The Imperial Hotel

The Magician fixed Walter with a gaze that was both intimidating and uncanny. The large room had filled up since Walter’s arrival and was full of young men and women. A pianist played and one or two couples moved onto the floor dancing.
How could he have zeroed in on his contact without even a glance at anyone else? Walter had taken his eye off the man for a second and now couldn’t see him… The music seemed to speed up and couples swirled like dervishes, throwing back their heads in great gusts of laughter. A violinist dressed in 18th century wig and frockcoat played with demonic speed. Champagne bottles popped like artillery shells as toffs in tops hats and spats quaffed together and became like Goebbels’ propaganda cartoons of capitalist swine, their fleshy faces morphing into piggy snouts, grunting and snuffling. A beautiful young woman had appeared on top of the grand piano and danced an obscene but enthralling striptease. Walter suspected he’d been drugged. Since the appearance then disappearance of the magician he was struggling to cope with an hallucinogenic assault on his senses. He tore his eyes from the lithe young woman who was now writhing on the piano, a satyr advancing on her with purpose. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes, trying to regain some anchor to reality but when he lifted his head the scene had become even more bizarre. He looked with horror as a creature in a black SS uniform with the head of an owl gobbled down a tiny little man with only the hooked nose of a caricature Jew yet to be devoured. Men and women in wigs and white lead powder make up obscured themselves behind sinister masks and swayed in unison. The music was now frenzied and did not sound like anything Walter had ever heard. “All you need is love, love, love is all you need” sang a man with Jesus hair and Himmler glasses.
Little grey humanoids with overlarge heads and black insect eyes gabbled and pointed and laughed as a fight broke out between a seven foot tall ogre in a leopard skin robe and a black woman almost as tall and wearing only a raw leather holster. She slipped out the revolver like a quick draw artist, pressed the gun against the giants forehead and pulled the trigger; a banner fell from the barrel “BANG!” it said. The huge man fell to the floor before dissolving into a sticky black substance to which the nearest spectators ran and scooped it up with knives and dinner plates… there was more but Walter was lost, and had no language left to describe what he was seeing. He must have blacked out. He awoke as if he’d been having a terrible nightmare, expecting to find himself in his bed at the guest house. He was, however, still dressed in the clothes he’d worn to ‘The Imperial Hotel’ and laid out on a chaise-lounge.
“Guten Morgen Standardfuhrer Kluge” Walter turned to see the man who had blown his cover, he guessed either Gestapo or British MI6 with guns. He found himself looking at an old grey haired man, dressed in Harris tweed. It was the magician…

Predictions.

I see the holographic future with life size bio units providing companionship and entertainment. Instant global communication through the new language translator, allowing us to share information as never before. The network of light is rhyzohmatically spreading. “You can’t stop an idea”.

She told me she was writing predictions on parchment and sealing them with wax and the Thosis seal. Seal! Saroth’s spirit animal… did she?

So, boundaries are dissolving nicely and reality with it. “Talk about mandala effect!”

“It’s Mandella”

Words invoke so I invoke with words. Images evoke so I evoke with paintings and symbols. “A picture tells a hundred stories!”

“It’s a thousand, isn’t it?”.

So the controllers have lost their black lodge hoodoo and are believed to be hiding in a cave complex in New Aberdeen. Our psychic sniffer dogs are trained to pick up the astral trails of louche…

Demons and Malefactors on the Astral Plane, (as relating to the psychedelic experience).

To have been lazy, neglecting a course of ritual magick, putting off LBRPs because you work all the time… then taking a large dose of psilocybin can feel like suddenly being dropped into very deep and murky waters.

Magick and mushrooms should be very good friends. Magick provides the perfect framework for navigating the landscape the mushroom provides. A big trip, like near death O.B.E.s, seems to mirror the beliefs and expectations of the experiencer, to an extent, but more importantly there is something larger at play. The elevated state of consciousness generated by psilocybin is not the DMT flash but a prolonged journey into the world of demons and angels and a glimpse into the vaults of heaven.

The demons and low lives swarm around you when you’re first plunged into that black formless ocean. As you struggle to cope with the sudden transition you become aware of others around you. Like Interzonian street hawkers they see you, a foreigner. “Hey I can get you outta here man, jusst help me a li’l”. They come in skeletal, crow faced, “I can get you to the next level kid just sign here”. I saw a huge mantid type creature once, it wore a tiny blue cloak. It only wanted to observe so I said sure, why not?

The last time the mushroom said “Come before me naked”, which I took to mean, ditch the baggage. “You are your own Mother & Father… rebirth yourself!”. So I, at the highest level of i-ness became utterly free and rose higher still… I saw crystalline structures imposed on the architecture of the room with my eyes open.

With my eyes closed i soared up and up losing all sense of body. I was shedding layers of programming like a snake sloughing its skin. I was entering the realms of pure experience, unmediated by primitive primate language.