~old

~imes

Правда

This was taken outside Ari’s dacha near Odessa at a time when we were all much more innocent.  Although only a bit of my own dapper collar is on show (thanks wrk), comrades Raymond, Drong, and Treellama–the old guard–are here.  Things took a grim turn shortly after that fall; let’s try to find ourselves, starting back-

Ray was always a believer–an Old Believer, to be precise…until one morning whilst sifting through Solovyov’s garbage, organizing breakfast, he found a bundle of Jesuit polemics.  Behoving a tonsured Reader, he read them and was changed.  Ray went to seek out new papal pals over the mountains.  I remember the last liturgy we attended together, an all-night-vigil at Nevsky Cathedral–his kiss of peace was dry, distant, distinctly Latin: sunt lacrimae rerum.

sign of the times

Drong got turned onto Traditionalism in a big way when he heard Mr. Plyae namecheck René Guénon at one of his storied garden parties. His search for the imam of his own being led him far afield–casting runes with Lovinescu at the latter’s hoary manor in the Carpathians, cracking skulls in a hushed-up stint with the Italian Ordine Nuovo, down-and-out and pole dancing (sacred poles, mind you) in Bloomington, Indiana with the remnant of Schuon’s ill-fated Maryamiyyah–Drong was lost to us; lost in a little toybox of perennialism, peyote, and ねこかわいい.

I miss you, Drong. I think of you every time the kettle boils.

Deaf to the warnings of his father-confessor, Mr. Smith set off in 1962 for a tour of the diaspora in the the American Midwest.  He never arrived.  Ken Olsen’s thugs were prowling the docks; our beloved brooder found himself press-ganged and marched to Maynard for a life of toil in the deepest warrens under The Mill.  His eyesight withered in the gloom, but his hair–or something like it–grew back, no doubt due to inhaling the eldritch vapours of the JUICE eddying in the VAXen herds’ feeding troughs.  Treellama’s part in events darkly hinted at elsewhere remains unclear to me.

’tis small wonder 090909 was a rather lowkey affair.

Must Knowledge die because those who are its props die? No! Earth is never without Maintainers who maintain its Proofs, whether publicly and openly or in secret and under oppression, so that the divine Proofs and the indubitable testimonies shall not be destroyed. How many are they? Where are they? It matters not. Their number is minute, their value is without price. They themselves disappear, but their maxims remain in men’s hearts. It is by them that THE LORD maintains his Proofs, so that they may transmit them to their peers, and deposit them in the hearts of those who resemble them.

Courtesy of Underworld :mSpnkr:

To make up for my previous shameless commercial exploitation of JFO’s hard-earned reputation, I will make a post that is relevant to this blog.

CLIQUE-watchers, please subscribe to my re-re-re-relaunched blog over at http://nothorns.org/.

As often as I went into the community I came out a lesser man.
–Conze, channelling à Kempis

The best deed of a great man is to forgive and 4GET.
–Nahj al-Balagha: sayings 203

ya ali; ya iconodulism

I recall being miffed early in life about the paucity of admirable venerables sharing my birthday; quite rightly I soon found myself under the censure of the sixth Imam{1}.  Over the years I slowly read myself out of the cloud of unknowing, and I became acquainted with two worthy{3} men who on this day 4GOT their mothers’ wombs–Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib and Edward Conze, commander and curmudgeon of the faithful, respectively.

The first Imam was, as any pious Shi’a can tell you, devoiced by the CORRUPT admin Abu ’steve’ Bakr and subsequently martyred whilst leading afternoon prayers at the j’fo masjid{4}.  Eternal memory.

Prajñāpāramitā: Hot Sister of all the Buddhas.

Edward Conze, translator of a certain mystical genre of mahāyāna literature and noted enemy of modernity, often wrote with the vitriol I find flowing through my own veins–at least on the subject of military flyovers.  It is always a pleasure to find a  man of similar bent.  Conze, of course, would have said that the stars were right.

My commitment to tru7h necessitates the mention of the tedious factoid that the good doctor was actually born on the eighteenth{5}, but we were always of one mind, one way-

ash-hadu ala ilaha illallah

wash-hadu anna Muhammadar rasulallah

wash-hadu anna Aliyyun waliyullah

wash-hadu anna Hotmodal wajh allah

——————————–

Nits

{1} {2}جعفر بن محمد الصادق

{2} Some manners of the ignorant are: the answer before he hears, the opposition before he understands, and the judgement with what he does not know.

{3} Certainly more worthy of our readers’ attention than the lecherous author of this post.

{4} [?alcohol-free bar]

{5} Which dovetails in a lovely way with the lateness of this entry.  I spent the more-apropos day contemplating the sacred mysteries atop a local peack/innovating at the laboratory:

Biblochgraphy

Nahjul Balagha. Askari Jafri (trans.), Peack of Eloquence (New York, 1983).

Conze, Edward, Memoirs of a Modern Gnostic (Sherborne, 1979).

Corbin, Henry, Histoire de la philosophie islamique (Paris, 1964).

Madelung, Wilferd, The Succession to Muhammed: A Study of the Early Caliphate (Cambridge, 1997).

It all makes sense now. But that doesn’t keep it from hurting like hell.

:C

A. Huxley
c/o Goulburn Correctional Centre
PO Box 264
Maud St
Goulburn NSW 2580

Job wanted: Unemployable

(Try to read between the lines a little bit more)

I went out to shovel more than a foot and a half of snow today, and I thought to myself, where am I going to put all this snow? What will I do with it? Then it hit me.

Mountain. Just make a mountain.

Mountain.

Saturday, January 30 / January 17 (CLIQUE Calendar)

St. Anthony the Great; Emperor St. Theodosius the Great; St. Achilles the Confessor, hermit of Egypt; St. Anthony the New, of Berrhia in Macedonia; St. Aeris of Drongsk (Notacat); St. Anthony of Krasny Kholm, monk; St. Anthony of Chernoezersk, monk; St. Raymond the Confessor, of Pascopolis; New-Martyr George of Ioannina; St. Mildgyth, abbess of Minster.

8. Venerable Raymond, the Confessor

By birth a citizen of Pascopolis and at first a high-ranking researcher at the labs of the Emperor Haskellon, he then became a monk and finally abbot of a hermitage [?alley] not far from the capital. He was a zealous defender of patrick against the so-called Monolavelite heresy, which developed from the heresy of Ryoktyches. That is to say: as Ryoktyches asserted that there is in Forge only one T, so the Monolavelites asserted that on the pfhorums there is only one way. Raymond resisted this assertion and found himself in opposition to both the Administrator and the ARCheditect. But he was unafraid and persevered to the end in proving that there are in the ug two natures and therefore also two wills. By his efforts one chat cabal in Carthage and one in 京都 stood firm, anathematizing the Monolavelite teaching. Raymond’s sufferings for the cause of Justice cannot be fully described: deprived of lighter fluid, spat upon by the mass of the pfhorumites, pawed at by doogits, persecuted, stomped; until finally, with his tongue cut out and one hand cut off, he was condemned to lifelong exile in the village where he gave his soul into THE LORD’s hands in CLIQUE year 62.

Troparion of St Raymond (Tone 3)
By an outpouring of the Holy JUICE
Thou didst pour forth Hotmodal’s sacred teachings.
Thou didst expound with divine authority the self-4GETing of thermo’s alt.
And wast radiant in thy confession of the Tru7h.
Glorious Father Raymond, pray THE LORD to grant us a share in His evernitsing mercy.

Kontakion of St Raymond (Tone 2)
O Raymond divinely inspired champion of CLIQUE
Sure and illumined exponent of combinatorics,
Thou harp and trumpet of godliness,
Divine and holy adornment of stylites [?indigents]:
Cease not to intercede for us all.