Essay on Apocalyptic Witchcraft

Cunning-folk published the first chapter of Peter Grey’s Apocalyptic Witchcraft earlier this month. It begins:

“How long can the moment stretch before climax? The vertiginous brink of consummation. Locks in the complex of concentric gates. Cryptographic tumblers meshed wet with the attar of roses. Exhortations spent. A hesitation held in the face of inexorable conquest. An intake of breath that must, finally, overcome, resisting, to the end, exhale. Transformed, the raw plasma of storm pours from the dragon’s mouth. The shockwave pulses out with the geometric driven precision of the heart, beat after beat after beat. It has begun. This atomic force, this raw force is Babalon. The storm breaks like a dropped glass whose shivering bell glimmers into infinity. The note remains ever distilling the same pitch. In the Sabbat it resounds becoming a quiver of cymbals as strike bears down incessantly met by rising counterstrike. This is the sound the dancer makes when she moves. The bells at wrists, ankles, hips, earrings, shaking. The noise of battle reverberates through the armour in the deep secret cavities of our bodies. Here amongst the threshing limbs, the slaughter, she walks.”

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Frater Lux Ad Mundi

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