goMetric asks if I could comment on Thelema, the ritualistic magickal religion founded by Aleister Crowley, the last century’s most vilified and misunderstood Victorian holdout freakazoid weirdo.

I have two sets of Crowley’s (illustrated by Lady Frieda Harris) Thoth tarot deck, one small and one large. If you’re interested in tarot and all the gnostic history that goes along with it, this is the deck. And Crowley’s ‘Book Of Lies’ is really, really good.

Crowley participated in and founded a few mystical schools, most notably the Ordo Templi Orientis, or OTO. The OTO is one of the vehicles of the religion of Thelema, which is a highly structured mystery religion. I’ll spoil it for you: The mystery is that you’re worshipping Jesus the whole time, even they they tell you you’re being a heretic.

One of Crowley’s central ideas, ‘Our method is science, our aim religion,’ really resonated with me. And that’s really all I took from my excursion into Crowley-ana besides the tarot, because I can’t abide a religion with more than two or three ‘degrees’ of accomplishment. Last I heard there were 33 in Thelema and they were adding more. And seriously, if your method is science, why do you keep secrets from the lower ranks? Doesn’t that fly in the face of scientific inquiry?

Thelema had too much to apologize for, and while I’m generally OK with people breaking the arbitrary rules of Victorian society and bringing it into the 20th century, Crowley went to great lengths to make an ass of himself. This I don’t want to emulate.

So Sadzi left a comment in my last ‘blog, and I want to address it, because it’s a rewording of a comment I left in one of her recent ‘blogs.

She’s critical of the national novel writing month thing going on, and that’s her prerogative. She says, essentially, that most of the novels that get written will suck. I replied that there’s no way to know if you suck as a novel writer unless you try it and see.

And she deleted my comment. No big deal to me, really. Again, it’s her prerogative. And I’m not trying to start a fight about this or anything, it just seems ridiculous that it’s her intention to be snarky on my ‘blog simply because I have a valid argument presented in the spirit of inquiry on hers. I’m not participating in the novel month thing, and in fact I think it’s largely a waste of time, too. It’s just not as much a waste of time as lying in your death bed wishing you had written a novel.

Sadzi, lighten up!

Watched two movies tonight.

1) Kids In The Hall: Same Guys, Different Dresses. Behind-the-scenes film about the Kids In The Hall on their reunion tour in 2000. Some of the skits are pretty freakin’ funny, but they were funny when they were originally written in the early ’90s. Still, they’re charming, brilliant people. And Dave Foley is hot. There, I said it.

2) Zoolander: One of the things we keep hearing in this comedy about super-spy supermodels is that supermodels do a valuable service by making people happy to see someone who’s beautiful. And if you watch the super-talented Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson bring what life they can to this turd of a flick, you might be a little happy, too.

However, if you’re suitably stoned, and if you’re suitably ready to laugh at any fucking thing, dear God, please, let me laugh at any fucking thing… …you might just find a lot to laugh at. But it’ll be a desperate laugh. The kind of laugh you’d hear from someone whose boss just told a really stupid joke.

3) Turned off the movies and there was The Flaming Lips on Conan. And I remembered: Hey! I have that CD! I haven’t listened to it lately. So I’m listening to it now. Go Yoshimi! Defeat those evil machines!

AB_XNFp reminded me of two happy things.

1) Halloween with Crash Worship. MarcoPolo was there, too. All the Crowleyites I’d been talking to on BBSes were there, but I was too shy to talk to them, even after having just shared an intentionally overstimulating few hours writhing against everyone’s bodies, moist with sweat and the wine and water that were poured over us by the band.

There was a jack-o-lantern that was getting kicked around like a soccer ball, and I started burning money in it ceremoniously. Thankfully I had ones. People started joining me. Some guy eventually put his paycheck in. You do crazy shit when it’s Halloween and Crash Worship has assaulted your senses.

2) Fast forward to next May. It’s Beltaine and Crash Worship again regales us with their sensory onslaught, only this time in a field near a little town in central Texas called Dripping Springs. It’s a real place.

The flood waters came and we barely got out of there in time, only to be trapped later on the banks of the mighty swollen Guadalupe.

The next morning, while we watched TV and fooled around and waited for the water to subside, was when I decided I liked Shari Lewis and her Amazing Wind-Up Hand. Ask me to demonstrate next time you see me.

Thanks to AB for the happy memories.