“Place where everything has to be borrowed, stripped naked and baked”
France, in the Footsteps of Otto Rahn by Jack Heart with special thanks to Orage, Jon Valentine Lee & JoeJack Heart - 41
I'd been in New York City for most of July, swimming from the Hamptons to Long Beach in an endless summer party. I'd gone back to Tennessee for a few days at the end of...
The western world has murdered its’ mysticism. Centuries have passed with a successive and successful suppression of the mystical tradition. This murder has coincided with a deep plunge into the profane, the structure of addiction...
Hi Jack & Orage, Here are the last 3 parts. I’m also including the link to the final compiled file. I’ve gone back over a few things, particularly at the beginning of the translation. I don’t know if I’ll do it again, it was pretty hard and exhausting. I’m off to crack open a cold beer and wish you all a great day! The Complete File : https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/kcrtm7bi9411m195xh5qn/La-Chevalerie-Amoureuse-Amorous-Chivalry.docx?rlkey=9llgn941es001r5tpufsl990l&dl=0 Part 7/8/9 : § 73. But ierne is above all a synonym of verne, from the Latin verna, feminine of vernus (a pun on Venus), “spring”, the season of flowers. Verna is therefore Flora and Laura by apocope, Petrarch’s Laure, the lover, the courtesan, because verna conceals verrina, the naughty girl, the secret grid or tongue, from grullos, “pig”. This is where the expression “to play a dirty trick” comes from (pig’s trick in French). Verna also refers to a garden where flowers are grown. In the Middle Ages, houses of pleasure were – according to history – called “champs-florys”, as we can see in the old texts and, in Provençal troubadouresque, “camps de flours”. These were Flora’s paradises, the courts of love, the Lodges of Massenia, of the Holy Grail, which have been confused with public houses. Boccaccio, in his Decameron (theka-êmerion, the covered light), speaks of the liello di campo de fiore, “the castle of the flowery field”, and an Italian proverb says of a deceiver that he is a barone di campo de fiore. § 74. It will come as no surprise, then, if we suggest that the city of Florence served as an allegory for the Floralies, in the closed language of the initiates. Indeed, Florence sums up in a single word the epic struggle between the Ghibellines, or Whites, and the Guelphs, or Blacks. In short, it’s another version of the legendary conflict between Alba and Rome. Florence can be broken down into two significant words: flor, the flower, Floralia, fluor, irony or herony, and “aux”, from auxio, to torment: the Roman inquisition. The Ghibellines were the sibylline people who spoke the obscure language of the ancient mysteries of the temple of Delphi, of the dragon, in Greek delphinê, sibilini, the whistlers, the mockers, the chastres or Cathars. They were nicknamed the Whites, albicei, which became albizzi, or the Albigensians. The Guelfes, from the Latin vello, to torment, and phucataire, catnip, a direct allusion to the Cathars, were the velphu, the torturers of the Albigensian Cathars. They were called Blacks because the Latin nigri, for nigeri, is a similarity of Niceri, the Nicerians, the orthodox of the Council of Nicaea. (It will be objected that Niceri does not appear in the classical vocabularies, but the Saphist language is a permanent mockery of school syntax. Moreover, if our town of Nice gave rise to the word Nissard or Niçard, it is also logical that Nicerus comes from Nicea). The Ghibellines fought for moral and social freedom, and the Guelphs for dogma and the ecclesiastical and political organisation that formed Europe, in other words the Groffo, the grouping of Western states known in history as the Holy Roman Empire, which has now broken […]
Distorted frames creating war hurricanes Suicidal dish, perpetual wish Killer alone, sniping at crushed bone Nobody answers the red phone Is all finally set and done? Death pretending to be Seth Blood dripping from the white bed Have we met? This is not a threat friendly fire everyday attire Bullets of pain hitting your bloody vein heads slain, crimson-minded affairs that can not be named The secret war for this domain Blood spilled, killers wet dreams so it seems Kill or to be killed Are you not thrilled? Fools death or eternal life Everything needs some kind of price answer now or lay low accept the death and go Cowards advise, deadly price violent admission, volatile ignition On the battlefield, no one needs a signed permission Born on the wrong side of the heaven cipher is his name under number seven Battle rages, falling mages, flying sages falling red sky Will she even try? Now is the time, to make a difference enter the ring and make an appearance Bullets in the sky, too many will die hopeless cry, close the shattered eye Thor and Thunder make you wonder. All this slander, flesh, and soldiers’ meat fallen on the devastating, streets Who is killing who? Is this the last war, the last scar On her face, cruel mace Saucers fly, heil! The last part of the puzzle must stand by Old debt paid in blood Another biblical flood? Word in heaven under number seven furnace below turned to eleven Thirteen would be just a sin Riots, pools of blood naked laser dots, food for thoughts Nothing is ever lost no matter the cost Hells has too many stories to tell time to break the timeless spell The mood on the field has earned the yield Naked Bones prancing around heavenly horses Soul and body violently divorced, the hand has been forced The battle is on, the target is written on the gun Everyone is searching for desolated Fun In this cursed, wounded town, It used to be white now is just dull and brown Death is very loud, it moves around it this sleepless town Naked views, killer lips Another body dips, a slash of the whip Death riding on this day, having a trip Will this ever stop?, Do we need another “atomic bomb” Humans and angels battling side by side diversity cries with no divide houses on fire, devils fueled, and for hire quagmire, tornado of souls unfolds Preachers of the gun, praying to the sun game of life and death is no more fun son of the Man, do what you can Fight under the sign of the light endure this bloody night Someday all will be alright but there must be somebody willing to fight The dice of life has fallen on you, gather your crew Ride in the sunset, this is something you must do If not you who else, knows how to dance? Horses are getting tired, you are still wired Another plane lights […]
This is a Fairy tale, in the truest sense, a Faerie story. Thus: Once upon a time There is a valley in central Tibet, where folklore would have it, a giant burst out of a mountain chasing a woman. The story goes, she had stolen his magic snake, or serpent creature. The giant was enormous, and his footsteps at a running pace were a mile or more apart. He was so angry at being dupped by this woman that he crushed her into the ground under his giant foot when he eventually caught up with her. But in his haste, he also crushed the magic reptile, in doing so, he disappeared, or, was reduced to dust, never to be seen again. In this same valley, it is said, a horde of giants were caught invading from the east, (China?) A ray (sun light?) was focused upon them, and they were instantly turned to stone. Their remains are still there, as weathered rock at the eastern end of the valley. As crazy as this story sounds, if you fly over this valley at the right hight, you can see a large gash in a mountainside, followed by two giant indentations in the landscape, and in one of them, is a broken rock that looks a lot like a woman, or at least a human form, holding in its hand, or close to the body, a shape that could be a snake or reptile. At the eastern end of this valley indeed there are several crumbling rocks that could have been something else millennia ago. It is rumoured that close to this area you will find an entrance to the underworld. The cavern world of the ancients. I’ve seen these marks on the ground with my own eyes, including the lady of stone. I once found the giants foot marks on google maps of Tibet, but that was years ago, the lighting must have been perfect when the satellite photo was taken, because I searched for it again more recently, when I started to get serious about relaying this story for you. I can’t find it, even though I was sure I would remember the general area. Google of course up-date and replace their satellite images almost every year, and the lighting can change, or there is snow on the ground. Maybe one day soon I’ll find it again and present the photo to illustrate this book. But that is not the most interesting thing about this area of Tibet. Most will know, or have seen, at least one of the Matrix series of movies. Just as in those movies, this world is most definitely not what it seems. On google satellite maps once again, take a close look the mountain ranges in central Tibet. Look closely, run your eyes slowly over them and you will see an inscription or two built into the design of the rangers themselves. This in an ancient language no longer used by humanity, but certainly used […]