Monday, February 13, 2017

70,000 Pageviews Guest Post: 'The Sausage Curse' from Phil Hine's 'Permutations'

As usual I've missed the actual moment by a couple of thousand, but heigh ho. Today a guest post uninvitedly plundered from the works of someone else, just eith the difference that Hine is a real person and alive. He is also known as a chaos magician. The witches who are stuck in old-religion-and-grandmothers mode will not easily see a connection but I personally think chaos magic and witchcraft are out of the same stable. Now despite the fact that it has recently come to my attention that there are people who actually read my ravings here and hope to learn about the Craft of the Wise from them, I'm not going to go into great detail why I think that. Suffice to say that magic which draws on the spirit of the age, uses whatever is to hand, and works on the hoof, is very close to my heart. I think the age of modern witchcraft was probably the 1960s to 70s, while that of chaos magic is the age of the Trainspotting generation. I wouldn't go to the stake for this opinion, though, and will step aside and let Phil Hine speak instead:

'Some years ago, I learnt a powerful lesson in the sorcery of need by watching an adept of the art at work. I was visiting the PerMutations High Priestess of a local witch coven. Whilst idly glancing through the evening paper, she came across a report of a rapist prowling in the district. She shot up out of the chair, shut up everyone else in the room with an icy glance, and, on reaching the dining table, cleared a space on it by simply sweeping everything onto the floor with a mighty crash. She placed an indenti-kit picture of the rapist from the paper in the centre of the table, grabbed a sausage from the fridge, and, after furiously rummaging in her sewing box, proceeded to methodically drive needles into the sausage, muttering furiously under her breath. The atmosphere in the room was electric. After some minutes, she stalked out of the room and took the sausage into the back garden. On her return, she smiled brightly at the cowering men in the room, and announced "I think a cup of tea would be nice, don't you?" She offered no explanation or justification for her actions, and never alluded to it afterwards. A week later, the rapist was caught, sentenced and incarcerated. It was only years later that I began to appreciate the power of this woman. She didn't dither around, nor did she worry about the ethics, morality, or whether or not she had the 'right' to act in this way. Nor did she bother with any of the elaborate procedures of ritual magic. By her glance, and her violent clearing of the table, she created a charged atmosphere that rivalled anything I had experienced in more formal magical surroundings.'

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