COME TOGETHER CHAPTER: 1 42 – CROSS CURRENTS

COME TOGETHER

CHAPTER: 1 42

CROSS CURRENTS

 In order to get through to the rear of the building we have to walk through the wide corridor that links the front with the back. Slightly lower than either of the dining areas and very nearly the width of the entire restaurant, the passage is squeezed just enough to accomodate a hidden staircase on either side, their doorways  accessible only from the front ‘Bar’ – The left flight ascending and the right descending. The Bathrooms – I know – are downstairs so I suppose above us must be….the Kitchen? The Passage is mirrored on the ceiling and on both sides…those old fashioned mirrors with the Gold Veins….although actually no, now I look more closely – the mirrors nearer to the front  are clear and modern – the Golden Veins get progressively deeper the further back one goes – as though one were travelling backwards through time, a subtle effect but one that induces a slightly disconcerting feeling………infact the whole ambience is imbued with an almost Supernatural intensity by those vast reflective walls, which create a bewildering ‘infinity mirror’ effect, the reflections interrupted just enough by the Baby Grand Piano and the serenely elegant female Pianist to circumvent almost total disorientation. My own transit through this realm of ever fading reproductions is accentuated and befuddled by the great beams of light which emanate from the belly of the Piano, and which bounce perpetually from shining mirrored surface to shining mirrored surface – creating a greatly entangled reticulation of iridescent strands of brightly coloured lights……the pattern changing constantly as luminous new filaments are added with each new note of Modest Mussorgskys ‘Pictures at an exhibition’………the famous opening notes having now given way to the ‘Blue Streak’ middle section of the first piece. Clearing the mirrors I walk, somewhat gratefully, through a cascading waterfall of brilliant colour into the relative calm of the main restaurant.

The back room is a kind of gorgeous Atrium, with a very large curved glass skylight rising
high above the centre of the ceiling. The sides of the generous light well – that is created
beneath this elegant iron and glass twenty four pane vaulted ceiling section – are tiled, with twelve very stylized trees – their shapes similar to the Suit of Spades on French playing cards – each covering about eighteen square tiles. Each Treelike form bears a different fruit, many completely unrecognizable. Every one of the arborous blades grows from a large circular framed picture, where the Roots should be, and each glistening and light speckled image dances in the flickering gas light streaming in from above, the beams perforated and animated by some softly blown foliage. Those pictures depict the twelve signs of the Zodiac, two at each end and four along each of the longer lengths. The lightwell is supported by six fluted cast iron columns – adorned with lights – and with shallow iron arches spreading
between them that somehow manage to look both Modern and Egyptian at the same time. The ceiling surrounding the lightwell is of illuminated stained glass panels, all of which make up a complex and colourful geometric pattern of roses. Elaborately decorated curved plaster coving joins ceiling to wall, the cornices embellished at points with swirling moulded plaster flourishes. The walls of the room are clad in light brown oak panels, with ornately carved and curved languid Art Nouveau overlays  concealing the joins. French Bistro furniture is arranged around the edges of the room…how well I know those Thonet No 14
chairs from Paris. Each covered table is lit with an elegant Tiffany lamp. Arranged
on the walls are several dreamlike Oil Paintings of Idyllic Arcadian landscapes through which lazy naked figures wander. In the centre of the room – standing on a diagonally arranged chessboard floor – and bathed in light from above is the White Alabaster sculpture of a young woman holding a water vessel – the fluctuating light creating the distinct impression that she is standing underwater. The sculpture is completely timeless, I cannot tell is she is modern or ancient.

Beyond the restaurant, just visible through the glass panels in some wide double doors is a small Garden – in the centre of which stands a large Tree – surrounded by a circular seat. The Tree and high walls of this little courtyard are bedecked in hundreds of flickering fairylights and all is bathed in an eerie, wavering Blue Light.

Girl – “This is beautiful.”

Boy – “ Thank you, this part is older than the front, that was refurbished a few years ago…..but this is….fairly original.”

Girl – “ You know  – the Statue, the Garden – they seem to be….underwater somehow.”

Boy – “Yes I know, that’s just the way they’re lit…there are some pools of water in the Garden, the blue light reflects off those, the Statue is a little more complicated……..I have a…fascination with ‘Atlantis’ and the Undersea World, and the theme does seem appropriate.”

Girl – “…..Is the Garden open?”

Boy – “ To you…of course…but no not really, not until the Summer.”

Girl – “Can we go out there, later.”

Boy – “ If you like.”

Girl – “ Oh I think your restaurant‘s just lovely…you must be so happy here, with your Mother…….but tell me, how does the pianist stand playing in that vortex of light and sound?”

Boy – “ Vortex ? Oh, yes the passage is rather….stimulating. Actually I think she’s quite happy there…..if you watch her you’ll see that she looks slightly miffed every time somebody walks through – as though there’s some great cosmic disturbance in the atmosphere – but there’s really no helping that, the dumb waiter only comes down on this side, so the waitress’s are constantly in and out, and when we’re busy people walk through there all the time. We put carpet down to try and maintain the acoustics, which are pretty good…I suppose that’s the answer – She has to, that’s the best place for the piano. Have a seat I’ll order our suppers….here, make yourself useful and open the Champagne.”

I sit down at the table with the best view of the strangely soothing Garden as my friend walks over to a square metal panel in the wall, just above where the descending staircase must be. Taking some paper from a nearby table he scribbles something down, opens the sliding doors of the panel and places the paper inside and presses a small green button. Leaning down he takes a parcel from a shelf below the table, just as I manage to uncork the Champagne, the cork rocketing alarmingly towards the glass roof, but arcing at the last minute and hitting the blade of the ‘Gemini’ tree.

Boy – “ Gemini, and I had you pegged as an Aquarius…….but then that would have been quite a shot. Thanks, Cheers – Here, happy Valentines day….I found something in the Lanes that I thought you would like.”

I am handed a beautifully wrapped parcel, about 6 inches by 4 inches. The purple patterned paper, tied with  a gold and silver ribbon. Inside there is a small brown wooden box with a very deep grain, plainly made but well crafted…when I open the lid though – music – the tinkling chimes of tiny bells – and inside the dimunitive dancing figure of a Ballerina pirouetting one way then another to the strangest song I think I’ve ever heard –
short ,repetitive ostinatos – really just a series of a few three note arpeggios, with a very soft, almost inaudible Melody shrouded beneath the high little phrases…..unusual, but beautiful somehow….even compelling.

Girl – “Oh please, what is the music’”

Boy – “ I don’t know, nobody knows – the shopkeeper didn’t, neither did mother – Not even my musical friend at the Piano could tell me. But don’t worry I’m sure time will solve that mystery.”

Girl – “ Thank you, this is lovely. I should have got you something…….You know, I noticed the bird on the Bar,I just love these things.”

Boy – “ Yes, the bird sings every night at closing time, she does something quite surprising.”

Girl – “ When I was a little girl, my favorite film was ‘The Blue Bird’……actually ‘The Blue Bird’ is still my favorite film. When you were talking about….Ekphrasis? I was thinking about that film…..about the idealised form of things – The Quintessence – and also about how to….make those things into music. I think that’s what I’d like to do, write songs for films – with proper instruments and really good arrangements – like Classical music. That’s really one of the reasons I’m so…desperate to get back to Paris. There are people there that know about these things, I mean really know – even about linking sound to image – have you ever heard of Rene Clair? No of course you haven’t, not yet. I go to a little Cafe sometimes: ‘Le Boeuf sur le Toit’…..er, ‘The Ox on the Roof’….oh, if only you could come. They do a dish…..’Truffled Scrambled Eggs’ they‘re so….delicious.  Paris hasn’t really recovered yet…from the War I mean, and things are still quite hard for people….I did’nt even think Daddy would let me go….but sometimes, sometimes you get something like those Eggs and things seem…Good, you know. Do you know I’ve even seen Satie…Eric Satie sitting there, nearly as close as I am to you…and Jean Cocteau and Francois Picabia and I love – everybody really – and just the whole excitement about……Dada and art and………people mad with enthusiasm and……….and I’m talking about all these things and you probably don’t know what I’m….well, talking about. ”

Boy – “ I think I can imagine, I like seeing you so excited about something…..I hope one day you’ll have as much confidence in me as you do in….Rene Clair? I’m sure you’ll get back to Paris, maybe we’ll even go together, for the weekend or something………….20,000 Leagues under the Sea.”

Girl – “ Pardon.”

Boy – “ My favorite film when I was young. I could hardly believe that somebody could actually ‘Film’ underwater….that I could actually see the Fishes and Sharks swimming about. I nearly persuaded Mum to change the name of the restaurant to ‘Nemo’….I just love Jules Verne. That film is why the Garden looks….subaqueous, I took the lighting straight from there……er……..”

Girl – “What? You’re smiling about something.”

Boy – “ Yes, because that’s only partly true. There was another film I saw that year: ‘The Daughter of the Gods’…..I had an enormous boyhood ‘crush’ on Annette Kellerman…..you know the ‘Mermaid’! ‘The Diving Venus’? Well, anyway she’s famous for performing underwater ‘Ballet’, nearly naked sometimes…….actually I do still find something very erotic about that wavering light……I suppose that was my first stirring of sexuality.”

She – “ Ooh, is that a confession…..I suppose a Mermaid makes sense, growing up so close to the Sea, that’s quite romantic actually, and that probably explains Captain Nemo – but I would have thought ‘Tarzan of the Apes’ or ‘Robin Hood’ would have been you’re favorites…..you know – the Nature boys.”

Boy – “ Really, not Sherlock Holmes? or Zorro?

Girl – “ well, now I look………….The ‘Little Tramp’ maybe.”

Boy – “Ouch, although he is a Genius. But what do you know you’re still a ‘Kid’. Anyway, I don‘t even have a moustache.”

Girl – “ Neither does he, not a real one anyway.”

Boy – “…..Well what about you then, I would have thought your favorite would have been…..er, ‘The Queen of Sheba’……or….‘Cleopatra’…………….”

Girl – “ Er…..ouch? Well anyway, Touche. And now for the big question………..Koko or Felix?

Boy – ” Felix.“

Girl – “ You’re right…………we are very different people !”

Boy – “ Koko?”

Girl – “ I think he’s so cleverly done, and I love the way he moves.”

Boy – “ They’re both good, I suppose. Mother keeps going on about somebody called ‘Georges Melies’, apparently she took me to see all his short films when they were released…I sort of remember but the memories are pretty hazy – they were strange and dreamlike I think, sort of….‘Tableau Vivant’ – Actually what about the Picture Palace, for our date ? There‘s a new release on…’Adams Rib.’

Girl – “ You‘re a few weeks early…that isn’t out yet.”

Boy – “ Oh, really? I thought that had been out for quite a while, haha………….Nothing? I’m not
appreciated in the provinces….Ok then, I was reading about a new film that premieres tomorrow: ’Salome’. The reviews were good: Mannered, Theatrical…….Avant Garde. We could go on Friday.”

Girl – “ I can’t on Friday, I’m already doing something. What about tomorrow?”

Boy – “ I have to open up here, I suppose I could ask Mum. What are you doing on Friday?”

Girl – “ I’ve got a ticket to a talk on Occultism…..have you ever heard of Aleister Crowley?”

Boy – “ Er……………………I’m not sure, I think I might have seen the name somewhere.”

Girl – “ Why don’t you come, you might still be able to get a ticket.”

Boy – “……..Maybe…….I’m sort of sceptical about ‘Occultists’ – I mean – I‘m with Hamlet on the Whole: ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio……….’ thing, but…..”

Girl – “ You should definately come, he’s a very famous ‘Practitioner’ apparently. Why are you sceptical, I would have thought you’d be interested, in magic and spiritualism.”

Boy – “ I just said, I am interested, but I don’t know how much you’re going to find out about them at a lecture by a ‘Famous’ Occultist. Doesn‘t ‘Occult mean Hidden? Famous and Hidden seems like a bit of a Paradox…I mean the invisible man doesn’t Moonlight as a Photographic Model.”

Girl – “ How would you know ? He might be working all the time, that would certainly explain a lot of Fashion plates…….I actually did some Modeling in Paris, I love photographs. You’re just annoyed because I have my own ‘Idiosyncratic’ interests. I just hope mine don‘t close me off to new ideas like yours seem to have done.”

Boy – “ I’m open to new ideas….I just like having them myself. Ooh, That sounded arrogant…….I suppose what I’m trying to say is – I think you should find your own way….your own path to travel.”

Girl – “ Thats what I’m trying to do……but I’ve got to start somewhere.”

Boy – “Of course you do, sorry. How did you get interested in the Occult?”

Girl – “ The cinema again, there are some lovely arty little picture houses in Paris, last year I saw a film called ’Haxan’…. a film about Witchcraft.”

Boy – “ Oh, I saw that as well, I liked that film…….I thought for a while I was going to have to endure one of those terrifying German expressionist things like ‘The Head of Janus’, ‘Nosferatu’ or ‘The Cabinet of Dr Caligari’ – I was quite surprised. But surely you should understand why I‘m sceptical then.”

Girl – “I don’t see why, you don’t seem to know anything about Crowley, so you can’t really know what he’s going to say.”

Boy – “I think I can guess…….Look, I think you’re right to want to explore different belief systems…….I’m fascinated by these things myself….and I do believe that there are methods you could find that would help you to experience the World in…unfamiliar ways – Spiritual Awakenings that open the doors to the mysteries and initiate…….Journeys – Quests even – But, if you’ll forgive me for saying – you do seem intent on travelling down one of the murkier paths first……and even on the brighter roads the first few steps can be precarious – some people never really get past them – so I beg you to make sure your with the right
people when you take them. These aren’t games – The woods are full of Wolves – ‘Little Red Riding Hood’.”

Girl – “ Well – thank you for the advice and the Paternal condescension – but I’m not a little girl anymore”.

Boy – “ Obviously, but there might still be some lessons to learn from Fairytales……even by grown ups ….especially – I think – from ‘Little Red Riding Hood’……..goodness, how big those ‘Pearly Gates’ are.”

Girl – “That’s a pretty weird thing to say……..look, I‘m sure that there are lessons to learn – but I’d like to interpret them myself thanks ………I really don’t know why your making such a fuss though, I hardly think I’ll be in any danger sitting in a Church Hall surrounded by hundreds of people.”

Boy – “ Of course you don’t, because you’re a babe in the Woods. What danger could you possibly be in, sitting in a Hall, surrounded by strangers, listening to a trained, tedious voice drone on for hours and hours, boring you slowly to death………..You know, I’ve sat and watched two people sitting at a table in a busy restaurant, drinking and talking, virtually indistinguishable from everybody else. But one of those people was terrified,
barely managing to conceal his fear, because he knew that he was in mortal danger, but the limits of his experience were such that he couldn’t really define what the danger was……that he was infact close to being completely….overwhelmed, engulfed. Luckily for him there was…an interruption, there frequently is…but not always. If you don’t understand what I’m talking about, maybe you should stay away from Occultists for a few years.”

Girl – “ I’m…………no, you’re scared of them!”

Boy – “ No, I’m careful, like you told me you were……..I suppose that’s all I’m saying really….Be careful.”

Girl – “ Oh great….”The inherited Wisdom of the Age” again, maybe I’m tired of being careful.”

Boy – “ Of course you are, all 17 year olds are, that’s why you’re such perfect targets.”

Girl – “ Says the wise old man of what ? 19 ? Look, if you think you know something about this you should just tell me.”

Boy – “ Should I indeed….and every word I say like a Red Rag to a Bull, pushing you further into places you just really shouldn’t go.”

Girl – “ I do think you could give me credit for having a bit more intelligence than that, I have just finished a two year course in Philosophy you know, in French…………………so come on – anything? OK, so you obviously don’t know a thing, so please allow me to do as I like. If you don’t want to come – Fine – I’ll go alone.”

Boy – “ Do you really want to hear? OK, what was ‘Haxan’ actually about?”

Girl – “ You know what Haxan was about…….THE HISTORY OF WITCHCRAFT.”

Boy – “…….and about the fear that the word generates. But forget the word ‘Witchcraft’ for
a moment, to me the film was about –  the persecution of Women by male ‘Priests.’……and
about the priests fanatical desire to find out what these Women knew about….certain things…….and again I’d say forget what the film imp lied those things were. I mean can you imagine? Thousands upon thousands of Women questioned, tortured over centuries…….the Wisdom, the Knowledge that must have been extracted. So I suppose my question is – Do you really think another Pederast Priest with a penchant for young boys, asking you questions and ordering you about is really whats required at the moment?”

Girl – “ Wow, that is quite a question…..and, and don’t for a moment think that I haven’t thought about that…….but Aleister Crowley isn’t a priest, he’s a Magician – Priests beg, Magicians demand – and if you don’t know anything about him I don’t think you should cast aspersions about his vices !”

Boy – “ I said I might have heard the name…..and of course he’s a priest. You’ve done a lot more than just watch a film haven’t you?. Magicians, Priests…..they’re all just impotent men in party frocks Howling at the Wind – the only difference is what happens when the Words blow back – and the Words always blow back. ”

Girl –  “ You can’t know that and you can’t possibly know what he’s capable of.”

Boy – ” Don’t be angry……..If you could see into mens hearts you’d thank Go…….well, you’d be thankful that they’re all so bloody impotent.”

Girl – “ Well I can’t and neither can you. I can see what you’re saying, and I think you want to help…….but how dare you be so dismissive of something that you know nothing about. Why can’t you understand – I’m searching for something……I need to find something with some meaning.”

Boy – ” I understand that, but you see I do know something about this…….Hmmmn, this is going to be hard to explain……the limits of language…..thoughts – Spread your Wings – My
parents used to take long Winter holidays, they weren’t rich but they were well educated and…this place had given them sufficient insight into the foibles of the wealthy to enable them to mingle quite happily in…..what are laughingly referred to as ‘elavated circles’. A few years before the war they took me to Vienna, I was too young to remember much, but Mother has told me quite a lot recently, and there are some…very interesting bookshops in London. In those years before the War there was an enormous surge of interest in the Occult throughout Germany and Austria, particularly in Vienna. There was an fervant subculture,
especially amongst the more…well placed members of the establishment. ’The Theosophical
Society’ had established a base there a few years before and had managed to reignite a significant interest in ‘Hidden’ knowledge…….There had been a fascination with ‘Rosicrucianism’ centuries before, when    groups like ‘Gold und Rosenkreutz’ had counted King Frederick William II of Prussia or ‘Ormesus’, and his chief advisers as members.

Anyway, for several years somebody called…..Steiner I think…Rudolf Steiner…had been vying for control of the ‘German Theosophical Society’ with the actual President: Franz Hartmann. Hartmann published a magazine called: Lotus Blossoms and Steiner published another called ‘Lucifer’ – there was, I think –  some rivalry. By the time we arrived Steiner was breaking away from Theosophy and was beginning to form his own movement: ‘Anthroposophy’ – which, according to Mum, sought to integrate rationalism with spirituality:
Concepts like ‘Supersensory Experience’ that could be achieved by disciplined Praxis and focused Independant thought were being discussed, even Art as a Spiritual Bridge….there was an emphasis on ‘Scientific Method’ and prescribed techniques that promised access to what Steiner claimed was objective ‘Arcane Wisdom’. The movement was starting to gain some devoted followers and my parents were hopeful…and interested. But at the same time men like Guido Von List and……I don’t know…..something like – Liebenfels were forming
their own groups – almost like….esoteric counter-weights: ‘The List society’, which would eventually…rupture into ‘Ariosophy’ or ‘Armanism’ with groups like: ‘The Ordo Novi Templar’, ‘The high Armanen Order’ and even to some degree ‘The Ordo Templi Orientis’ – An Austrian variation on Irregular Freemasonry – and later still……’The Thule Society’ – Basically all fraternal orders, blends of Chivalric Freemasonry and Theosophy – but with
a peculiarly Nationalist slant – they took the swastica and the runes as the symbols of their ‘Ancient Aryan’ heritage. These were ‘religions’ that were established to serve only Aristocratic Germans, and facilitate an Elitist Austrian Agenda…..what was envisioned as a kind of ‘Theocratic Aryanism’ – Rule – by a Secret Order of Germanic Priests. There was also a lot of interest in a book called: ‘The Coming Race’ that had been published decades earlier and which, Madame Blavatsky of the Theosophists believed to be a true account
of real events: A story about a subterranean ‘Master Race’ who were capable of manipulating an invisible ‘Force’…..something called ‘Vril’, for good or ill….for healing or for utter destruction.

These were some of the obsessions dominating Austria and Germany before the first shots of the World War were fired, whenever that really was. I think in the future those pre-War
years in Vienna might be seen as a pivotal moment in Occult history….as statements
of intent from a few of the players. I’m not necessarily blaming ‘Occultism’ for the War,
but Members of those groups were most certainly the politicians, judges….and military commanders that made decisions about National policy……and actually – the truth is: They might well have engineered the Assasination of Franz Ferdinand! You see a particular obsession of these Nationalist ‘Orders’ was throwing off the yoke of what they saw as the continuing occupation of German lands by the ‘Holy Roman Empire’, still ruling them under the Mitre of the ‘Roman Catholic Church’ – And they would have had to – if they
were going to introduce their doctrine of ‘Volkish Aryan Paganism’ to the ‘People’ – But for centuries the Patriarch of the Habsburgs was known as ‘The Holy Roman Emperor’ and the Archduke was a still a devout and enormously powerful Catholic.  His removal must have seemed like an obvious first step……who knows if anybody actually foresaw War….no, that’s disingenuous….somebody did, and anyway the way I think these things seem to work is that – inevitably – two more barbarities are required to cover up the first….then four more to cover the two and on and on –  endlessly – and all the time ‘the group’ continues, deluding
themselves that they‘re still working for the ‘Greater Good’ of the People somehow – despite the very obvious contradictions of an escalating body count.

Nuances about the roots of an ‘Ancient Pagan Heritage’ are easily lost amongst the crowds
and power of the ‘Group’, what is left is often confusion…..and the baser instincts…..vague notions of Nationalism, the pursuit of power, sometimes just the mad scramble to avoid blame. What I’m saying is people are imperfect, sometimes they make terrible choices for what they think are good reasons. Maybe you’re right when you say I can’t look into mens hearts, frankly I wouldn’t want to – But I have looked into my own – which may well be the only real point of a ‘Spiritual’ Journey – and – well lets just say I’ve still got some work to do –  I wish I was Good – but I have so much……..I live a simple life here – but I’m telling you the
truth when I say that I have experienced the feeling of having tremendous ‘Power’ – Real or Imagined – Please believe me when I tell you that the temptation to misuse that power is enormous, and ultimately – I think – that’s what we’re talking about when we discuss Crowleys vision of ‘Occultism’ – Temptation and Power – What many of these people are interested in is the manipulation of Power – Energy – but could any of them
resist the Temptations, would they even want to?

There was Good and Bad in Vienna – and there are people doing good work everywhere, but I’m fairly sure they aren‘t interested in ‘Power’. Good, Bad… as I said before I think Duality is an Illusion – in this World at least – because people aren’t that perfect…..maybe thats the problem – The Cosmos constantly seeks Balance – Equilibrium would be so easy to achieve in a World made up of only Black and white……but this World is full of colour and so much more complex than that. Anyway, Mr Crowley is, I expect, affilliated with one of these groups, or maybe he’s ‘United Grand Lodge of England’…..what do they say: “Old enough and ‘UGLE’ enough”…or he’s with the French, the ‘Grand Orient’ maybe……perhaps he’s even something to do with the Americans – the ‘York Rite, the Scottish Rite’ – Even if you knew him well, you’d never know for sure, and what really is the difference? Like I said……….posh men in
Frocks. The ‘Grand Masters’ of the ‘Grand lodges’ in most European countries are members of the cognate Royal families. Probably not ’Kaiser Bill’ : Emperor of Germany…..King of Prussia because of those Nations historical connections to Roman Catholicism, but I expect an ambitious representative of the no(a)bility embroiled in one of those Nationalist Orders would have been on hand to….make the (un)necessary arrangements. And in America? Somebody rich and ruthless….how subtle Thomas Jefferson was when he said “All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain ‘silent’,” and he would have known. Certainly though, the ‘Grand Master’ of English Freemasonry at the time was a member of ‘our’ royal family. Were we actually just fighting the ‘Evil’ Germans so that some other….Germans could increase their property portfolio? Probably, but then when the people making these decisions are all related to each other who can say what the real causes are, Saxe-Coburg and Gotha doesn‘t sound like a very English name to me, but then of course they aren’t called that anymore, are they. And thus by Muted Means do the ‘Royal fami’lies’ maintain their influence – their ’Power’ – and the seeming semblance of ‘Democracy’ both. These people are the Politicians, the Judiciary, the Police, the Military, the Civil service………England and France gained so much from the war, and the enmity between the Catholic Church and the Freemasons is very well documented……how easily the French and English Lodges could have persuaded their German….or Serbian fraternal brothers into action against the Archduke – if the stated aim was ‘liberating’ Germany from  the Catholics, or Serbia from the Austrians…..particularly when their Masters were the very people who would stand to gain financially from a conflict. I’ve heard people in ‘Flicker Alley’ say that
the ‘Bal FOUR declaration’ to Baron Rothschild is proof of Masonic involvement….I don‘t know, that might be a fudge….probably ‘Israel’ was the price the Politicians thought they had to pay to keep the Zionists in the White House, the Kremlin and the Banks on side during that stupid War. But by what bloody right, and at what bloody cost ?

If all of this seems a bit confusing, thats sort of the point…….intrigues are messy and unpredictable, but I do think that there are compelling reasons to believe that the Freemasons had a hidden – and very bloody – Black Hand in the start of the War. In any case your Mr Crowley isn’t on a lecture tour – he’s recruiting – join him and eventually you‘ll find yourself in a war of Ideologies……..which is really just a another war amongst…what? Greedy men? Corrupt business interests? A few nefarious and priviliged families? Misogynist Religions? Pseudo-Religions? As far as I’m concerned – that isn’t spirituality……that’s Politics – and you place yourself in the greatest jeopody by getting involved in their petty machinations. I’m sorry – to have pulled some of the Veils away so abruptly – but I promise you this isn’t a joke – the World is Real – Actions have Consequences – and there will be a reckoning – “As you sow so shall you reap”. You are a pure and perfect being – a Girl on the cusp of Womanhood – your first duty is to yourself, their silly games can only hurt you. But you must do whatever you think is right……….I have to do something at the bar, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The music has changed…..I didn’t even notice: Schoenberg – Three piano Pieces – Strange, Atonal…Beautifully fractured……like flaws in a Diamond. I suppose that makes sense. Mixed up Mood Music ! I’m not really even sure what happened – I was only planning to go to a Lecture  – just for some entertainment really, and now, now the whole mood of the Evening’s changed. Valentines day seems like a long time ago. The Music Box sits on the table….I don’t think I could even bare to watch her dance now………I should leave, the music’s as disjointed as my mood and I’m confused and melancholy…….but I know he was telling me the truth – his version at least – in all that time his words didn’t get jagged or sharp……. they didn’t…….
crumble – They just slowly changed from Pink Petals to Blue Tumescent Bracts swollen with sadness and pain, but in all honesty I didn’t need to hear that……I didn’t really want to hear any of that….So why did he tell me when he could have just asked me not to go. That thing he said……that was why…..the thing that sent the Shivers up my Spine. The room is Misty, a fog of softly swirling coloured clouds …………..and now my chance to slip out un-noticed has gone – he’s back – he looks as sad as I feel……

Girl – “ Shoenberg !”

Boy – “ I know, she never used to play him….before the War. Now every night’s like an Existential crisis. At least I can tell her She doesn’t have to Sing the Varese……..Don’t worry, She generally manages to find her way back to melody. You might even get some more Satie later. I’m sorry about my….’speech’, You’re too young to take things as seriously as I do. You should just have some fun for a few years, learn how to enjoy yourself.”

Girl – ” I already know how to enjoy myself………..You weren’t kidding were you….when you said…’A deep distrust of institutions’

Boy – “ No, I wasn‘t kidding.”

Girl – “ How do you know so much about these things?“

Boy – “ As I said, there are some very interesting bookshops in London….in Cecil Court and in Bloomsbury.I’ve never met Crowley, but I have seen his name and I have heard some things about him. I don’t always believe rumours but I do know he is involved with the Freemasons.”

Girl – “ Why didn’t you just say something straight away?”

Boy – “ I thought I did…..maybe not enough – Red Rags – One….doesn‘t throw wood on a fire, not when there’s a chance that somebody might get burnt. They‘re very tempting….Fires.”

Girl – “ You, know that I’ve already met him don’t you?

Boy – ” Yes, of course…nice girls from Brighton don’t say things like ‘priests beg, Magicians demand’.”

Girl – “……And do nice Boys call both of them impotent?”

Boy – “ I’m not a nice boy. I’m a messed up boy who’s hopes there’s still a chance he can become a Good Man.”

Girl – “ Is that so important?”

Boy – “ I think so, my Father was a Good Man……I’d like to carry on my family tradition.”

Girl – “…….But you don’t think Aleister Crowley is a good man?”

Boy – “………..I think you should still be able to look yourself in the Eyes when you’re Sixty Six….if you get to Sixty Six.”

Girl – “ That’s cryptic, but I think I know what you mean.”

Boy – “………….You met him after you met me didn’t you?”

Girl – “ The very next day.”

Boy – “ Really? Me and my Shadows, walking…………..and did he do any Party tricks for you? ”

Girl – “ He did something he called ‘Action at a Distance’………he made somebody fall over.”

Boy – ” Greycious, an Adept.“

Girl – “ Not fall exactly, more like stumble………he wasn’t hurt, but…..Crowley laughed a lot, I didn’t think  that was particularly funny.”

Boy – “ Well, these things are hard to guage…I hear that nowadays, the Holy Men in India prefer to exercise their ‘Siddhis’ with ‘The Beltsnap’ – The old Pantaloons round the ankles routine – but they’ve probably studied for longer. That’s a joke….I have the greatest respect for the Yogi’s of India. ”

Girl – “ But none for their Western counterparts?”

Boy – “ Well, the Yogi’s don’t have to make loud: “aaarrrrrrgggggnowsagoodtimetofalloveruuurrrrrggg” sounds to make their tricks work…plus, very few of the Indians are secretly working for ‘Melville’ –
call me old fashioned – but I still think things like that make a difference.”

Girl – “ Ha, yes he did grunt a bit……but Melville? I don‘t understand……..is that a reference to…‘Moby Dick’? Do you think your supposed to be the Whale or the Captain?”

Boy – “ Haha…now that is funny….what a brilliant question….I’ll have to think about that for a while – I’m almost sure I know the answer – but that is a puzzle….Actually I didn’t mean Herman Melville, I mean’t Mm…..William Melville, he was the head of ‘G’ section……..er……he set up the ‘British Secret Service Bureau’. ‘Melville’ is a generic term I use for the secret services…….a useful mental picture. You know,  somehow I think that they would be able to answer your question with a lot more ease than I can, but then I also think the humour of ‘dogs chasing tales’ would be somewhat lost on them……..I only meant that
the Yogis don’t………..”

Girl – “ Oh I know what you meant……what a strange Boy you are, always talking in riddles……………..You know you aren’t anything like I thought you’d be.”

Boy – “ I know, I had managed to keep our previous ‘Coffee dates’ short…….twenty minutes, twenty five tops….because after that the veneer of respectability starts to peel…..but you seemed so nice, I was…lulled into thinking I might manage a bit longer today……foolish me.”

Girl – “ What’s beneath the veneer?”

Boy – “ Flesh and blood, skin, bones……passion and feelings……and things I would…..struggle to define.”

Girl – “ That doesn’t sound so bad. Why bother hiding them ?”

Boy – “ Because there’s also rage………………I’m angry with Myself, with other people……with the government, I’m angry about the War and my Father, I’m angry with……….everybody really….I’ll probably be angry with you in a few hours…..I thought this Evening was going pretty well half an hour ago. You were right about those films, I probably should live in a forest….the woods calm me down, I like the squirrels. Did you see that film that was in the Cinematograph just after the War…er……..’Male and Female’?”

Girl – “ Yes, I did.”

Boy – “Why did Crichton light the fire ? Why did he decide to go back………….I wouldn’t have lit that fire, I would have stayed on the Island.”

Girl – “ He lit the fire for the others…………he thought that’s what they wanted, or maybe he didn’t really believe he deserved to be happy…..or knew deep down that he was about to marry the wrong girl. Perhaps he just couldn’t overcome his own conditioning……..I mean he still believed that he was infact a butler……But if he’d asked her she might have stayed with him anyway…..even if the others were going back, and in the end he did sort of escape to a better life anyway, with his ‘Tweeny’, I think she loved him the most……….You know, I was thinking about that job you offered me………….I’d like to accept. I can start on Friday.”

© 2014   Kevin Barry Partridge.

 

 

THE ONLY CURE IS KISSING – CHAPTER 12: MEMORIES

THE ONLY CURE IS KISSING

CHAPTER 12

MEMORIES

 

(Love is Hot – Truth is Molten). Donovan

 The machine is broken. The component parts lay in pieces all around me – burnt out…unfixable – useless now. I won’t have two projectors for the exhibition, I’ll have to make do with one. The rest of the equipment’s already loaded on the truck – with the paintings….7.31pm…..I should just make a Start, the truck won’t be anywhere near as quick as the car, and if I arrive after 10pm she’ll probably be out….Brightons a late night town. I’m tempted to wait for a few minutes though, I’m sitting on the floor in the living
room and ‘The Way We Were’ has just started on TV…….”Memories like the corners of my mind – Misty watercolour Memories”……..come floating out of the speaker. Beautiful lyrics. But the picture of a high domed building brings back memories of my own and I decide I should be on my way and turn off the TV.

I did‘nt have to hire a van in the end: I finally got a message back to the phone call I made from the pub (by way of a three man relay – She makes few concessions to the modern World – not even her own phone) : “No problem”  – the beautiful hand written letter reads – “I don’t need the truck for at least a month, straight swap OK. Love ”. So the Mustang’s in the countryside – probably whizzing down tree lined lanes at the hands of a very old friend and I’m driving a 1944 Austin K4 truck with coach-built Horsebox – all the colours of conkers. I’ve crammed an old beat up Chesterfield and a big brass bed in the back and there’s a nice cast iron wood
burning stove built in – and plenty of wood. I’m hoping that once the exhibitions hung I can persuade the Princess to go on a cosy little adventure.

 Whoosh !

 Just before ten I’m back infront of the elegant white spire, climbing up the steps, arms full of bags. Walking back into the Pepper Pot I hear an extraordinary sound. Somewhere high in the tower a long sustained wavering note is being played on a violin, then a quivering dirty two note chord, then a higher tremulous rasping pitch – the sound something like La Monte Youngs drone music, abstruse and beguiling.But as I listen the sound changes to an impossibly fast, subtle repetative riff. I heard a piece by Terry Riley once that was similar – at a party – short repeated phrases that vary slightly over time, but that was layered – contrapuntal –  this is a single line: Like Faure’s ‘In Paradisum’ arpeggio played on a single instrument at great speed.

 I start up the stairs eager to find the source of the ethereal music. The second floor is filled with discarded boxes and bags from expensive stores chucked about – apparently theres been some shopping. The third: Unmade bed, plates, cups and glasses – half full of wine – strewn around. A nearly finished game of snakes and ladders is next to the bed and the smell of perculated coffee, grass, wine, Chanel No 5 and sex hangs in the air. I put the bags with her clothes from London down near the bed and grab an open bottle of white wine and a glass and continue upwards.

 As I ascend the last flight of ladder like steps and enter the Cupola the sound is tremendous, and a very beautiful sight welcomes me: The princess and the violin player from the ‘Hand in Hand’ are sitting cross-legged on the floor in matching white Kaftans with lavish gold embroidery – surrounded by thick creamy church candles –  staring up at a distorted super 8 film: ‘The color of Pomegranites’ being projected onto the inside of the small dome. The fluctuating drone is coming from a violin suspended by silk cords above a wind
up gramophone so that the records edge rubs the strings – the ostinato motifs self generating as the violin bounces around and different strings are ‘bowed’………like a sort of…random Hurdy-Gurdy. Over the top the violinist is playing shivery abstract notes and broken chords on another violin that dance around the eerily shifting phrases, with the Princess providing a vocal backing of sorts – not singing exactly – little vocal figures, like melodic sound effects: Ooh la’s and na na’s – Whoops, woo woo’s and bo bo’s. They are soft and gentle… the mellifluous mating calls of the chanteuse – Obscure Orisons of Glossolalia. Occasionally she stops singing and opens a little music box that plays a delicate tintinnabula ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow.’

W – “ Are you alright?”

M – “ Yes… you‘re safe – they won’t bother you again.”

W – “Thank you. What do you think – we’re making our own soundtrack.”

M – “Lovely.”

 The princess calls me over and I sit down next to her and she rests her head on my shoulder, then I pour some wine and take a much needed drink before filling the girls cups.

 Rummaging in my bag I pull out a long thin case containing a flute – quietly connecting the three pieces together before blowing a sparse simple melody in C, embellished with little trills and mordents, while the fiddle plays fermata. The sound full –  the Dome adding lush reverb – the timbres of the flute and violin perfect together. Pretty soon the violinist starts to play around the melody, flitting lightly at first…like a butterfly,  gradually progressing – as the film continues – to a teleporting acceso dragonfly buzzing from riff to riff –
leaping octaves at incredible speed. Soon the princess joins in with some Ooh la la’s and the three lines weave  like an acoustic braid until the violin finishes with long languid rolled chords, played pizzacato as the film ends. There is more wine and some chit chat with the kitty kats and arrangements are made for the live music at the private view of the exhibition. Around midnight the violinist beds down in the dome and I wander quietly down the steps with the princess.

W – “ Do you want some coffee?”

M – “Yes please.”

W – “So what happened…I was worried about you.”

M – “I went to the restaurant and talked to them…they’ve agreed to stay away from you, and I think they will. I don’t know how attached you are to your ex – or how attached they are to him for that matter – but you should do your best to stay as far away from ‘them’ as possible, they are…unpleasant people. So if you do want to get in touch with him…be careful.  ”

W – “Don’t worry, I will…that won’t be for a while though. How many of them were there?”

M – ”About 10, I only really spoke to the little guy you told me about, and his friend……the rest just watched. Some were missing I think – the other guy you mentioned wasn’t there, neither was your ex.”

W – “He wouldn’t be……he’s very sick – his sister refuses to tell me where he is. I didn’t think you’d get them to agree so easily.”

M – “I wouldn’t say easy exactly, but they agreed….and I believed them. Time will tell. Staying away for a few weeks certainly won’t do any harm.”

W – ”What did you think of them – Did you read up on scientology?”

M – “I’m not entirely sure they were Scientologists, they had a lot of chances to prove a connection…and they didn’t. But I skimmed some books, I was in the library for a day and a half. I had heard something about L Ron Hubbard before – I’d forgotton the name –  he was involved with somebody called Jack Parsons in the 40s – An occultist. They worked on some sex magic experiments together, until Hubbard stole all his money and he did a ‘Pierrot le Fou.’”

W – ”Oh I love that film………..oh no, no – you mean he……”

M – “Blew himself up…..That’s a little unfair – I don’t know if he actually strapped Dynamite to his head but the effect was the same. You know, these are strange stories about very strange people – are you sure you want to hear them? Things could get very……‘Bednobs and Broomsticks’ terribly quickly. Thanks.”

 I’m given a cup of hot brown perculated coffee and I lay down on the bed, with the Princess next to me. happy to be back in Brighton and away from those people.  

W – “ ‘Bednobs and Broomsticks’ doesn‘t sound so bad. Tell me while you drink your coffee, then I’ll help you unload the van.”

M – “Mmm, unfortunately this would be the John Frankenheimer version – Which is….complicated – Witches complicated? OK then, but don’t worry about the paintings I borrowed a truck, nobody’s getting into that in a hurry. So…..Jack Parsons. Have you ever heard of the ’Babalon working’?”

W – “No I dont think so.”

M – “Marvel Whiteside Parsons – ‘Jack’ – was a a rocket scientist – a specialist in Jet propulsion –  but he was also the head of ‘The Ordo Templi Orientis’ in California during the 1940s…..‘O.T.O.‘ was Originally a German fraternal order with Masonic ties and a somewhat…nebulous early history that eventually coalesced around the teachings of Aleister Crowley – Once he had postioned himself as the Outer head and rewritten most of the degree initiation rituals to conform with his own system: The tenets of ‘Thelema’. By the time Parsons met Hubbard in about 1945 he was moving away from regular science and getting deeper and deeper into the
occult. He had been made to feel…unwelcome by the Aeronautics industry because of his beliefs. They’d had a recent influx of Nazi’s hoovered up and sponged down by ‘Operation Paperclip’ – maybe they thought that a mix of practicing Thelemite Occultists and ex Nazi scientists was too strong a brew for the nascent space program and decided to just stick with the less troublesome fascists…..sort of makes me wonder what their definition of the ‘right’ stuff really is. The occultists slipped back in later anyway – in a more…tractable
form. If that all sounds like ancient history, you should remember –  the Secretary General of the United Nations – ‘Kurt Waldheim’ – was a high ranking Nazi Intelligence Officer…..two years ago a message from him was sent into space….on the ‘Golden Record’ that was placed on Voyager – A welcome to extraterrestrial life…some welcome – I mean what the fuck is going on – these aren’t the kind of people you want floating around in space. ”

Anyway, Parsons lover Sara – the sister of his wife – had left him for Hubbard, although actually they were all still in the same house together. So Parsons decided to invoke an ‘Elemental’ Lover: A manifestation of the Thelemic goddess ‘Babalon’ – using a form of magick based on the writings of John Dee and Edward Kelly: Enochian magick. This involved various rituals: Invoking spirits, masturbating whilst reciting incantations from magical tablets, that sort of thing. Hubbard was involved as an amanuensis to record the experiments. As a Scientist Parsons would have wanted to adhere to rigorous scientific method, as Dee had done before him.
He was a fascinating character – a successor to John Dee in many ways or even to Isaac Newton – I mean, to Isaac Newton – Alchemy was just another Science, one that he treated with as much respect  as Physics – and Parsons was a true Scientist, a rocket scientist no less: Variations on the solid fuels he invented got the Americans into space, briefly – and he believed that the processes of magick could be explained using quantum physics. Anyway, Parsons came to believe that his Enochian rituals had worked – that he had
succeeded in conjuring his ‘Elemental’ Lover: A woman called Majorie Cameron.”

W – “Fuck……I know her – I mean I don’t know her but I’ve seen her – she’s in a Kenneth Anger film:‘Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome.’ She’s beautiful…but a bit intense. Sorry, keep going.”

M – ”Well, the experiments carried on – still being recorded by Hubbard: Parsons began a series of ‘Sex Magic’ rituals with Marjorie Cameron who he believed was a incarnation of an aspect of the Thelemic Triple Goddess: Marjorie was his ‘Scarlet Woman’. Parsons aim was to produce a ‘Magickal Child’……what Crowley might have described as a ‘Moonchild’, and the Elizabethans would probably have called a ‘Changeling.’ A  child that Parsons hoped would be the ‘Thelemic Messiah’ – someone who would herald in a
new ‘Dionysian’ age – Although the child wouldn’t actually be born to Marjorie but would arrive somewhere on Earth…..and there are some crazy possibilities: Bowie, Bolan, Iggy Pop…Marianne Faithful, Patti Smith were all born around the right time……and if the ‘Dionysian age’ thing sounds a little crazy – remember that the summer of Love was only 20 years or so later.”

W – “And Kenneth Anger played the little Indian Prince – the ‘Changeling’ in the film of ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream’.”

M – “Really, that’s interesting – The deeper you go the more you find things make perfect sense. I’ve always thought that Shakespeare must have known Dee. People say that ‘Prospero’ in ‘The Tempest’ is Shakespeare, but theres a lot of John Dee in there, and a lot of Enochian Magick.”

W – ”This is fascinating.”

M – “Fascinating but problematic – Enochian Magick leaves the Magician vunerable in a lot of ways…..the practioner should always be very careful who they’re with, during the rituals…….John Dee was safe, he was the scribe, and anyway I think he chose wisely. Jack Parsons might not have.”

W – ”Hubbard?”

M – “Never trust a man who wants you to sign a Billion year contract !”

W – “Ha, thats good advice…..but then you always did have ‘commitment’ issues. What happened to Parsons… you said he blew himself up?”

M – “He went into business with Hubbard and Sara, they stole all his money…there were court cases…thingsgot ‘very’ unpleasant….but he didn’t get his money back. Hubbard married Sara and became a bigamist…Parsons married Marjorie and went back into Aeronautics, until he was labelled a communist by ‘The House of Un-American Activities Commitee.’From then on things get pretty murky. The late 40’s are very dark days…what should have been a period of happiness after the war was subverted by the ‘intelligence communities’….was there ever a more perfect misnomer? 1947 saw the formation of: The CIA, the National Security
Council, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Tavistock Institute (’46), the IMF, the WTO, the House of Un-American Activities Committee,  the State of Israel…….The modern era of UFO sightings began with Roswell and Kenneth Arnolds ‘Set Square’ shaped spaceship sighting – Two years after the Nazi’s arrived in America – imagine that. Crowley died, destitute, pennyless…and of course the cold war began. ‘Operation Mockingbird’ would slowly usher America through the ‘cold war’ with marshalled ‘apophenia’ the same way the CIA had
done to an all too willing and helpful John Nash………..they’d hit them with the ‘Red Menace’ – from above and below – The politics of fear, the threat of the other…..that robot bird‘s still squawking.  ’Operation Paperclip’ had recruited  Nazi scientists from the concentration camps who had specialized in torture and brainwashing – war criminals – and the CIA began a series of Mind Control experiments with ‘Project Chatter’ that would eventually lead to ‘Project MKUltra’ and Dr Ewen Camerons experiments in Psychological torture and ‘behaviour modification’ in 1952………the year Parsons died. No-one really knows if the explosion was suicide or an accident or murder……….Fuck…………..I don’t really want to talk about this right now. Lets talk again in the morning….I’ll tell you what I found out about Hubbard. You look beautiful by the way, I like that Kaftan. I am glad I’m here with you again.”

W -”So am I…….Lets unload the truck anyway, I want to see your Paintings.”

M – “OK, I brought you a big Winter coat, from home. ”

 We put on our warm coats, wander downstairs and out onto the street. Unloading the paintings, quietly chatting about them and how nice the truck is, and what the princess has been doing for the three days I was away: Shopping and learning to play the violin…….and the violinist, apparently. Drinking at night with some musicians in some of Brightons strange old pubs. Forty minutes or so later we are back upstairs where we make love until the early hours.

 When I finally wake up in the morning, dewy eyed and hazy headed, our little nest is flooded with light from those eleven large windows. Outside Brighton sounds boisterous and bustling……I – however – am somewhat less enthusiastic…I could happily stay under the covers all day – I can feel the princess beside me – hot and zoetic – easily enticing enough to encourage me to raise myself from my befuddled stupor, but before I can act on my resolve the covers are slowly pulled back for me, revealing a lovely coaxing face with a wet lip morning kiss, stirring in me some rather hopeful morning glory.

M – “Good morning.”
 
W – “Martians !”

M – “What? Where? Erh…what do you mean……?”

W – “The ‘Red Menace’….”from above and below“ – I couldn’t figure out out what you meant by “above”…Martians right…..All those crazy UFO films from the 50’s…you know like ‘Invasion of the………?”

M – “Oh don’t – Mm, and reds under the bed…..whats the time?”

W – “Later than you think……….just kidding – I don’t know – I don’t have a watch…I’ve made you some coffee….there’s no food here we’ll have to go out.

M – “ I brought enough for lunch, I meant to tell you…..smoked salmon and cream cheese – and some bagels from Brick Lane – there’s a bag hanging up downstairs. The ground floor was cooler. We’ll go out for dinner, anywhere you like…somewhere posh, you can bring your friend if you want to.”

W – “She’s gone already, she got up early…….I think we woke her up. I know just the place for dinner though…you know I went to school here don’t you…you know I went to Roedean.”

M – “Errr….no, I did not know that.”

W – “Theres a place I used to go…with the girls – not posh but quite nice – on the Seafront along the coast a bit….and we can both have shower, I must be a bit getting pongy by now.”

M – “I like the way you smell, but a shower would be nice.”

 She won’t tell me anything else, but I can tell she has some labyrinthine plans for the evening.  While I’m trying to figure out how we’re going to have a shower in a restaurant ( I have only just woken up) I’m treated to an impromptu fashion show. Beginning with the contents of the bags and boxes littering the second floor – an eclectic mix of Vintage: Leather trousers, beautifully patterned Chanel shirts, some 50’s summer dresses – and that nice White Persian Kaftan. Finishing with Yamamoto’s assymetrical ‘samurai’ trousers and
the elegant fitted Neru Jacket in gold and brown Brocade by Scott Crolla.

 Next there is a very quiet very intense lunch, with both of us greedily munching our way through the deli bagels. Furiously pilling mountains of cream cheese on folded stacks of salmon, precariously nestled on the doughy hoops and smiling occassionally when the brimful bagel hinges shut and the cream cheese spouts up through the hole, before starting again.

 We stay in bed most of the day playing old records on the gramophone – talking and fucking and drinking wine. Late in the afternoon the conversation turns back to the previous nights dicussion:

W – “So what were you going to tell me about L Ron Hubbard?”

M – “Oh, I’ve been trying to put Hubbard into some kind of context with the things I was talking about last night….His involvement with Parsons, Marjorie Cameron and the ‘Ordo Templi Orientis’ was exposed in an article by ‘The Sunday Times’ about ten years ago and he seems to have responded by claiming that he was acting as an undercover agent for Navy Intelligence…….which is entirely possible….but – you can probably tell – I don’t exactly see the ‘Intelligence communities’ as the good guys in all this, and what he actually did was really just a straight up con………I don‘t know, all these things are so complicated, and the actual facts are really hard to verify………I guess I was thinking that a lot of the events that happened just after the war seem interrelated somehow………even Parsons meeting Hubbard……..errr….”

W – “Tell me about the other man you mentioned…..the Doctor.”

M – “Doctor? Oh: Ewen Cameron was a psychiatrist employed by the CIA to conduct ‘behavior modification’ experiments on American civilians in the 1950’s as part of their ‘Project MKUltra’ mind control program. People with fairly mild complaints like anxiety and depression were referred to him and sent to the ‘Allen Memorial Institute.’ He used a technique called ‘Driving’: He would put people into a drug induced coma for weeks or even months and play them continuous tape loops of simple commands. He would also
give them large doses of LSD – and use electroshock therapy at massively high voltages without their consent. His ‘Patients’ ultimately would forget: Who they were, how to speak, whether they had any relatives…they‘d become incontinent……they were – empty husks – some never came out of their coma’s. You have to understand – he wasn’t some maverick operating outside the law – whilst he was conducting these experiments he was the Chairman of the World Psychiatric Association and President of the American and
Canadian Psychiatric Associations………….In theory these…empty people would be rehabilitated to become ‘normal’ citizens but the psychologists never learned how to speed up the relearning process so at best they just ended up with infants in adult bodies…sometimes not even that. Obviously people concluded that his experiments had failed……………but maybe they just didn’t understand what he was trying to achieve.

W – ”Which was?”

M – “Well, his ‘stated’ aim was to cure schizophrenia by erasing existing harmful memories then reprogramming the ‘psyche’……and thats where there are some fascinating parallels with Scientology, and even to groups like EST….The purpose of ‘auditing’ in Scientology is to erase ‘engrams’ – ‘destructive memories’ – stored in the ‘reactive’ or unconcscious mind – that are the root causes of physical illness. Scientology defines the mind as being in two seperate parts the ‘Analytical’ and the ‘Reactive’ mind. The
ultimate purpose is to eliminate the ‘reactive’ mind completely and become ‘Clear’ , and therefore healthy. The techniques used by EST: ‘Erhard Seminars Training’  might be different but the similarities are obvious, especially to what Cameron was doing – They were dismantling the socially constructed personality: And our personalities are surely products of our own histories, our experiences, our ‘memories’ – In other words: Regressing people back to an infantile state and beginning again. The processes vary slightly but the purpose seems to me to be the same: Put simply: Wipe the tape – Re-record – But doesn’t that sound like a perfect definition of brainwashing? And surely people don‘t work like that. That type of thinking is……….I don’t really even know what that type of thinking is…….mechanical? Cybernetic? I suppose I feel like Cameron might not  have been very concerned about the re-education part of the process.

W – “But maybe there was a reason why psychologists were so desperate to find ways to erase painful memories – How many men must have come back broken from the war…..if their memories of Death and Mutilation could just be ‘wiped’, those men probably wouldn’t complain.”

M -”You’re right of course, and if I’m honest I hadn’t thought of that. But surely that raises the question: Does the end justify the means? I feel for for those men…how does somebody go from from relentless killing to playing with his children in the park. But I’m looking for the causes, not the the effects: Why are Wars fought? For the benefit of the Money Men and the banks – Wars cost money, they require loans….with interest. Weapons are the ultimate disposable commodity – Single use and very expensive. The bitter seeds of the First World War were sown by another Fraternal Order with connections to the Masons – The Serbian ‘Black Hand.’ The story of the assassination of Franz Ferdinand reads like a grotesque tragic comedy – John Webster could hardly have done better: His security team left standing at a station while their charge was driven away without them. By the time he was shot the Archduke had already had a bomb bounce off his car and been forced to read a speech saturated in the blood of the victims of that bomb. Despite the attempted
assassination he remained completely unprotected in an open top car until his Chauffeur took a ‘wrong turn’ and returned him to virtually the same place as the earlier explosion, before stopping the car directly infront of another assassin: Gavrilo Princip, who also shot is wife Sophie. The Chauffeur – obviously –  was unharmed. That doesn’t sound like a series of mishaps to me, that sounds like a conspiracy…..and I think I know who I would blame….the people who had the most to gain from a war. During the Second World War the US Special Envoy to Europe was a man called Averell Harriman – he arranged all of the United States loans to the European al lies and Russia through the Lend-Lease program…..Britain will finish paying those loans back in about 2005. But Averells American bank: ‘Brown Brothers Harriman’ was ‘the’ Bank of choice for the early financiers of the Nazi Party and the German War machine. The banks assets were even siezed after the Americans ‘joined’ the war, under the ‘Trading with the Enemy Act’ but of course, those assets were later returned. And then of course there’s ‘The Bank of England’. When the Nazi’s marched into Czechoslovakia in 1939 the first thing they did was descend on the National bank and demand the Gold reserves: £5.6 Million. The bank explained that the reserves weren’t actually in Czechoslovakia but were held at the Bank of England.The Czech bank, under extreme duress, contacted the ‘Bank for International Settlements’ and the ‘BIS’ requested a transfer of the Czech funds from The Bank of England to Germany’s Reichsbank: The govenor of the ‘BOE’ Montagu Norman released the funds to the Nazi‘s the same day, despite official protests from France. Had he refused – and he could have – the Germans would almost certainly have been stopped in their tracks. The Nazi’s used those funds to re-arm themselves, when War was declared six months later, they were ready. So what of the men the – Plutocrats – that orchestrate these events, that make these decisions? I doubt that these ‘people’ these – Oligarchs – would think of themselves as being evil. I would imagine they consider themselves……‘Nietzschean’ somehow: Beyond good and evil – Superior to the uncomprehending ‘Sheepish’ masses. They‘d probably sum up their attitudes by saying something like……”This isn’t personal – this is just – business”………and the carnage they create as……….’Collateral damage’. They must be stopped – they aren’t the Shepherds they’re the Wolves – and as long as they’re making the decisions there’ll always be broken men coming back from wars, and the rest of us won’t be happy. This is a beautiful World…..people have a right to some happiness.”

W – “What about your friend Parsons? Wasn’t the motto of O.T.O.: ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law’…..Isn’t that really just the same thing as: ‘This isn’t personal………’ or even just: ‘Fuck you, I’ll do as I like. Isn’t that just more – Ruthless Amoral Paternalism by the men in the white coats.”

M – ”In practice? Probably. In theory? In theory I think the real meaning of the Motto is that no ‘Free Man or Woman’ would submit to shackles….Mental or Phsysical. The phrase comes for Rabelais: ‘Gargantua and Pantegruel’ and the mythical ‘Abbey of Theleme’: The aspirations of the Abbey seem rather sanguine: The theory is that a free man, unfettered by strictures would be intrinsically noble and virtuous – because he would be in touch with his ‘True Will’ – which is a spark of the ‘Divine’…….sort of a Utopian – ‘Anarchy in the UK’ – with everybody innocently frolicking about. I must say, I feel a lot of empathy with that desire. The Abbeys position, I think, is that the taboo’s and restrictions heaped on men account for their lower natures….that forbidden fruit is irresistable, and always tastes the sweetest.  But you’re right…most men – given enough rope – Hang themselves. Crowley – I’m sure – was a Gentleman and a Scholar – and I think he probably knew what he was doing – but there’s always the suspicion that he went too far. I think Jack Parsons did. But the more I read about Scientology the more I started to think that Hubbards encounter with Jack Parsons had been pivotal.
Hubbard claimed to have learned the secrets of Scientology in a ‘near death’ experience on the operating table after he was badly injured during his service as a Naval Officer during WWII…..he was even described by somebody as a ‘broken man’. He says he died and went through an ornate doorway where he absorbed arcane cosmic knowledge – before coming back. Thats very similar to the Enochian Magickal technique of astrally travelling through the Aethyrs and returning with occult knowledge, like the secrets that John Dee claimed could be found in ‘The Book of Enoch’. And there are other things I think he learned whilst watching
Jack Parsons……….

W – “This is very interesting, but in many ways what you’re describing is just the archetypal journey of the wounded ‘Magician’ or ‘Shaman’ – pre-dating anything John Dee might have done, Have you ever thought about the relationship between Magick, Religion and Science?”

M – “Not much…….occassionally I guess, but not in any depth.”

W – “I have – a lot – I was thinking about the Original Man in the White coat – The Shaman. The initiation of the Shaman is frequently the result of a personal crisis or a prolonged period of illness: Of necessity – The Shaman must comprehend the causes of illness so that he can learn how to cure himself and in so doing become a healer. Sometimes the initiation is proceeded by a ‘near death’ experience: The Shaman enters the spiritual realms and brings back hidden Knowledge vital to the wellbeing of society or the ‘tribe’. Because the duty of the Shaman is to heal ! To heal the people in his care and to heal…Society. The Shaman believes that
the world is full of Spirits: The Spirits of Ancestors, of Gods, Demons and Animals…the Spirits of Nature – Some are Benevolent others are Malevolent and these Spirits have great infuence in peoples lives.  They can bring good fortune and joy, or illness and death. In order to understand their motivations and plans the Shaman must communicate with them by Divination: In Dreams, by Scrying, by interpreting Signs and Omens or through communion with Spirit Guides. Sometimes the Shaman travels to the realm of the Spirits on Vision Quests to aquire occult knowledge through Gnosis. To the Shaman diseases are caused by the possession of the victim by malevolent spirits, when he has identified the evil spirit he can cast out the disease and restore…balance – With herbs and Incantations and songs that the he has learned largely through personal experience from the spirits themselves, often at great personal risk. The Shaman is seen as a messenger between the realms of the Spirits and the people. Now compare Religion: The Priest believes in a God and a Devil…in  Angels and Demons: He believes that sometimes people are possessed by these demons and that these malevolent spirits can cause their victims to become ill and can act through them to subvert society. The Catholic church has six categories of possession – all quite distinct from mental illness – all due to varying degrees of actual possession by demons. The Priest believes that in order to ‘save’ these ‘victims’ the demons must be ‘exorcised’ – Bound by an Oath. Only the Priest can do this because his special knowledge allows him to identify the demon….and because his ‘Holy’ words – his Oaths – are imbued
with special power due to his training and his ‘official’ role as mediator between God and Mankind. Nowcompare Psychiatry: The Psychiatrist believes that the World is full of psychoses, and that sometimes people are possessed of these psychoses and driven insane – Often a Psychosis even consists of the person believing they are possessed by demons: Over a quarter of Schizophrenia cases believe their ‘alter’ is a Demon – But the Psychiatrist is able to Diagnose these psychoses – and once diagnosed believes that they can be treated and even – very rarely – cured. The Psychiatrist is able to do this because of their special training and because of their role as arbitrator between the realms of Science and men. These things have always happened in more or less the same way…..only the language changes: Five thousand years ago the Sumerians believed that diseases were caused by Demonic (Gidim) possession…their priests the ‘Ashipu’ conducted healing exorcisms. In Judaism the malevolent spirits are called ‘Dybbuks‘, in Rajastan the possessed are called Ghorala. Are any of these examples actually any different or just the language: Malevolent spirit, Demon, Psychosis, Engram –  hasn’t Hubbard just changed the terminology and thrown in some technology for a new generation, isn’t he just trying to heal his ‘Tribe’.”     

M – “Didn’t you just ask me to go and intervene with some people that you………..(laughs)…I’m only joking…….I know what you’re saying and you should be right…but that would make perfect sense to me, so I wouldn’t be concerned. I can’t say what happens during auditing sessions, I don’t know enough, but what Ewen Cameron was doing – what I think EST was doing – what I’m talking about is…more like……people being ‘exorcised’ from themselves…….”

W – “……I know what you mean, and maybe there ‘is‘ a reason……..but I don’t know what that reason is…… Eventually, I suppose what you have to ask yourself is – Who do you trust?”

M – “I trust me – I would never hurt you – and I trust you. I trust in the love that exists between a man and a woman.”

W -”And I trust you, thats why I asked you to help me. Come on though, thinking about these things for too long isn’t good – lets go and get some dinner – and enjoy ourselves. I want to drive past my old school on the way……I want to see the old ‘Alma Mater’…….”

 We put some clothes on…..“Not posh” must be an accurate discription – the princess doesn’t make much of an effort considering her recent shopping spree’s – Old jeans and a baggy jumper – of course she still looks lovely, but I expected more….elegance. On the way to the restaurant we drive past Roedean and she seems happy. I get to hear some stories about life at an all girls boarding school…A lot more fun than at an all boys boarding school, I expect.

 Dinner is fantastic: As promised the restaurant is nice – warm, welcoming – and overlooking the strange chalky rock-pool beach of Saltdean. We both have Lobster, and there is a sort of giddy excitement in the princess, something that I haven’t seen in her since her odd, nervous return. She orders a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and insists on paying, as a thank you for “her rescue.”

 After dinner there are a few hours before the evenings adventures can begin, (there are still too many people around, I’m told). So we walk down some steps towards the beach and wander along the ‘Undercliff Walk’: A gargantuan 1930’s Brutalist Fortress designed to stop the sea gnawing the milky  – flint splattered – chalk cliffs. This Battlement against the pounding of the waves is Magnificent – Massive – Monumental – with no concessions to refinement whatsoever and obviously built at a time when public projects were adequately funded – In places the walkways are as wide as a six lane Motorway. There is no ornamentation , just massive slabs of dove grey concrete shielded from the waters by a thick sea wall, and every few hundred feet a mysterious stainless steel door, barring the entrance to a tunnel that dissappears into the high white cliff-face. While we walk we finish off the Champagne, drinking straight from the bottle like a couple of high class Hobo’s. The conversation is light, we talk about films and fashion – the designers she likes and what the new decade is likely to bring. I listen intently…..I’ve seen her dressing up box. Then the conversation turns to what we should do about Halloween costumes. She tells me she has a collection of photographs of American kids in their goofy homemade costumes from the 1950’s – brought back from some creepy shop in New York – and how we should make our own, even if they look a bit crappy. I say she doesn’t have to worry – anything looks good on a beautiful woman – which is true. I try and convince her that she should go as the Heroine from a comic book I’ve been working on called: ‘Fugue’ – About an English socialite who was raised in Japan and
taught the secrets of Martial arts by a Zen gardener who still does his best to look after her now that She’s back in England – because – She is completely unaware of her alter Ego: An Samurai Sword weilding – avenging vigilante Superhero named – ‘Fugue’. I don‘t tell her that she already bears a uncanny resemblance to the character in my comic ……I’ll wait a while before explaining that – I really was quite distraught when she vanished before…..artists have odd ways of coping with things. After a few hours of wandering the evening has become fairly mild, not exactly an Indian summer but quite pleasant. Soon, we are back below the restaurant, but instead of climbing the stairs we walk through the underpass to the low wooden fence that surrounds our destination.

 Saltdean Lido is beautiful – A true classic…but unguarded at night and insanely easy to break into (they probably don’t think anyone would be crazy enough to go night swimming at the end of October). but I’m assured by the princess that she’s been skinny dipping in Hampstead ponds in the snow and that once in, the water will be “really quite nice”.  I do have some experience of night swimming. My first real job actually was as a ‘Lifeguard’: At Tooting Bec Lido. At night I’d climb back in with friends to swim and splash about in
the moonlight. Once we climbed in at the Weekend and there must have been a hundred people in there: Swimming, having Barbecues, playing music – at One O’clock in the morning – a rather lovely vision of how things could be……..but that was a balmy night at the height of summer. My only real contribution to what I’m beginning to think is a bit of half-baked scheme to basically just “have a shower” was to insist on bringing the Horsebox instead of walking – I had a feeling the stove might prove useful. The princess does seem excited though, and I’m starting to feel something that I’d almost fotgotton – the thrill of transgression

 Fortune favours the bold, so I give the princess a leg up and she clambers upwards, hands on a post and jumps over the fence. I follow as best I can and together we scramble over some grass, around the pool and into the  shelter of the 1930’s Deco building, unseen – we hope – by anybody on the clifftop road. Now I know why none of those elegant new clothes got an airing, I’ve scuffed my new  fancy pants on the fence. Fuck, she was right though…..I haven’t felt like this in years, pure excitement. We’ve allowed ourselves about half an hour to play, that way if party poopers see us from the cliff road, they’ll only have about fifteen minutes to get to a phone,(guessing that the cops would take another fifteen). We quickly strip and – holding hands – run at the freezing water, jumping straight in. The water is so cold that I think my lungs will explode as I gasp for breath – Head numb – my body trying to cope with the shock. There is a brief embrace and the princess is off seriously swimming the pool. I’m content to ease along with a lazy backstroke, allowing
me to look around as I glide. After about ten minutes I notice some people on the road above, standing, staring down at us and pointing, but as I look they begin to wave….no problems there so I wave back and calm down…the water actually does feel nice. After about twenty minutes I get out and a few minutes later the princess joins me…..we have our shivery showers, the cold water feeling slightly warm compared to the pool. We quickly dress and tip-toe back to the fence and – swiftly over – slip into the nearby Horsebox, firing up the pre-prepared stove. The beautiful woman is swaddled in blankets and I drive us back into Brighton, down Dukes Mound and along Madeira drive. Finally parking for the night near the Victorian Amusement Arcade, just infront of the Beach, before returning cold to the back…anxious for some heat.

M – “throw me a bLanket….I’m freezing.”

W – “Come under these with me, I’ll warm you up……….”

 Nestled on the couch, swathed in blankets the heat gradually returns to me as the wood-burning stove warms our little dark wood chamber. Half an hour later the blankets slip to our knees, and our cave like oaken den is nice and toasty. The Horse box is just fine, like a luxurious Elizabethan drawing room, all wood paneled splendor. After a few more minutes the princess is up – rummaging naked – Lit only by the flickering light of the stove, through the pile of old 78’s that came with the freshly installed brass horned gramophone. After a while she lazily cranks the handle and puts on Louis Armstrongs recording of ‘Memories of you.’

M – “Nice….this is perfect ! Thank you for dinner…and the swim. How are you feeling?”

W – “Happy…and Melancholy. Happy I’m here with you….but that story about Jack Parsons has made me glum, I’m sad that he died like that.”

M – “I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all of that. The problem is, once I start reading about something I get sort of obsessed – a legacy of LSD – the relentless search for answers. He was an enigma though…He used to perform these crazily intense rituals to Pan then conduct his rocket experiments…….I think there’s something very appealing about a scientist who still believes in Magic.”

W – “ Mmm, I do too…..actually, I know a tale about Pan….Would you like to hear a bedtime story?”

M – “Yes, very much….something with a happy ending.”  

W – “OK then…..

 I squeeze a bit more wood into the stove and then we nestle back onto the Chesterfield, pulling the horse-
blankets up over ourselves, sliding around trying to get comfortable.

W – “Daphnis and Chloe were love struck foundlings on the island of Lesbos……One day a goat herder named Lamon found a young boy being nursed by one of his she goats. Next to him on the ground lay: A purple cloak, a dagger with an Ivory handle and a little golden brooch. Lamon realised the boy was of Noble birth and took him home to his wife. They named him Daphnis and raised him as their own child. Some years later a Shepherd named Dryas discovered a little baby girl in a grotto – guarded by nymphs – being suckled by a ewe. Near the child on the ground were: A golden threaded girdle, gilded sandles and golden anklets. Knowing
that she was of Noble blood the shepherd took the child home to his wife and they named her Chloe. Years later on a fateful night, the four adoptive parents shared a prophetic dream….Daphnis and Chloe had been brought before Cupid who had ordained that they become a goatherd and a Shepherdess, and that infact is  what happened. As the two children grew and played together they fell in love. Daphnis would play music for Chloe on his flute and she would sing to him. One day, after an accident, a cow handler named Dorcon pulled Chloe from a ditch, and  fell in love with her because of her great beauty. He lavished gifts upon her Father
and begged for her hand, but Dryas, knowing of his daughters noble birth, refused him. The desperate Dorcon dressed in a wolf skin to surprise Chloe and steal a kiss – but Daphnis, fearing that Chloe was being attacked,  sent his dogs to kill the wolf. Nearly dead, Dorcon was then set upon by Tyrian Pirates intent on kidnapping Chloe. The pirates were defeated and Chloe escaped but Dorcon was killed. Later more Pirates came to Lesbos for a Wine festival and tied their boats to the beach.  But Daphnis’ goats ate the mooring vines and the boats were lost. In anger, the men kidnapped Chloe and sailed away with her. Daphnis in great distress prayed to the Nymphs for her safe return and the Nymphs adjured the great God Pan to rescue her. Pan found Chloe in a far away bay, deep in conversation with the Pirates daughter, Ethel. Pan invoked his sacred Dolphins to crush the Pirates ships and in the ensuing chaos – Chloe was rescued. Returning to Lesbos Chloe was reunited with Daphnis and a great feast was held in honour of the Horned God and the Nymphs. But although still in love, Daphnis and Chloe were too young to fully understand the feelings they had for each other and so they sought the advise of the wise old Shepherd Philetas. He explained to them that they were ‘love-sick’ and, after careful consideration, advised them that ‘the only cure is Kissing’. But of course the more they kissed the more they fell in love. Eventually Daphnis was taught the ways of love and the foundlings were reunited with their noble parents, and allowed to marry. And – in the end – Daphnis and Chloe lived happily ever after.”

M – “Thanks mum, I liked that story……is there a moral?”

W – “Ooh, you want a moral…let me think……I’ll give you a moral……….”

 The princess gets up and pussyfoots over to the gramophone, and – after some more rummaging through the shellac – winds the crank and puts on Nat King Cole’s: Capitol 78 of: ‘Nature Boy.’

W -” Time for bed……………”

 She say’s.

END OF BOOK ONE.

© Kevin Barry Partridge 2014