The following is part of The Focus of Life, a trance-writing by Austin Osman Spare. Please see The Focus of Life for a more complete explanation.


"All things are subject to resurrection," thus spake smiling Aaos, on rising from the dead.

Then turning towards his shadow...

"I come! the changing word that destroys religion, a vortex wind that shall jest in Temples! Again! A reveller in the marshalled order of the sexes, the mad anarch of desires, the wild satyr of wolfish kisses! Once again to earth, O Thou whirlwind of desire, thou drunken breath of ribald lightning! My vampire chalice of ecstasy! Yea, as my rapacious flame reareth before thee, thou escapeth from me with the laughing whisper of thy wonderful pleasure! O, L.C.O' CS!! thou insatiable thirst of my self-love, with none but thee will I procreate!
"What now am I after resurrection? The sinful despair of magic? I am the Iconoclast of Logos: The sun-satyr of Chaos! Thunder and lightnings? Yea, a vital gaiety to drowsy dust, to blasé souls. Ecstatic laughter that reverberates and awakens...I am the shuddering heights and suffocating depths of ego, slipping and becoming.
"Inconceivable women am I. A clouded vista of abyss, wherein to visit naked, my vampire Self. Wherein to write a cryptic language of my sexes, that I am the Key. Wherein to belch forth venomous atmosphere towards the highest. Wherein to drench my thirsted tongue on thy goat's milk; to battle with thy cataleptic kisses, to swoon in thy consuming subtilty.
"O my mistress, I am unutterably drunk striving thy depths. I am the great cypher of love and hate knotted. The sphinx surviving, never sufficiently imagined. I am the grotesque refractions of form and Self. The bitter purgative, called death. A violence that out-lasts the morning. Moon turbulent waters am I: the frightening black Albatross of unashamed women - where men are. I am the over mature breasts of a child: the virgin womb, hidden by nightmares. Constant in metamorphosis, permeating creation without compassion. The unexcelled impulse that has never failed. Yea, I am all these-yet never known. My kiss is a sword thrust! For whom, am I, this insatiable fountain in the hot deserts? Only for thee, O, L.C.O'CS!"

Thus sang Aaos, the blasphemer, throwing off his grave shroud.

Going again among men (for he pleasured in all men), he gave unto them his magic book, named: "Life and Death, the Jest Called Love, wherein Every Man is a God, in whatsoever He Will His Belief."

And Aaos passed his way, muttering to his goatish beard:

"What now is left all hope is dead? For I have buried my illusion and dishonesty. Thus my body is now all inconceivableness! O, God, where is thine enemy?"

Back to The Dead Body of Aaos
Forward to The Dreams of Aaos
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