Archive for the 'Spirituality' Category

28
Sep
10

Johnny Peepers, Clay Aiken, and Jesus

Dillsnap Cogitations reader comment from bespeakme:

The funniest things about this site are the comments from people who appear to actually take this writer seriously- or – am I missing something? I mean are you folks for real? And the absolute funniest part, he affects this surreal and spiritual voice talking about Jesus and not having a job, and he blows his cover when the male element calls him a name like fuck face or ass wipe- and he starts getting all teenage testosteroney and swinging his fists around: “From the looks of your avatar, it is clear that you were stuck down the fat-headed gumshoe Cro-magnon flu.” Nonetheless, fairly entertaining. Hilarious use of the language.

Johnny Peepers is having a bit of a personality crisis as of late. This is only a problem in that he is not sure which direction to take Dillsnap Cogitations. My lifestyle has calmed down considerably and I am not doing nearly the amount of drugs that I used to (due to recent emergency room scares, extreme money woes, and lack of insurance).

I reckon that I dunno what to write about these days. Conspiracy-mongering is so 2008, and the feel-good, New-Agey tripe is even too kooky for me to discourse on with any consistency. I thought about doing vegan recipe reviews or maybe step-by-step instructional blog posts on risque´ topics like booty-bumping and auto-fellation, but I don’t want to scare away my kid readers. I even considered dedicating all future posts to my one true love, Clay Aiken, but that would make me look desperate and stalker-ish in his eyes.

I certainly plan to keep my relationship with Jesus a central focus of Dillsnap Cogitations. Were it not for his supreme sacrifice, all of humanity would be mired in a putrid bucket of sin and depravity (much like the conditions experienced by residents of New Jersey and Mississippi).


Jesus and his vengeful, sky god daddy (YWEH) have a divine plan for me. This plan includes me taking to my knees daily and mouthing pleasing words to the MOST HIGH, prostrating myself before the Lord in diligent obeyance, and ridding my mind of lusty and impure thoughts about men and women that I find sexually attractive. I will do my best to provide frequent updates with regards to the latter. Any advice or blog topic recommendations would be greatly appreciated these days.

Yours in Crisco,

Johnny Peepers

10
Jun
10

David Bowie’s Cocaine-fueled Pool Exorcism

Excerpted from the following Paranoia Magazine article:

And Along Comes Mr. Scratch
Like many rockers before and after, David had taken a liking to the good life. You know the old adage sex, drugs and rock and roll, well on top of this add a heap of consciousness expansion, an interest in the occult, and you will have the prevalent influences on what might have seemed like Bowie’s immortal being. But paranoia soon struck in the form of the ole nemesis “nose candy” commonly known as cocaine.

With the help of Bowie himself and some close associates at the time, Marc Spitz details in the just published Bowie biography (Crown) how David was living in LA just a few houses away from the LaBianca estate where Charlie Manson’s gang had terribly mutilated Sharon Tate and her friends in a ritualistic murder. Bowie had taken to doing blow regularly and was getting more and more desperate and paranoid with each passing day.

In a number of shocking revelations, Marc Spitz in the Bowie biography explains precisely what was transpiring in the pop singer’s troubled life: “While planning the follow-up to Young Americans (album), Bowie would sit in the house with a pile of high-quality cocaine atop the glass coffee table, a sketch pad and a stack of books. Psychic Self Defense (Dion Fortune) was his favorite. Its author describes the book as a ‘safeguard for protecting yourself against paranormal malevolence.’
“Using this and more arcane books on witchcraft, white magic and its malevolent counterpart, black magic, as rough guides to his own rapidly fragmenting psyche, Bowie began drawing protective pentagrams on every surface.”

Bowie told the author, “I’d stay up for weeks. Even people like Keith Richards were floored by it. And there were pieces of me all over the floor. I paid with the worst manic depression of my life. My psyche went through the roof, it just fractured into pieces. I was hallucinating 24 hours a day.” Spitz adds, “Increasingly Bowie was convinced there were witches after his semen. They were intent on using it to make a child to sacrifice to the devil, essentially the plot to Roman Polanski’s 1968 supernatural classic Rosemary’s Baby.”

Seeing that he was in desperate need, poet and song writer Cherry Vanilla hooked Bowie up with Walli Elmlark who Spitz describes as a “Manhattan-based intellectual. . . who taught classes at the New York School of Occut Arts and sciences then located on Fourteenth Street, just north of Greenwich Village,” and which the author of this article was director of from the mid 1960s for more than a decade, promoting lectures and classes by the who’s who of paranormal and UFO experts of that era, including Cleve Backster, Stanley Krippner, Jim Moseley, John Keel – and, of course, Walli Elmlark the White Witch of New York.

As added confirmation of the madness David was trying to cope with, ex wife Angie Bowie reveals even more details of his fascination and dabbling into the occult in her own personal remembrance, Backstage Passes: Life on the Wild Side With David Bowie.

“There was a beautiful Art Deco house on six acres, an exquisite site property and a terrific value at just $300,000, but he took one look at a detail I hadn’t noticed, a hexagram painted on the floor of a circular room by the previous owner, Gypsy Rose Lee.

“A great deal of codling and reassurance got us through that crisis, and I went and found the Doheny Drive house. Built in the late fifties or early sixties, it was a white cube surrounding an indoor swimming pool. David like the place, but I thought it was too small to meet our needs for very long, and I wasn’t crazy about the pool. In my experience, indoor pools are always a problem.

“This one was no exception, albeit not in any of the usual ways. Its drawback was one I hadn’t encountered before and haven’t seen or heard of since: Satan lived in it. With his own eyes, David said, he’d seen HIM rising up out of the water one night.”

Feeling demonic forces moving in, David felt strongly that he needed an exorcism and asked that his new found friend white witch Walli Elmlark be called upon to lend her assistance to remove the evil from his surroundings.

“A Greek Orthodox Church, in LA would have done it for us (there was a priest available for such a service, the people had told me) but David wouldn’t have it. No strangers allowed, he said. So there we stood, with just Walli’s instructions and a few hundred dollars’ worth of books, talismans, and assorted items from Hollywood’s comprehensive selection of fine occult emporia.

“There he (David Bowie) was, then, primed and ready. The proper books and doodads were arranged on a big old-fashioned lectern. The incantation began, and although I had no idea what was being said or what language it was being said in, I couldn’t stop a weird cold feeling rising up in me as David droned on and on.

“There’s no easy or elegant way to say this, so I’ll just say it straight. At a certain point in the ritual, the pool began to bubble. It bubbled vigorously (perhaps “thrashed” is a better term) in a manner inconsistent with any explanation involving air filters or the like.”

The rock and roll couple watched in amazement. Angie says she tried to be flippant – “’Well, dear, aren’t you clever? It seems to be working. Something’s making a move, don’t you think?’ – but I couldn’t keep it up. It was very, very strange; even after my recent experiences I was having trouble accepting what my eyes were seeing.”

Angie insists that she would peak through the glass doors leading to the pool every so often and was dumb founded by what she saw. “On the bottom of the pool was a large shadow, or stain, which had not been there before the ritual began. It was in the shape of a beast of the underworld; it reminded me of those twisted, tormented gargoyles screaming silently from the spires of medieval cathedrals. It was ugly, shocking, malevolent; it frightened me.

“I backed away from it feeling very strange, went through the doorway, and told David what I’d seen, trying to be nonchalant but not doing very well. He turned white but eventually became revived enough to spend the rest of the night doing coke. He wouldn’t go near the pool, though.

“I still don’t know what to think about that night. It runs directly counter to my pragmatism and my everyday faith in the integrity of the “normal” world, and it confuses me greatly. What troubles me the most is that if you were to call that stain the mark of Satan, I don’t see how I could argue with you.”

“David, of course, insisted that we move from the house as quickly as possible, and we did that, but I’ve heard from reliable sources (Michael Lipman for one, the property’s real estate agent) that subsequent tenants haven’t been able to remove the shadow. Even though the pool has been painted over a number of times, the shadow has always come back.”

24
Mar
09

Spare Parts

Dillsnap Cogs is a bullhorn accompanying the author on his journey into the netherworld. The unfolding scene (the crumbling macro consensus reality paradigm) has reached a cerebral baking fever pitch – one that I refuse to believe is solely indicative of one man’s schizoid detachment. Believe it or not, the whole friggen’ World is going mad. The cats I have spoken with, and info gathered, indicates that I am not the only chap on an “inebriated stroll with my eyelids propped open at half-mast.”

The logicians, the rationalists, and the scientific-reductionist-nuts-and-bolts-materialist mafioso are the modern day Ptolemists. Divinatory charlatans, police sirens, and Reebok wearing hustlers color my days. Our experience is populated by the ocular/auditory buffet table that we belly up to each and every waking moment. What if one rejected the pre-selected sensory bombardment in exchange for a truly unique offering – true mind anarchy?

Belief systems are truly a pernicious beast. The dominative control system has two equally loathsome heads –  politics and religion (Imagine?). Mores, value systems, ethics, and nationalistic identities are forced upon human blank slates during the youthful formative years – when one does not have the luxury of accessing critical reasoning faculties necessary to cut through the mindfuck bullshit.

The geopolitical nuke family that one is arbitrarily thrust into defines that individual’s idealogical framework. Cutting the straps on the backpack filled with one’s collection of  remotely imprinted neural garbage could (might/should/hopefully) have a liberating effect.  But then again, one might lose friends, family, and a tenuous hold on pseudo-reality. Maybe that is a good thing.

27
Feb
09

James Dobson Resigns as Focus on the Family Chairman

dobsonIt is with great regret and sorrow that I must pass along news regarding James Dobson’s resignation as chairman of Focus on the Family. The evangelical non-profit was founded by Dobson in 1977 and has been a powerful lobbying force for the Right-Wing Christian wing of the Republican Party.

Dobson’s gentle sincere demeanor and soothing fatherly voice endeared him to supporters and foes alike. Dobson embarked on the righteous path quite early when he gave his life to Jesus Christ at the age of three. His daily radio show, which provides lessons on living a biblically-oriented (New Testament) lifestyle, is a critical life raft in the ocean of mainstream media sin and perversion.

Through the years, Dobson and Focus on the Family have valiantly fought the Satanic agenda to disrupt the wholesome Christian moral fabric of America. The Liar’s proponents of secular-humanism, militant feminism, pornography, abortion, and homosexuality have all felt the wrath of Focus on the Family’s powerful lobbying efforts and their extended network of activists.

Even without Dobson at the helm, Focus on the Family is sure to remain an influential voice for the evangelical/dominionist Americans who refuse to give an inch to the Satanists, the Socialists, or other assorted immoral Jesus-rejecting scum-bags. Please send Dr. Dobson an email or letter thanking him for his years of dedicated service in the name of Christians everywhere. Through the bravery and integrity of spiritual warriors like Dobson, the destruction of the Liar’s sinister legions will be finalized and God’s chosen children will soon be called home.

19
Dec
08

Draw Your Brakes Brother, I Just Can’t Take It

conscious

Belief is the death of intelligence. As soon as one believes a doctrine of any sort, or assumes certitude, one stops thinking about that aspect of existence. The more certitude one assumes, the less there is left to think about, and a person sure of everything would never have any need to think at anything any might be considered clinically dead under current medical standards, where the absence of brain activity is taken to mean that life has ended. ~ Robert Anton Wilson

mediaA brief foray into the daily MainStreamMedia™ house of horrors is always good for a jolting psyche shock these days. Life, as presented by the consensus trance script writers, is a precarious tight-rope walk – one where we are always mere inches away from the snapping croc jaws below us. Innundated with the ever-looming danger of war, rumors of war, economic collapse, escalating crime (pick your own worst fear, nightmare, or schizoid break catalyst), our boats are moored in the waters of psychological turbulence.

Our handlers know that a fractured, fear-injected, rudderless society is one that is easier to manage. The illuminated brethren from the Frankfurt School, the Tavistock Institute, and their U.S. psychopathic intelligence equivalents (OSS/CIA Octopus derivatives) have perfected the Pavlovian human behavior cage – one that is wired with the not so random electric shock (’29 market crash, the Holocaust, Hiroshima/Nagasaki, and 9-11). With the ignorant masses in a state of disjointed chaos, a consensus is less likely to emerge as to whose necks should be destined for the guillotine.

I can hear Joe 6-pack in the background proclaim, “Wait a minute bub, we live in a free society, enjoy the constitutional guarantees of a free press and free speech, and our forefathers busted their arse on a liberation document known as the U.S. Constitution. Kiss it you left-wing, cry-baby, bed-wetting, twill chomper.” To this imaginary fellow I say, one man’s illusory unbounded plateau is another man’s concretized psychological prison. In the end, it is only a matter of perception.

holoAccording to quantum physicist David Bohm, our thoughts are like circular motions of energy that become a repetitious pattern forming our beliefs. This explains why our attitudes and belief systems tend to become resistant to change. The continuing effect of these vortices tends to inhibit discernment and our ability to assimilate new ideas and information streams. As Michael Talbot, author of The Holographic Universe makes clear, this “can cause us to become repetitious, create blockages in the creative flow of our consciousness, keep us from seeing the wholeness of ourselves, and make us feel disconnected from our species.”

Either you create your own “reality tunnel”, or you are forced to endure the perpetual chaos (or insufferable boredom) of another’s existence construct. A cursory review of the average bloke or sheila’s lifestyle evidences a pattern of fixed rigidity and quiet desperation. With the mountains of bills, the crying babes, and the one-upmanship contest with the Joneses in the battle of material acquisition, who has time to fine tune the inner self?

transhumanCurrently, we are experiencing an exponentially progressive rate of mechanized human advancement technologies, which threaten consciousness exploration. Life extension through artificial organ transplant, transhumanism, and pharmacologically induced pain avoidance (emotion suppression) will ultimately yield an inorganic being, divorced from a sense of oneness with the universe.

It is now very clear that techniques of machine-human interfacing, pharmacology of the synthetic variety, all kinds of manipulative techniques, all kinds of data storage, imaging and retrieval techniques– all of this is coalescing toward the potential of a truly demonic or angelic kind of self-imaging of our culture… And the people who are on the demonic side are fully aware of this and hurrying full-tilt forward with their plans to capture everyone as a 100% believing consumer inside some kind of a beige furnished fascism that won’t even raise a ripple. ~ Terence Mckenna

The impending global consciousness shift activation date of 2012 is the sign marker alerting humanity to the upcoming fork in the road. Will the debilitating inertia of our self-doubting hive mentality sabotage the road to self-discovery? Or better yet, will a critical mass of enlightened post-Modern eschaton surfers activate the Cosmic Trigger paving the way for the rest? Hopefully our fellow travelers in the near future will reject the soul-negating escapism offerings (soma pharmaceuticals, virtual reality, materialist reductionism), embrace mind-quieting techniques, and plug into the universal consciousness surge protector.

22
Oct
08

Babalon Working: Jack Parsons and The Moonchild

I saw the Scarlet Woman sitting on the Beast with seven heads and ten horns, covered with blaspemous names… On her forehead a name had been written, a mystery: Babalon the Great, the mother of harlots and of the abominations of the Earth. I saw the woman was drunk from the blood of the Saints, and from the blood of the martyrs of Jesus. Seeing her, I wondered greatly.

–Revelation 17: 3-6

Jack Parsons was quite an intriguing chap. He was an American rocket propulsion researcher and co-founder of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory who pioneered innovations in jet fuel composition. Werner von Braun claimed that Parsons was the true father of the U.S. Space program and there is a crater on the dark side of the moon named after him. But, sometimes with an eccentric individual’s biography it is fun to start at the final chapter.

Jack had the habit of fiddling about with volatile chemicals and compounds in his laboratory without taking the necessary safety precautions. Jack might have been nimble, even a bit quick, but he was unable to jump over the deadly explosive fireball of fulminate of mercury that day in 1952. He died of wounds several hours later. His dear mum took her own life with a bottle of sleeping pills shortly after hearing the news of her son’s demise.

When Parsons was not busy engineering and firing off rockets, he spent his spare time studying the occult and performing magick rituals. Evidently Jack played his tarot cards right because he was chosen by Aleister Crowley to lead the Agape Lodge of the Thelemic Ordo Templi Orientis (O.T.O.) in California.

Here is where things get a bit more interesting. According to the reputable writings of the Scientology cult, The U.S. Navy assigned L. Ron Hubbard to monitor Parsons as part of a plan to “break up a black magic ring.” Supposedly, Parsons broke his sacred vows of secrecy to the O.T.O. and revealed hidden knowledge to the now famous cult huckster.

Some time later, Parsons and Hubbard engaged upon a mission entitled Babalon Working. The goal was to produce the “Moonchild” – a being who embodies physically a spirit deity, but not inhabited by a human soul. This being is also referred to as a “Magical Child” (essentially designed to manifest an individual incarnation of the archetypal divine feminine called Babalon). The process draws heavily from rituals and magick that Crowley derived from The Babylonian Ishtar and the “Great Whore” from the biblical “Book of Revelation.”

From Jan. 4th to 15th, Parsons and Hubbard engaged in a nightly ritual of incantation, talisman-waving & other Black Magic, faithfully described in Parsons diary as a Conjuration of Air, Invocation of Wand, & Consecration of Air Dagger.

The climax of the ceremony occured the following day with Ron at the alter working his 2 subjects into a sexual frenzy. Over Rachmaninoff’s “Isle of the Dead” he intoned such gems as:- Her mouth is red & her breasts are fair, and her loins of full of fire.

As exalted Parsons wrote the next day, Babalon is incarnate upon the earth today manifestation. And in that day my work will be accomplished and I shall be blown away upon the breath of the father, even as it is written. (source)

Evidently, Crowley did not have too much faith in Parsons, or the Scientology Huckster. After hearing news of the attempted supernatural baby creation, he wrote to Karl Germer, head of the OTO: “Apparently Parsons or Hubbard or somebody is producing a Moonchild. I get fairly frantic when I contemplate the idiocy of these louts.”

Shortly thereafter, Hubbard swindled Parsons into investing money into a business enterprise. Instead of turning a handsome profit, Hubbard and his girlfriend used the money to purchase a yacht. When they attempted to escape, Parsons performed a full invocation of Bartzabel, the spirit of Mars, creating a squall forcing them to return to the dock. Crowley cabled the U.S. branch headquarters with the message: “Suspect Ron playing confidence trick-John Parsons weak fool-obvious victim prowling swindlers.”

Parsons managed to fulfill his aforementioned prophecy and blew himself up in his laboratory a few years later (maybe with a little help from the F.B.I.). L. Ron Hubbard went on to create one of the most destructive cults in the modern era. Funny how things work out.

I hight Don Quixote, I live on peyote, marijuana, morphine and cocaine, I never know sadness, but only a madness that burns at the heart and the brain. I see each charwoman, ecstatic, inhuman, angelic, demonic, divine. Each wagon a dragon, each beer mug a flagon that brims with ambrosial wine. ~ Jack Parsons

17
Jun
08

Cortez the Killer

Cortez The Killer by Neil Young

He came dancing across the water
With his galleons and guns
Looking for the new world
In that palace in the sun.

On the shore lay Montezuma
With his coca leaves and pearls
In his halls he often wondered
With the secrets of the worlds.

And his subjects gathered ’round him
Like the leaves around a tree
In their clothes of many colors
For the angry gods to see.

And the women all were beautiful
And the men stood straight and strong
They offered life in sacrifice
So that others could go on.

Hate was just a legend
And war was never known
The people worked together
And they lifted many stones.

They carried them to the flatlands
And they died along the way
But they built up with their bare hands
What we still can’t do today.

And I know she’s living there
And she loves me to this day
I still can’t remember when
Or how I lost my way.

He came dancing across the water
Cortez, Cortez
What a killer.




Johnny Peepers

----> is a socio-pathetic degenerate with a penchant for cheap booze, ruphy-laden broads, and dim sum soup.

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