LIBER AL vel LEGIS

Chapter 2

17. Hear me, ye people of sighing!
The sorrows of pain and regret
Are left to the dead and the dying,
The folk that not know me as yet.

18. These are dead, these fellows; they feel not.
We are not for the poor and sad:
The lords of the earth are our kinsfolk.

21. We have nothing with the outcast and the unfit:
let them die in their misery.
For they feel not.
Compassion is the vice of kings:
stamp down the wretched and the weak:
This is the law of the strong:
This is our law and the joy of the world

48. Pity not the fallen!
I never knew them.
I am not for them.
I console not:
I hate the consoled & the consoler

58. Yea! deem not of change:
Ye shall be as ye are, & not other.
Therefore the kings of the earth
shall be kings forever:
THE SLAVES SHALL SERVE.
There is none that shall be cast down or lifted up:
All is as it ever was

Chapter 3

7. I will give you a war engine.

8. With it ye shall smite peoples;
and none shall stand before you.

12. Sacrifice cattle, little and big:
AFTER A CHILD

13. But not now

14. Ye shall see that hour, o blessed Beast…

18. Mercy let be off; damn them who pity!
Kill and torture; spare not; be upon them!

23. For perfume mix meal & honey
& thick leavings of red wine:
then oil of Abramerlin and olive oil,
and afterward soften & smooth down
with rich fresh blood.

24. The best blood is of the moon, monthly:
then the blood of a child,
or dropping from the host of heaven:
then of enemies: then of the priest
or of the worshippers: last of some beast,
no matter what.

42….Them that seek to entrap thee, to overthrow thee,
them attack without pity or quarter; & destroy them utterly.
…Drag down their souls to awful torment: laugh at their fear:
spit upon them!

43. Let the Scarlet Woman beware!
If pity and compassion and tenderness visit her heart
if she leave my work to toy with old sweetnesses;
then shall my vengeance be known.
I WILL SLAY ME HER CHILD…

49. I am in a secret fourfold word,
the blasphemy against all gods of men.

50. Curse them! Curse them!

51. With my Hawk’s head
I peck at the eyes of Jesus
as he hangs upon the cross.

52. I flap my wings in the face of Mohammed & blind him.

53. With my claws I tear out the flesh of the Indian
and the Buddhist, Mongol and Din.

55. Let Mary inviolate be torn upon wheels:
for her sake let all chaste women
be utterly despised among you!

[…man, I luv the lilting cadence of poetry celebrating the
pristine pagan worship of nature! Hail Goddess!}

WILFRED T. SMITH>BARON ERNST VON HARRINGA>

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: