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The prophecies of Rachel, verse 117.

“It’s real!” As more live footage from CNN has been broadcast round-the-clock and the fortified kingdom has taken shape under their eyes, the astonished cry has rung round the globe. The mere sight of heffers trotting along cobbled streets and quaint Rabbis ordering herrings for Shabbat on market-days has made many question if reality is all it seems.

“People and animals in motion, It’s like the Summer of Love all over again. These guys are real, man!”

With the powers that be in a quandary, Rachel has been sowing the seeds of rebellion, and her off-days at the castle are spent catching up on the Summer of Love bands and happenings. Now a familiar figure, she has taken to wearing bangles and beads, and tends to trot out Mamas and Papas slogans.

“We are the homeland of dreams. What happened to dreams? Like Marvel Comics was the house of ideas, America was the American dream, and Europe had Transylvanian romance. Now Europe is Swiss banks run by photons.”

“Photos? Whose photos?”

“No, photons are quantum computers – I read it somewhere. Listen, that’s just an example. As John Philips would say, I heard it on the grapevine.. or was that Marvin Gaye? Where are the great cultural movements they heralded? They’ve been co-opted by Swiss banks and people in ties. Or are they robots?”

“People and animals in motion” has become the new catchphrase, and increasingly people are quetioning if political leaders are actually invaders from Mars, subterrans, or photonic surrogates of a hidden supertechnology.

(to be continued)

The illusion of the supreme-sorcerer is that thought is contained in the ego. That it can exist without the iconic forms of nature (that exist in time and space). Therefore, the unthinking grace of line and motion that are rendered so sublime in Greek pottery are themselves rendered obsolete.

Apart from anything else, the entire world becomes a routine, nothing is unthought. If the origin of things is unthought perfection in time and space, the result of the illusory reality is that there is no longer any perfection. No castles in moonlight, no Tudor manors on the shores of lakes with serene swans a-gliding. Perfection is light and dark, left and right, up and down, in and out. The serpent of the unconscious that weaves between pleasure and reason (Pictorial 1).

The serpent – or dragon – contains hidden knowledge, and the wizard – like Thoth Amon – takes it into themselves, their ego. This was the fate of Manhattan in the X-Men arc where Stygian sorcerer Kulan Gath dislocates Manhattan Island (Hybroian Bridge 23).

Everything becomes illusory because the unthinking balance of primitive reality is lost. In our world, sorcerers are the mainstay; in Hyboria, warriors are the mainstay. That’s the difference and the reality that must be restored. Where the sorcerer is the mainstay truth exists in the dislocation of proportionate head from body. The rhythms that are the lifeblood of the primal body – seasons and rains in the mist of time – are dislocated from reality.

Everything that is proportionate – the throat in song, the elegant contours of the foot in motion – are lost to the disproportionate ego. This was brought home to me by a recent discovery in the art world that Michelangelo sculpted distinct toes.

The big toe is rounded and smaller than the next. This mode of art detection goes back to Giovanni Morelli in the 19th century, who stated that when artists drew fingers, ears etc, the style was their own – in other words, it was not anatomical, it was expressive (unthought).

Now, when you have a world that is all routine, all thought, everything is anatomical. Classically-speaking, as I tend to say, there are always two things going on. One is the trained knowledge of the artist; the other is unthinking expression that gives the work its life, its style, its meaning and grace.

The modern order – because it is thought or ego – is not based on primordial rhythm. How do you reckon an anatomy gains its perfection - that’s the answer. The same applies to comic artists. Kirby, BWS or Liefeld are not anatomically accurate; they have primordial rhythm. They are proportionate but not stultifyingly so.

The basic point is where everything is thought, nothing is primordial, but that is what gives things life. The modern plan, or program for routine living destroys that which is unthought. Actually, a good example is Gates’ toilet (Hyborian Bridge 31) which invalidates an entire primitive culture. I mean the blood-sacrifice, the psychic strength of the dead as in BWS’s Adastra in Africa .

The modern world breeds weakness because of its pathological intent on order at the expense of primordial strength. Basically, the warrior has to defeat the wizard because the warrior is strong, introspective and cunning while the wizard is in-turning ego. The ego will destroy unthinking expression, so that is the enemy. Facts become fiction and there is no iconic form.

In a sense, Michelangelo’s foot of David is worth more than Einstein’s entire theory because it is expressive in time and space. Without that, we are dead men. I’m not blaming the supreme-sorcerer for thinking; I’m blaming the acolytes for ordering the world in this pathological way. A product of the mind that exists in the ego.

As I tend to say, if the theory concerns light (the sun), it will be convincing to the ego, which heads into the sun. The end-result is a single photon, or quantum-AI (Swiss banks and all the rest.) Whenever the sorcerer gains the ascendancy, the strength of the warrior declines. Hyborian states are strong because their roots are primordial. Pageantry is everywhere, throngs are steaming in their humanity, drums are thrumming round city walls.

In Hyboria, squalor is just the other side of the equation to strength, because the primordial rhythms are strong. This is the way pathogens are destroyed. Our societies are pathogenic for that reason; we are not strong and primordial.

Strength is the thrum of hooves on the prairie, the whooping of braves in the old days


All our acolytes are enfeebled by serving this illusory reflection – our world of facts that are fictions. Strength is reality; weakness is pathology.

There is a sort of berserker comedy in living in the body and not in the head. One that connects us to animal forms that are iconic. The lie of modernity is that “you gotta serve somebody” because things are so obscure that your own head is not enough. In the grand guignol of Hyborian days, the head is proportionate to the body and lives in the thrumming beat of primordial lust. Thus is glory and grandeur served of Man and building on the landscape of Earth – the city-state in history and Hyboria.

The prophecies of Rachel, verse 120.

Rachel was flipping through some old Buffalo Springfield LPs in the castle keep, when there was a sudden droning sound and, before she knew it, a helicopter had landed on the grassy knoll outside the gates. She emerged through the gate to see tri-colored markings and, advancing confidently up the slope towards her, no other than Emmanuel Macron, his attendants demurely in reserve, extending his arm towards her.

“So nice to see you.. in your natural habitat!”

Rachel was taken totally offguard but, having trained in Brythunian sabre-dancing, did not let it affect her habitual manner.

“Emmanuel! I..guess you wanted to see for yourself..”

“.. what’s happening.. of course. There is nothing like on the ground research. And” (he lent in confidentially) “as you know I have a weakness for older women.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Let’s just say there are rumours you are thousands of years old. Up close though you are, how they say, retro hippy chic”

“Thanks!” Rachel grinned, flattered. “we are romantic mystics up here, so take that how you want. In fact, we’re having a themed dance tonight – demons and warriors. Do you wanna turn up? It’s obvious which you’ll choose!”

“OK. How about we take a tour of your kingdom in my chopper? You can point out the main developments.”

“Sure, our demons only fly at night so there’ll be no air-to-air combat – yet.”

“ha ha – I like it! Your technological secrets can wait. Let’s have a nice cruise.”

“Right you are, Emmanuel, after you”

“No, no, you first”

Hyborian Bridge 35 | Hyborian Bridge 36 | Hyborian Bridge 37