CHAOS CENTRAL
the one-year adventure
(coming soon to a theatre near you)

6-04: Stand and Deliver ~ + ~ the RRCFC has reported results from the Chaobomb ritual, in simple and complex systems of Chaos spreading like waves of arctic shit from the central spokes of CC (you know who you are, fuckers!) - confirmed like holy wrath in the pit of Red Rocks under hotlights and embedded in the minds of 10,000 young.

All the remains of that ritual lie half dormant, waiting for completion. Can you imagine it, brothers and sisters? It is about to become. I am honored that the universe (in her whimsical way) sees fit to grace us with agreement, and in such times.

Announcement ~+~ the next set and setting involve a much larger, longer task, one that requires energy from over seas and mountains, coast to coast and shore to shore. Some of you already know its parameters; for those who don't, we aim to invoke/evoke a particular CURRENT as well as physical manfestation, for purely selfish reasons I assure you.

Stay tuned.

7-04: Guanella Pass ~ + ~ the rocks remain like an eternal memorial. The results of the Planting continue to surprise, even in the face of knowing what to expect come harvest. Perhaps we are doubters in the face of Chaos.

The midsummer ritual is nearly upon us.

News: well it's not news to those of us who notice such things, but the trees are dying. They remain standing as of this writing, but for many of them their hearts are already hollow, and the Infestation has a firm grip. For most of them (as for most of us) their days are plainly numbered.

John Titor, where are your notebooks?

8-04: Motion in the Gravity Well ~ + ~ the midsummer rite conjured more than some of us bargained for. (Not a judgement just a frank assessment.) Mostly so far it manifests as loss. The space that's left holds promise, and our choice is to be strengthened and amused by the motion and our resistance to gravity, mother gravity, who keeps it all together... the bits of ourselves falling away like the fragile petals of some mutant blossom. So precious. And so very dead, goddammit!

We walk darker paths than we anticipated. It's like a tango, this intense intimacy and trust. Well, no matter how the crescendo threatens, it's important to remember to laugh. Always laugh. Or you've missed the punchline, baby.

9-04: After Motion, Stasis ~ + ~ the harvest nears completion, at least for one or two crops.

Silence, and stillness. Room for meditation, memory and fantasy.

At the last minute, the typhoon. No blame.

10-04: Chaos and the Magick Circle ~ + ~ lesson plans were never part of my plan, but there I am. No worries. It should all be easy by now.

We are experiencing extremes here. It could be helpful to know the mission, especially when performing these sorts of gymnastics, and all those dropped hints arriving post-mortem are about as useful as tits on a warthog. But still, we're grateful.

Oh yes.

And if the threads become knotted because we don't know our destination, let alone the path to get there, do we rely on faith?

11-04: Second Verse, Same as the First ~ + ~ it's not that half of us are stupid. It's that half of us are ignorant, terrified, outraged, and looking for someone to point the way out - it doesn't matter how impossible the way, so long as it's an escape from our perceived hell.

We explore making our own exit on a more practical level. We have suffered several shocks not all of them enlightening. This is not my beautiful neighbor! This is not my beautiful country! This is not my beautiful... future! XVI towers like a bad-smelling monster, and our world is being turned topsy turvey. Or maybe it's just us. The process is all that seems to matter so wtf. The future's not what it used to be.

Amid these visions (and damn me for a fool for pursuing visions in the first place - truly ignorance is bliss!) I wonder why my body is so reluctant to cooperate. You'd think the adrenaline alone would be motivation enough.

We celebrate the thankful holiday more aware than ever how ephemeral our reward is.

12-04: Believe ~ + ~ when the words are vague and the promise is indecipherable, yet we're filled with a full and righteous sense of it (whatever it is), I remind them all of the wayside encounter and those fateful words given to our hp like some biblical covenant. "Make no plans for December." We believed this warning and heeded it almost as well as heeding the advice of the gods. We believed, though we knew not what it was we believed in.

Well, I believe Haniel's full of shit. The materialization of exactly nothing means that even random encounters with those who are named after the angels which govern the months proves absolutely, and unequivically, NOTHING. What were we to be ready for? Cold days, and colder nights? Empty wallets and empty dreams? (Or maybe it was a political statement akin to the promises of either party, eh?)

Just because they are "created" and not "born" - just because the names are taken from tongues more ancient and profound than anything modern man is privy to - just because it was a higher form of life (though this point is debatable in some theological circles) - just because they SAY they know, doesn't mean they know. What do they expect us to do? And why do they believe it carries such weight? And why do we listen to them, when their promises continue to be vague, and indecipherable? Why believe in them at all?

I have cleaned the slate and meditated long and hard, and found myself wanting. I don't know about anyone else, but I believe christmas sucks.

I'm reminded of an old saying, and take liberties with it: beware of angels bearing warnings!

01-05: Six to Nine ~ + ~ only women who've given birth can appreciate the contradictions of a time like this.

Imbolc signals the fullness and near-completion of our work (at least on one level, tho I daresay there's more to follow!). Fullness - celebratory, also painful ; heralding an evacuation which promises to also be just as painful. Amid the seeming unbearable agonies, miracles. Small, but beautiful miracles. Potent. Exquisitely painful.

I have a confession: I'm afraid. Not sure about the future. The threads are very very thin. I'm not sure if I'm going to make it. What was I thinking? It's not just about sanity any more. There is definitely something going on - isn't there always?

Chaos works both ways, you know.

I was swatted with the stick a few weeks ago, reminded not to wallow in my own negativity, to find the positive in it, to seek the light in the darkness. Whatever happened to my rock-steady faith? Thanks to this sharp-sensed reminder, I have found it again. But the thread is thin - so thin! As I hang on, struggling, I watch it fray.

Well, anyone who's been through birth knows a little something about death.

02-05: Apocalypse Then ~ + ~ predictability is a beast that never sleeps; during the slumber of our minds the beast carries on, consuming randomness and surprise along with it. Entropy and mechanization : what surprises us most sometimes is how predictable things become. We expected so much more.

But we want to be entertained by our follies, not depressed by them.Yet identification makes all the difference. Belit-Sheri weighs our actions in a dark, deep place we deny even exists. She is the all-devouring cunt of the world, taking in our lives like food, regurgitating them out again in some subliminal, faraway place we refuse to admit exists. If we could cope, we'd see it, or if we saw it clearly long enough, we'd learn to cope. And maybe come to terms.

But we are blind. And being blind in such a dark, deep place makes us afraid.

Our hearts will be weighed regardless of our alliances and avoidances. We must live while we have sunlight. When the fantasies we carry within, like dormant seeds, finally overtake our narrowed definitions of reality, the sun will be devoured by the red dragon.

And then where will we be?

03-05: Connections & Separations ~ + ~ we have not escaped. I'm not sure we ever will, and there's a part of each of us that wants anything but escape, wants only to enmesh and engage further, to test the boundaries of ourselves, eachother, and the world we are in. The dangers are stupidly apparent, but we remain. All american, this stubborness, like suv drivers and mcdonald's gluttons.

I had a vision, this time I saw a face, stretched taut over the skull, not unhealthy but so lean it was predatory. Tiny points of darkness played about its intense features, freckles of shadow, and hair strung out long and wild all about it, a frame for insanity. I shuddered and then it was gone, but not before it had sung at least one or two bars of some strange familiar melody I thought I should recognize but didn't. When it vanished (along with that face) I wanted to scream. I was terrified that the words were important, that we would all vanish like that after some strange debilitating but familiar trial that would make us lean as a pack but unrecognizable to eachother.

The question of familiarity lingers. If it is true that contempt springs from such closeness, what's on the other side of it, to compensate? Is there a depth we can plumb as a form of comfort? Is there joy or will that vanish into thin air, as I've seen it do so many times before? Will the trials we put eachother through leave enough behind to warrant the commitments we've made to eachother?

And those shadows that play across our faces, visible to my naked eyes, terrible and familiar and yet vague -- are those shadows our end, or our beginning.

04-05: Eleventh Hour ~ + ~ fulfillment is not death, not glory, not what we pictured. We have moved beyond our own expectations, as little as they were, and we laugh as we stand around gaping in awe at where we are, what we've done. We laugh at ourselves, at the past, what we've been through, and at the future, where we're going.

It's not such a big deal really. We just went from crawling to walking - ecstatic at the stability - but there's a hundred miles to go, and we're on foot.

The current is coming through loud and clear. We have connections on the west coast and still a tenuous grasp on the eastern seaboard; the energy moves and shifts there, but between here and Portland it's steady as a rock. Even when we don't mean it to be. Kind of frightening in its intensity, comforting and disturbing by turns, like being seduced by an angel - and finding out it's the angel of death.

05-05: a Silent Rhythm ~ + ~ as we progress we note the passages we come through, or at least some of us do; most of us are unfamiliar with the territory and this means we feel lost, and as things build up and then reach stasis and then break down, it looks like death, like an end to everything. This isn't the case but unless you know this, you can't even begin to suspect it. It's only later, when you've begun the cycle again, and again, and again, that you understand it's a pattern that keeps repeating.

I watch all this with a smile. And people ask me why I'm smiling. I don't tell them, really, I give some excuse instead, or simply refuse to say why I'm still happy when everything's falling apart. I lapse into silent amusement . The truth is, there's no interest on their part (yet) in understanding the rhythm or reason. That's the first step, the interest. Without it, anything I attempt to explain will become tedious lecturing from someone older who may be more interested in control or manipulation. That is how the young mind thinks (and rightly so).

But you know, I"m here. Aint goin' nowhere. And the explanations will be here long after I've left, for everyone or anyone to see. Just so long as they don't start burning books in this country.

RRCFC : there was a moment when the power reached breathtaking heights. The moment has passed. But the connection's still there, intact and sparking.

06-05: End of Line ~ + ~ we've been playing 'catch-up' for ten months and it has taken its toll on a psychic level. Major changes are now visible in the future. I might be relieved, or panic-stricken (by turns). Our tidy arrangement is about to fall into chaos again. It's hard to be calm and lend everything you have to an operation when there is worry. Nobody wants to be homeless, nobody wants to live alone, nobody wants to have to deal with reorganization, nobody wants to go through this process, again. But there is a silent conspiracy at work in the world that puts us smack in the middle of the cycle whether we like it or not. We'll deal, or we won't.

Meanwhile the world moves on.

This is a memorium dedicated to StarDragon. Its contents are a journey through a coven's psychic lifeline.

Each passage is brief and self-referential. For that, I apologize. If you recognize in these words a reflection of your own experiences at this time, then it serves a dual purpose : elucidating my own journey, and elucidating yours.

There were months before its beginning that set up the events that unfolded therein. There were months after the final passage when the unfolding closed up like an origami box, complex and triangulated against each side.

The operations spoken of pertain to the Chaobomb rite (March of 2004), the Visitations of Haniel in December (during which the Fallen Project was born), and the Initiation of the Ir (an admittedly personal experience, upon which occasion vows were taken and to this day, kept).

These twelve months represent a fertile time in our lives. Remember them, for they helped shape who we are today.
Peace.

om