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Confessions Of A Satanist

Sunday, 17 January 2010

By Frater 616

I will go down to The Altars in Hell

To Satan

The Giver of Life

O! Prince of Darkness

Hear Me!

Our Father which wert in heaven

Hallowed be Thy Name

In heaven as it is on Earth.

Give us this day our Ecstasy

And deliver us to evil

As well as temptation

For we are your Kingdom

For Aeons and Aeons.

Satanism flourishes beneath the scintillating midnight-blue wet streets and bedevilling phosphorescent lights of Australia’s glittering capital cities. Its practitioners are from all walks of life. Although marginal types and those with predisposing personalities have always and will always be important to Satanism and its leaders’ ends, they are merely tools. Their antinomian influence is now so pervasive as not to be readily noticed.

Amongst the highest echelons some are politicians, medical doctors, high ranking police officers, lawyers, advertising gurus, decorated military men, media personalities, fashion models and social workers. Amongst the lowest (usually temporary) ranks are prostitutes, minor drug dealers and a number of High School students. Some operate from the mists. Their victims are drip-fed straight amnesia by an assortment of mind control measures and psychological torture tactics that would leave any normal person numb with the dawning apprehension that things are not as they seem – and they have not been for a long, long time.

The most talented amongst them have lifestyles maintained on crime, but lacquered with a thin veneer of respectable professionalism and knowledge.

They dress with elegance – timeless and calculating; networking and conspiring in a dream that money alone cannot purchase. Often their personalities have a force that distorts the contours both of judgement and of everyday perception. I cannot mention every name, but I will drop enough clues. The doctors refuse to say exactly how long I have but …

I became involved in the whole sordid business in the 1970’s, a decade noted for little beyond sartorial bad taste and crushingly optimistic fatalism. The decade that began as a drug-crazed carry-over of the 1960’s soon bequeathed androgynous glam-rock, the Watergate scandal and the shallow opportunism of ‘Rollerball’. Science fictionism stalked the streets with a rejected furtiveness bred of cowering beneath the backdrop of the Cold War and dancing with the resurrected agonies of another Asian based imperialistic conflict.

I fell through a crack in reality, having deliriously wandered amid the human wreckage and reached certain spiritual conclusions. In short, I do not know how I got there, but I know why. The 1970s were a dismal, incense-fuelled time that only those who lived through it can appreciate. The comprehensive dismissal of values and the adoption of pornography as the aesthetic standard by which all endeavour was to be categorised left its impressionistic fingerprints on everybody’s imagination, mine included. I guess that I analysed and reacted differently. That is how I escaped the mundane – through one of western society’s fault lines.

See Part B >