The Scarlet Path
I worship the Goddess of sex and death.
That is laying it simply. The rose unravelling is a much more complex affair; the red takes on so many hues. It speaks of blood, violence, of sacrifice, nobility, chivalry, priesthood. Romance, passion.
The language of the rose -Her language- is that of harlots, courtesans, poets, artists. Of offerings, rituals, suffering and of an enormous appetite. For She is the Great Whore, the Mother of Abominations, the Scarlet Woman. A Goddess of the Apocalypse, destruction, spiller of blood.
She is present in everything that I do. This has become so entwined in my way of being and thinking I no longer can tell where one begins and the other ends.
I am a practicing occultist.
That is laying it simply, too. But just as with Her, it becomes impossible or somehow futile to speak of these things. There is no words in human tongue to explain. This is why we turn to art, to philosophy, to ritual dance, to sacrifice, to music -in a splendorous search for the truth. For ecstasy.
This puts great limitations on the company that I can keep. And this is why I value high aspirations so very much. I do not care for your material wealth. I do not want to look at your cock. I care about your spirt. Your willpower. Your art. Your beauty; truth.
I would make an example of you. But only if you possess the high intelligence, the beauty, the spirit, the strong body that can endure. Otherwise, I have no interest. And I am in no hurry. I have all the time in the world.
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