comes in to mop the floor of his cell. Later, the LSD Sorcerer discusses his desires and general day with the Hindu hippy nurse wearing a Shiva scarf, keeping his Krsna trance ritual secret. While his system still being pumped full of LSD, he takes a walk in the garden area outside with the constantly inquiring nurse, thinking if he ever honestly answered her seductively deep and friendly questions about his personal life, work or private interests, he would mystically fall asleep and die, all knowledge of his existence be denied or wiped from the minds of everyone he’s ever met, all his work be destroyed by his publishers, his family place and social status taken by her or someone else, escaping as if in an act of vampirism, a Krsna demon. Later she asks to see what he has in his bag which is locked away in the storage room, and fearing she will either want to marry him or think him insane upon discovering his Ozric Tentacles, Outskirts Of Infinity or Legendary Pink Dots CD’s, he staunchly refuses to her to look.
The Witch spits brain fluid in the light of the summer full moon as a Coven of deather chicks chant “Blot En Friker”, seemingly from a forest outside of town, his entire left side violently shaking as the spell hits his head like a lightning bolt splitting his brain clear down the middle. Afterwards, ethereal spirit women make attempts at entering his chest to take possession inside him, and struggling not to let them take hold in him, he manages to force them out by mental and emotional will. Having eventually left after many hours of mystical transactions with the remaining female spirits, the spirits claiming he’s somehow hurt their feelings, a bizarre and ghostly party suddenly appears in the back lawn outside the window, ghouls and goblins giggling and jumping around in the hedges, some of the cartoon-like characters lampooning or making fun of him with the voices of local rock’n’roll stars and other seemingly well known people… he begins to doubt he’s ever going to get back to reality in all the cackling and hollering. The ghostly party gradually disappears over the course of a few hours. Trying to sleep for abit afterwards, he sees the full body ghost image of a male nurse known to him as an Allah, gliding eerily through the closed door. The sorcery at Blaafarveverket had made him a dothead, the kind of dothead who worked at a private vinyl press to make records. He had been Silverman.
Having witnessed the Solar Eclipse casting eerie double shadows in the back yard and the moon obscuring the sun, he calls for a job on the following Friday the 13th, so to get out of the hospital and down to business. The unwilling mental patient gets the job, being convincing enough to the psychiatrist to be released a week early from the hospital on Sunday the 15th, it is a seasonal bookstore job where he has occasionally worked at over the years. On the job, guarding the doors of the busy store in the middle of the city during fall university rush on the following Monday 16th, he notices he is being stalked by various punks, goths and dreads. Coincidentially, in a Voivod tour shirt, he chats up what turns out to be the singer from local band Paradigma, without knowing who she is at first, briefly discussing her newly purchased H.R. Giger book amongst other things at a local metal bar over some beers. The same week, he proceeds to order the Aleister Crowley Tarot Deck from another bookstore on the 18th of August.
After a month-long “lunchbreak” of some working, and affording to kick back and relax on a noseful of heroin on occasion, receiving some live Gong tapes in a return trade for some Hawkwind tapes, generally getting slightly updated on things like private interests again, by now having moved into a new apartment some parts outside the city. After a spontaneous series of open association linkups, or rather, climbing on an an ecstacy trip and spontaneously coming in his pants, the Chaos Magician at an increasingly faster pace seems to be “beamed” up into what seems to be a giant acid tripping collective mindmap known as “The City”, his entire trip broadcast to buddhists in the form of a “Netcast”, its structure and mental patterns seemingly determined by his previously chosen synaptic pathway.
The ex-Electrician is eventually contacted by the Television Repair Company, namely TOPY. He receives much information of being recorded, being tuned in and company tested as a Temple guard. With the increasing angular claustrophobia of mechanically arranged walls of telepathic female conversation increasingly closing in around him, abstracting into the shape of Temple rooms and hallways. He tunes into their occasionally hovering test-signal over the next few days, but eventually they stop contacting him directly.
Haing tuned back in, the Acid Sorcerer’s trip eventually ends up lasting for a full three weeks without sleep, experiencing several encounters like being intercepted by Planet Gong, or repeatedly being called “what a freak” in the middle of the night by a bunch of Dotheads while staring at his Hawkwind “Alien4” poster, hypnotized by his “deep space” PC screensaver. Surprisingly, he hooks up for a few words with his first sweetheart, Dorothea, calling him “A fucking hero”, her brother speaking briefly too, before her husband giving some kind of long talk as well. Before leaving, she appears to suck half of the Sorcerer’s backbrain out, climbing his dragon rapidly on heroin just for hating his music collection and choice of sneakers. He remains without her blessing for some time, remembering to wear his army boots from then on.
As the Chaos Magician uses his magick circles for protection, ritual or travelling, he always makes sure to bring something with him in case he needs random objects for spell casting. While casting 8 coins in his magick circle as Odin’s magick steed Sleipne, he is beamed into the complex swarming machine-like office structure of the Communists and is later cast out, having asked to confront the sf/fantasy author Michael Moorcock over a certain situation. Eventually tuning into some deather guy’s room for some briefly stoned conversation consisting mostly of “Yeah”, “Really” and “Cool”, before he passes out on his own bedroom floor in a state of sleepless fatigue.
The increasingly sleepless Magician experiences the Kali Yuga in Hinduism, having been rejected as a Hinduist monk for eating a chicken Tikka sandwich bought at the local Shell station and being forced by a foulmouthed Allah girl to rub himself off as an India Whore after being an Allah Whore. As Christ in the following human wreckage of the Kali Yuga a few days later at a clinic on the east side, a young Hinduist doctor seemingly appear on each side of his body laying on the floor, two pakis aged 15 asking questions about his sexual allignment before proceeding to alter something inside his chest, followed by a post-operative “crash” feeling very much like an Einstürzende Neübaten record, experienced much as in the “Killing Technology” 1986 album by Voïvod. Soon after, a Dothead girl, hysterically on the verge of crying appears at his feet, asking if he is “completely out of his mind” or “just plain fucking homo”. His detached reply rests on the fact that he cannot concentrate any longer, burned out on LSD and hash, and the fact that he has been awake over for three weeks straight making it very hard to think. After the Kali Yuga, he is “extract” in Bitscan and Voïvod “Killing Technology” and refuses to be a Catholic monk he is an Exploited punk.
Violently waking up one Sunday morning, feeling blood exploding on the surface of his brain from hearing churchbells, the Demon holds his hands in front of his ears and hopes the torment will disappear. He eventually is investigated by several Free Churches and The Scientologists.
Having played a twelve hour Hawkwind special a month earlier on the radio from the Blitz squat in the center of Oslo, the DeadLord is blasted with PSI signals, and has a square cut into his brain as some sort of marking after his experiences wiping out the whole city of Oslo during The Apocalypse as an Iranian archangel and being painfully crucified as a Magi Horse after his inhuman beer drinking binge at bars all over the city the past 8 months. A project in Iceland is dedicated to his workings as an archangel, having turned so many Oslo citizens into ice fairie during that long winter and summer, a project in conjunction with the Blitz squat in the center of Oslo.
Having had a sudden heart seizure, the psychotic crack-hippy goes out to buy cigarettes, after being interrogated as a Pagan biker. He knows he is being watched by gangsters as he spots a handful of them at the gas station. He returns to his apartment and decides to figure out what to do with himself.
Locked in the mental hospital again, the Hinduist is transferred from the observation post on the West side to the regular post on the East side after he is contacted by an organization operating under The Pentacle. Once in his new room, he enters Dahzbog in East Europe as Ku Klux Klan and sits down in Lotus. He gets up when he gets an erection. A vegetarian, he remembers eating chicken and the burning feeling in his belly.
Leaving zen barnehagen behind as a Johhny Rotten biker after killing a bunch of blitzers, the speedfreak goes over everything he did and thought when speeding as usual and goes for a smoke in the morning, still locked up in the nuthouse and still a bit of a protestant.
The Satanist being yet again locked up in the mental hospital, hanging out and talking with the redheads in the smoking room, ignoring the ugly ones, there being two familiar ones who did smoke, and two very ugly ones who didn’t and instead played the guitar and the piano. Eventually ending up trade-lending some Suicidal Tendencies and Orange Goblin CD’s with the anorexic metalhead with the all the tattoos, otherwise just talking dirty or about other things like family or past girlfriends and boyfriends. On the other hand, the hyperactive beatnik redhead goth with the attractively supple small breasts would occasionally fire up some kind of funny or bizarre psychiatric role-playing scenario out of youthful boredom and spontanaety. As an otherwise healthy adult and free individual, the safety of even accepting psychiatry as a viable medical science in this modern day and age a constantly heartfelt protest, the dangers and unknown effects of such drugs on the human mind and body in general remaining a moral question, he is eventually released for a final time, having encountered many other victims of psychiatry during many hateful stays in mental hospitals.
After snorting two bags of speed, the human computer virus hallucinates green hair all around his monitor, and is summoned to trial with two familiar and well known Magicians seeking to execute him through ancient Egyptian burial Ritual lest he provides the information they seem to seek, passing through dangerous trial to the point of making it out alive. After coming down, he is intercepted by an intelligence revealing an arabesque macrocosm of infinite worlds within worlds. The human virus frequently hallucinating at his machine for a longer period since the first encounter, eventually as moss and plants sprouting forth on his monitor and speakers, the final speedfreak encounter heralding his arrival at the notorious “Avalon” to an enthusiastic crowd cheer, eventually being booted and independently evolving into a bacteria within the Anarchy three years later.
Living mostly for his next fix, the lone speedfreak lives so not to be extradited to Eastern Europe or Russia. He meets a girl selling speed and joins her and another customer to a bar to make the deal, the girl assuring him that the biker club she got it from are 100% reliable. After a long wait while the girl and some punks are shooting heroin in the restroom, he has the girl shoot him up with the speed in a vacant doorway out on the street. He forgets to mention his name as they part, eventually preferring to shoot up on his own instead of snorting and otherwise occasionally walking through walls.
As a Christian archangel in the massive Archangel installations of Utgard, the lone gangster and Karma Hippy disposes of Boddhisattvas in India as a Christian Archangel and plays Allah Galaga with Dave Brock of Hawkwind, a Korg hippy. He ends up following Alla Akbar in the Anarchy around and blasts him in sternkrieg as as a Christian Archangel. He is followed around by goths in an inhuman Mandala in India as Mandala trash and is worshipped by the bands Biohazard and Lagwagon for his doings as a Buddhist monk. He ends up netscraping all of Gothland as a Discharge punk.
The killing fields of Viet Nam continue to be excavated to this very day for lost personell. In ancient days, soldiers were often drafted from the slums of cities as they were considered expendable, and this practice existed well into the 1970s.
Today, Tarots and Astrology have become part of the military’s secret experiments with natural clairvoyants and tachyons, messages travelling through to the past. A gathering at the Solstice festival at Stonehenge is carefully monitored by RAF to test whether energies travelling through ley lines are human in origin and whether or not these energies are stimulated by music and psychedelic drugs. This research has also led the military to believe in the existence of other civilizations outside of normal perception.
Already in the 1960’s, everything from psychedelic rock to comic books became involved in the political as well as the social phenomenas of their generation. Some say the CIA were as involved in LSD as the military were in rock’n’roll. To this very day each generation since has proven to outlast the previous one as we continue to explore our origins.
“Playing golf with a Brahman is better than shooting the shit with a Praner.”
– Tubrok The Alterer
“Nobody was wearing leather until I came along!”
– Storm Zyklon
“From 42nd Street to Washington Square, Marijuana is smoked everywhere.”
– Ancient Proverb of Destruction
“Mass culture was created for the purpose of Transmigration through mass Technology.”
– Mahatma Y2K
“The magic of being American is all about thinking about your President or your favorite politician, giving YOU the real job of running your country. Every young American boy should grow up to become President, whether they fucking like it or not.”
-Jim-Bob Billy-Bob, Buddha Idiot and American goldfish activist
“You can take the Beatle out of Charlie Manson, but you can’t take Charlie Manson out of the Beatles!”
– Dr. Crabstix
“mora di er et ludder i metal”
“HOMO METAL ER HOMO METAL.”