1986: The Mother of All Years

1986: The Mother of All Years by Gary Phillips

Below, a great text written by Gary Phillips, critically acclaimed author of mysteries and graphic novels. The piece was included in the sold-out Alan Moore: Portrait of an Extraordinary Gentleman book (2003, Abiogenesis Press, pag. 157).

For more info and news about Gary Phillips, visit his site: HERE.
1986: The Mother of All Yearsby Gary Phillips

Click, bang, do you remember? Nineteen eighty fuckin‘ six, man. There’s only twenty-six letters to mix and match to describe the psychic impact that series, that shake-up of the comics genre that tore down some tired, sorry ass approaches to the art form had on us fans and practitioners. What started out as a revamping of old school Charlton heroes turned into something that has rippled across the years and decades to where we are now. 
Damn. And what helped spur this creation, what allowed his genie out of the keyboard, was because of some jive copyright entanglements. All because the suits upstairs didn’t want no, you know, street-edge shit, no characters with flaws and depth and contradictory emotions being imposed and messing up their gaudy do-gooders.
So they let him retool and refit.
Who Watches the Watchmen was the gag, baby, the grand guffaw writ large across our collective minds when we couldn’t wait, after being teased by those come-on ads, to read each successive issue of that mother of all story arcs. 
But unlike say Orson Wells – and even he had more than one hand of Three Card Monty to dazzle the suckers – this dude this book is honoring has stepped up time and again and delivered.  It’s like Kobe hitting those threes 12 times in one game or the first time you got a peek of some hottie’s panties when she crossed her legs and she winked at you. JAYZUS. 
It stays with you, know what I’m sayin‘?
It’s as if the Comedian, that gloating, Hoyo de Monterrey smoking, Lee Harvey Oswald lone gunman nutbag on steroids and crank was still firing those nitro velocity rounds of his from that high window; causing dissension and distraction not in the social order, but in the over-ripe corpus delicti of the comics industry. Only those bullets don’t sing death. They zing tracers of energy coursing through that body to resuscitate and educate us that indeed, this fumetti, this thing of ours has merit, has something to offer in the way of its unique storytelling methods.
Watchmen brought me and so many others back to these four-color fables when many of us figured we’d outgrown them what with mortgages, car payments, and crowns on our teeth. 
The stories of wonder and woe he’s presented in fare like Swamp-Thing, V, Green Lantern, Supreme, Top Ten and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen keeps me addicted — keeps me wanting more badder than an alkie lining up in the morning outside the corner liquor store to bum change for his short dog of Old Smuggler.
But his stuff doesn’t leave me with a hang over. His stuff makes me jealous and envious as a writer…and as an aficionado, all you can do is admire his skill that he’s always honing, not content to do the same trick over and over but challenging himself to tell the best yarn he can again and again.
I wish Mr. Moore well on reaching his half-century mark. And here’s hoping the next fifty — and that doesn’t seem so preposterous given one is to understand he’s been dipping into some sort of study of magiks – has him crafting tales that pleasure and bother the reader.
See?  The Owl was wrong, it isn’t all crap. It’s all good, baby. 

Gary Phillips
Los Angeles, California, U.S.A.

Standartní velikost pečícího papíru.

Standartní velikost pečícího papíru.
Lubomír Tomik
Zdravýma rukama jsem mísil těsto,
 poté  si je umyl a osušil,
na kuchyňskou linku položil plech,
otevřel skříň vytáhnul papír a nůžky,
z roličky se ale odmotal přesný kus velikosti plechu,
žádné úpravy, žádné nekonečné role,
vše naměřit a rozkouskovat,
stejně jako životy kolem,
ale to je v pořádku,
okouzlení trvá,
pokud jsi tady. 

Proč tedy všechny  hadí polibky a Ty brodící se ve zlatavých lánech obilí a oměje,
dlaně přejíždí po zralých klasech ve zlatavém poledni,
když procházíš řádky lámeš je, vzpomínky .

Proto aby se dvě mysli poznaly,
ale jinak vše zůstalo u standartní velikosti pečícího papíru ?
Za deset let se na svět kolem budeš dívat jinýma očima,
vše bude jiné.

Standard size of baking paper.

Lubomír Tomik

I mixed the dough with healthy hands,
then I washed and dried them,
put a plate on the kitchen counter,
opened the closet, pulled out the paper and scissors,
but the exact piece the size of a sheet metal unwound from the roll,
no adjustments, no endless roles,
measure and fragment everything,
as well as the lives around,
but that's okay
the enchantment lasts
if you're here.

Why then are all these serpentine kisses and wading in golden fields of grain and thistles?
Palms run over ripe ears of corn at golden noon,
as you go through the lines you break the ears of thought.

So that two minds can get to know each other,
but otherwise everything was left with the standard size of baking paper?

In ten years, you will look at the world around you with different eyes,
everything will be different.

Až si lehneme do trávy.

When we lie down on the grass.

Lubomír Tomik

When we lie down on the grass
and soak into the ground
like tears,
melted snow,
and yes
man will NOT disappear,
when we lie down on the grass next to each other,
with eyes borrowed from the other,
you say it won’t disappear?
Not even in a creature with wings?

Inside you?

Mammoths from drowned land.

Britain’s oldest artwork may depict mammoths from a drowned land

26th August 2020 | livescience.com | AncientAnimal LifeHumans

Britain’s oldest artwork has been unearthed on the Channel Island of Jersey, showing what appear to be Ice Age scenes of mammoths in ancient lands now drowned by the sea.



Lubomír Tomik


A když jí o půlnoci psal, byl to turecký posel do hradu hradu hradu, šíp a

ocelový hrot ,

rolička zprávy se rozvinula jako poupě černé růže,

princezna se vrhla do řeky a

změnila všechno svým pohledem při kterém explodovaly parní kotle srdce

mrakodrapů lenošících na letní levandulové louce.


Nebyl jsem pro Tebe dost dobrý

Nebyl jsem pro Tebe dost dobrý

Nebyl jsem nejlepší.


Přinesl bych Ti jen něhu.


Nestačilo to.


Lubomír Tomik

And when he wrote to her at midnight it was a  turkish messenger to the castle 
castle ,
an arrow and a steel one tip,

the roll of the message unfolded like the bud of a black rose,
the princess threw herself into the river and
she changed everything with her gaze as the steam boilers of the heart exploded skyscrapers lounging on a summer lavender meadow.

I wasn't good enough for you
I wasn't good enough for you
I wasn't the best.
I would only bring you tenderness.
It wasn't enough.

Básnířky. Poets.

Básnířky .

Lubomír Tomik.

Je to tak, v každé nemoci je skrytý smutek, 
ale i naděje na lepší časy.
Koho zajímá kdy to bude,
protože opona padá, 
jen aby se opět zvedla.
Abychom mohli opět začít milovat,
vzájemně se prostoupit, splynout
až do morku kostí.


...And for You:


Lubomír Tomik.

That's right, there is hidden sadness in every disease,
but also hopes for better times.
Who cares when it will be
because the curtain falls,
just to get up again.
So we can start loving again,
interpenetrate each other, merge
to the bone marrow.


Léčba hudbou.

před 6 měsíciThis just burnt the coronavirus out of me.

Ishan Bhardwaj
před 2 měsíci

Legend says if you put your head inside a beehive you can hear Burzum’s Dunkelheit

Roger Eriksen
před 4 měsíciAbout the album cover: the woman is blowing the „lur“, Norways oldest instrument. It is way back from the bronse age 4000 years ago! The first ones is (of course!) made of bronse, and found in swamps together with axes, swords and female jewelry (also made in bronse …). They put it there as an obligation for the early Good (the Sun). Later they were made of bark from birch trees (as the one on the drawing on the album cover), and used to call home the livestock. The drawing is by Theodor Kittelsen (1857-1914). Varg (old Norwegian word for wolf (ulv in Norwegian)) used Kittelsen’s drawings on other album covers as well (you will recognize them …).https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lur

Alan Moore Visions… from France

Art by Laurent Lefeuvre.

Když jsem teď navštívil https://alanmooreworld.blogspot.com/ po delší době jsem si uvědomil , jak moc si vážím toho, že mi Alan dal minulý týden svolení použít svá slova jako předmluvu v mé chystané sbírce …děkuji Alane.

A něco podobného udělala ještě jedna spřízněná úžasná duše….ale nemůžu přece vyzradit všechno …budu dělat vše proto, abych si Vaši důvěru a víru ve mne zasloužil.

Moore Music Magic.

Moore Music Magicby TIM PERKINS
Having collaborated musically with Alan for the past 10 yeas now, I’d like to take this opportunity to comment on Al’s involvement in that particular facet of the Arts, and the wider implications thereof.
I still have fond memories of Al kicking the ass out of some flimsy Tannoy speakers with an impassioned rendition of “Willy the Pimp” by Frank Zappa. One microphone and two jack leads were casualties in this onslaught of song (Al never wore slippers in my cellar), and Captain Beefheart grew another dimension to his already finely cultivated beard.
Alan’s singing days seem to be pretty much over now, but my good God! What a fine voice he possessed, combining the grittiness of Tom Waits, the mystique of Leonard Cohen and the dentistry of Shane Pogue, all neatly hemmed in by Northamptonian regional synthesis.
Our first sonic expedition together (along with David J) was the “Moon and Serpent Grand Egyptian Theatre of Marvels” in 1996. The work is bookended by two songs with contrasting vocal styles ranging from cosmic carousel barker (“Hair of the Snake That Bit Me”) to ethereal Blakeian charm (“A Town of Lights”). Since then, each successive album has posed different challenges and dimensions of thought. Certain methods have been strongly favoured however, and crop up throughout.
‘Air sculpture’ and ‘psycho-geography’ when applied to the studio, were two of many ways we could approach music and spoken- word, by treating sounds in terms of physical shape and design, of mood and colour. Off-the-wall concepts to get your fat arse down the brain-gym.
We loved to play with time, the bonding of past and future into one glorious present… there is only one moment… which is why Samuel Coleridge and Joe Meek are presently sharing an opium laced Knickerbocker Glory at the Gunners’ gig down at PO-NA-NA’s. Woooaaah!
‘Multiple sensory overload’ is another lunar-serpentine trait, the epitome of which was achieved, I think, at the ‘Tygers of Wrath’ event at the Purcell Room, Feb. 2001. Our piece, “Angel Passage” ended with a climactic fusion of music, dialogue, film and live pyrotechnics.
Creaming aside, I have admit this ain’t exactly a new trick. The Russian composer Alexander Scriabin held a similar ethos for the performance of his works. Scriabin used visual backdrops and perfumed auditoriums and sought joy through the senses… (or the Yellow Pages if it happened to be more convenient at the time).
We are merely applying it in our own way and according to experience which is relevant to us. Sure, the old masters did it all before, but then they didn’t have Line 6 digital amp systems or Leffe Blonde, so… fuck ‘em (Rule no. 1).
If psychedelia is ‘soul revealment,’ then Mr. Moore is in the thick of it, clawing ever deep into a customised sensory deprivation tank of his own choosing.
Take it to the bridge.
Sweet Soul Music.

Kublai Khan No.3.

Kublai Khan No.3.

Lubomír Tomik

I mixed a cocktail of pain, tears and life,
not necessarily a drop of alcohol,
Prosper's mantle color
and now that I drink it,
I'm bitten by Jabberwocky,
camera fixed on you,
it engages you in an ascending circular motion from below to the face,
in which everything disappeared from me,
gravitational forces,
 photo You and the Great God Pan,
is a treasure chest.
I mixed the Kublajchán No. 3 cocktail.
And again, again, again,
bitterness becomes a given flavor.

PS: Tím, že jsi mi to řekla naplno -nechal jsem si všechny Tvé zprávy, maily, v tom jsi se poprvé zmýlila, když si myslíš , že je smažu- by to mělo být jednodušší, není. Není.

Kublajchán č.3.

Kublajchán č.3.

Lubomír Tomik

Namíchal jsem si koktejl z bolesti, slz a života,
nutně ani kapka alkoholu,
barva Prosperova plášťě,
a když  ho teď piju,
jsem pokousán Žvahlavem,
kamera fixovaná na Tebe,
zabírá Tě vzestupně krouživým pohybem zespodu k obličeji,
v němž mi vše zmizelo,
gravitační síly,
společná fotka s Velkým Bohem Panem,
je truhlice plná pokladů.

Namíchal jsem si koktejl Kublajchán č.3.
A znovu, znovu,znovu,
 trpkost se stává danou příchutí.


16.8. byl můj blog na http://www.saintofkillers.blog.cz opravdu zrušen, skončil jako spoustu jiných věcí v mém životě právě teď. Včera se mi podařilo v nastavení WordPressu umístit na stránku nějaké widgety a hlavně část historie, nyní jsem se dostal k roku 2018, zbývá ještě deset let …od roku 2008…ale kdyby se to nepodařilo…je to minulost, je to přístav z něhož jsem tehdy vyplul, řídím se stále ještě podle Mapy kontinentu Tvého srdce…co bude až tam dopluji…to nevím, ale chce to pěkně v klidu, nebláznit, nepanikařit, nekolabovat, pomalu….stejně jako bych Tě objímal, líbal, laskal…pomalu, teď už není kam spěchat, je to jen další tempo na rozbouřené mořské hladině, něco mi řekni o tom, jak člověk nezmizí ze života toho druhého, i tohle je vše pomalu…pozvolna.

The other side of the canvas.

The other side of the canvas.

Lubomír Tomik

Than behind the movie screen,
white as the cliffs of Dover,
in his fascination bowing up
to the bones
Your alabaster feet, Patti Smith
she whispered strangled:- I mean,
let you find someone
who will love you like him
may you be happy: - and then You other things,
which are in the letter,
who never left
in a morning that never came,
at the snap of a finger,
our gaze into the diamond eyes on the other side of the mirrors,
I'll be there somewhere
out of focus flickering whirling image,
in love.

Druhá strana plátna.

Druhá strana plátna.

Lubomír Tomik

Než za filmovým plátnem,
 bílým jako útesy Doverské,
ve své fascinaci klanící se až 
ke kůstkám
Tvých alabastrových nohou Patti Smithová 
přiššššškrceně zašeptala : -Myslel tím,
 ať si najdeš někoho,
 kdo Tě bude milovat jako on,
ať jsi šťastná :- a pak Ty další věci,
 které jsou v dopise, 
jež nikdy neodešel,
v ránu, které nikdy nepřišlo,
v lusknutí prstu,
našeho pohledu do diamantových očí na druhé straně zrcadel,
někde tam budu,
rozostřený mihotavý vrnící obraz,

Crick’s LSD

Graham Hancock

by Graham Hancock | Author

Mail on Sunday, 8 Aug 2004. Click here for fullsize image.

“God wanted to hide his secrets in a secure place. ‘Would I put them on the moon?’ He reflected. ‘But then, one day human beings could get there, and it could be that those who would arrive there would not be worthy of the secret knowledge. Or perhaps I should hide them in the depths of the ocean,’ God entertained another possibility. But again, for the same reasons, he dismissed it. Then the solution occurred to Him – ‘I shall put my secrets in the inner sanctum of man’s own mind. ‘Then only those who really deserve it will be able to get to it.”(Tale recounted in the Amazon to Benny Shanon, Professor of Psychology at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and reproduced in his book “The Antipodes of the Mind: Charting the Phenomenology of the Ayahuasca Experience”, Oxford University press 2002).

Keep the above thought in mind and consider this. In late July 2004 the Nobel prize-winning biologist Francis Crick co-discoverer of the structure of DNA, died at the age of 88 and soon afterwards a little-known fact of his life hit the tabloid press. This was that when he was working at the Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge in the early 1950’s he frequently used LSD (which remained legal until the mid-1960’s) as a “thinking tool” to “boost” his mental powers. According to a report published in London on 8 August 2004 in The Mail on Sunday, Crick had privately admitted to colleagues that he was under the influence of LSD in 1953 at the moment when he “perceived the double helix shape” and unravelled the structure of DNA.

While he was using LSD, as he supposed, to free himself from rigid preconceptions, could Crick have picked up high-quality information encoded in his own DNA… about the structure of DNA itself?

Of course the Mail on Sunday story has been denied by many of Crick’s supporters who see him as a bastion of mainstream science and of the alert, problem-solving (as opposed to visionary) state of consciousness favoured by mainstream science. Nonetheless it is interesting that in 1981 Crick published a remarkable book entitled “Life Itself: Its Origin and Nature” in which he set out his (distinctly non-mainstream, indeed highly unorthodox) view that DNA could not, in fact, have arisen on earth “by chance” but rather that the seeds of life and of all future evolution, most likely in the form of simple, resilient bacteria, must have been sent here in spaceships by an alien civilisation. The aliens’ motive, he speculated, might have been to overcome the certain doom of a supernova explosion (or some such cataclysm) by preserving at least their DNA in stripped-down bacterial form and sending it out into the universe in crewless, automated ships programmed to seek and crash into certain sorts of planets at certain stages of development – there to release their cargo of bacteria to begin all over again the long process involved in the evolution of fully conscious beings.

Perhaps the early earth was one such planet? Perhaps it was seeded with bacteria containing the DNA of intelligent beings from the other side of the galaxy who had evolved their civilisation billions of years before the earth was even formed and whose technology was astonishingly, almost magically advanced?

These are Francis Crick’s speculations, not mine. But if our DNA is not “of this earth” and originated with an alien civilisation in command of advanced genetic-engineering technologies, as he proposes, then we cannot rule out the possibility that its scientists might have been able to record meaningful information, “messages” or “wake-up calls” in the language of DNA. If they were smart enough they might even have transcribed the entire accumulated knowledge of their culture into DNA to await the evolution and attention of intelligent species on whichever planets anywhere in the universe the original cargoes of bacteria had happened to land…

If so then it may perhaps only be in deeply altered states of consciousness – the sorts of states of consciousness brought on by the use of Ayahuasca, DMT or LSD – that we can access these messages.

Just a speculation! But for further information on it, and some alternative explanations, see my book “Supernatural: Meetings with the Ancient Teachers of Mankind”: https://grahamhancock.com/supernatural/


Lubomír Tomik
Nekonečnou blankytnou oblohou se kutálel sněhový glób,
izolovaný od všeho,
s povrchem mého krátery posázeného srdce,
s alejemi živoucích rozpažených stromů.
Nevím , jak milovat Tě básnicky,
vím jak uctívat tě anticky,
vím jak vzývat Tě navždycky
klanět se Ti organicky,
jsi vlnou lávy které se
s radostí poddám,
s úsměvem chci cítit,
Tvůj žár.

S úsměvem Ti podlehnout.


Lubomír Tomik

A snow globe rolled through the endless azure sky,
isolated from everything
with the surface of my cratered heart,
with alleys of living sprawling trees.

I don't know how to love you poets,
i know how to worship you anciently
I know how to call on You forever
to bow to You organically,
You are a wave of lava falling
I will gladly submit,
with a smile I want to feel
Your heat.

With a smile you succumb.

Sistinas. Glen.You.

the sun don’t shine
the wind won’t blow
when you go hide
without your love
I’m lonely
deep inside
Sistina may refer to:

Sistina (name), a feminin italian given name
Sistina (surname), a very rare italian surname
Sistina (typeface), an all-capitals serif typeface
Sistina Software, a U.S. company that focused on storage solutions designed around a Linux platform, acquired by Red Hat in 2003
Sistine Chapel (Cappella Sistina in Italian)
Sistina- beautifull sweet girl,
the girl who took my heart, snad se Ti jednou OTEVŘOU oči.


Ano, pamatuji si každý krok ,když jsem šel tehdy k Vám do kopce i zpět kolem kapličky, každý Tvůj pohyb a pohled, každé rozpřáhnutí rukou, teplo nebo zimu nebo horkost, postávání v tajícím sněhu před kinem a pára od úst, potáhnutí z cigarety, realita všech těch zážitků je jako film, do kterého můžu kdykoli vstoupit, úžasné, tohle vše jsem s Tebou prožil, nikdo jiný nemá …. možnost poznat Tě takhle….přesto, daleko více pro mne znamenají chvíle, které jsme prožili jen my dva… ne pracovně…

…jízda dvou srdcí na horské dráze.

Kutání stříbra v měsíční noci.

Kutání stříbra v měsíční noci.

Lubomír Tomik

Chtěl jsem jen, aby jsi řekla:
-To je krásné. -

Pomrkávající louka květin očí
šumí ve větru, najednou zhasne,
srpek Měsíce je jako srdce na Tvém krku,
studené mlčící vzdálené,
někdo ho vykutal ve stříbrné noci.

Má láska je jako stínový box,
tančící silueta,
v odlescích střepů zrcadel.

Musím se více snažit.

Cutting silver on a moonlit night.

Lubomír Tomik

I just wanted you to say:
-That is beautiful. -

Blinking meadow of flower eyes
it rustles in the wind, suddenly goes out,
the crescent of the moon is like a heart on your neck,
cold silent remote,
someone rolled it out on a silver night.

My love is like a shadow box,
dancing silhouette
in the reflections of the shards of mirrors.

I have to try harder.

K hudbě báseň . Když.

Lubomír Tomik

Když se budeš cítit ztracená ve tmě, ve mě,
polož mne dolů do haly.

Jsem jeden z těch co Tě  nikdy neopustí myšlenkou,
přichází další bouře,
jsme jen potrhané tlející prádlo,
na , 
na šňůrách,
protože nás někdo zapomněl sundat,
zapomněl sundat,
zapomněl oddat.



Lubomír Tomik

When you feel lost in the dark, in me,
put me down the hall.

I'm one of those who will never leave you with the thought
another storm is coming,
we're just torn rotting clothes,

on ,
on cords,
because someone forgot to take us off,
forgot to take off
forgot to marry.



Lubomír Tomik

She became beautiful and settled,
she became one of half couples at romantic tables
on a black and white afternoon,
in the summer cafes of the city,
I kiss you hungrily on the mouth,
somewhere in the distance a rattlesnake of castanets or a blind snake,
we almost went hand in hand,
a walk through the freezing shadow of sadness,

The stars bring memories,
herbs roots,
medicinal or highly toxic.
Why us
why don't you marry us before Him?

He holds those thoughts, he keeps them under water,
until they run out of breath
then she turns and rests panting,
stretches a flexible white young body,
on all those Muhammads.


Utopí je.  

Lubomír Tomik

Zkrásněla a usadila se,

stala se jedním z poloviny párů u romantických stolečků

v černobílém odpoledni,

v letních kavárnách města.


Líbám Tě lačně na ústa,

někde v dálce chřestí kastaněta nebo slepý had,

šli jsme skoro ruku v ruce,

procházka mrazivým stínem smutků,

utopie ?


Hvězdy přináší vzpomínky,

bylin kořínky,

léčivé nebo prudce jedovaté.

Proč nás,

proč nás před Ním neoddáte ?

Utopie ?


Drží ty myšlenky, drží je pod vodou ,

dokud jim nedojde dech,

pak se otočí a spočine zadýchaná ,

natáhne pružné bílé mladé tělo,

na všech těch Mohamedech.

Message fot The Great Magician.

Magic is the Science and Art of causing change to occur in accordance with the Will.
(Clarification: It is my Will to shape the world of certain facts under my consciousness. I therefore take „magical weapons“ – pen, ink and paper; I write „spells“ – these are these sentences – in „magical language“. The composition and distribution of this book is so by the act – MAGIC – which I cause changes by taking place in accordance with my Will.)


Hi dear Mr.M.

Right now it looks like WHEN. SHE, thought, idea, paper, pen, rough poem, editing when transcribing reading aloud, rhythm, rhymes, pauses, tones, the overall feeling of the poem, mood, sound, then the computer, publication on the network, look into my kitchen, I have a great Teacher in EVERYTHING,YOU.

Skylla a Charybda.

Skylla a Charybda.

Lubomír Tomik

Život je něžná černá pentle na Tvém krku,
smýkán mezi Skyllou a Charybdou lásky a světa,
každý okamžik je poklad.

Musel jsem přijít o všechno , abych Tě mohl znovu poznat,
abych Tě znovu našel,
na okrajích komnat.

Na horizontech mlhovin Tvých očí běsnící dalekohledy,
to jsem našel je vzdáleno příběhu před usnutím
spíše vrčícím stínům na okraji tmavých lesů,
žít ve stínu několikátého Cézara, proč?

Skylla and Charybda.

Lubomír Tomik

Life is a tender black ribbon on your neck,
slumped between Scylla and Charybdis of love and the world,
every moment is a treasure.

I had to lose everything so I could get to know you again,
to find you again
at the edges of the rooms.

Raging binoculars at the edges of the horizons of Your eyes,
I found them a distant story before falling asleep
rather snarling shadows at the edge of dark forests,
to live in the shadow of several Caesar, why?


Magie je Věda a Umění způsobit změnu, aby nastala ve shodě s Vůlí.
(Objasnění: Je to moje Vůle formovat svět určitých skutečností za mého vědomí. Beru proto "magické zbraně" - pero, inkoust a papír; píši "zaklínání" - to jsou tyto věty - v "magickém jazyce".Kompozice a distribuce této knihy je tak aktem - MAGIE - kterou způsobuji změny zaujmutím místa ve shodě s mojí Vůlí.)


Crowley recites Poetry

5 poems, read by Crowley himself. The quality of the tape is poor, but understandable considering their age and lack of restoration, save for some amplifying I did before uploading them from the CD ripped versions.

The Pentagram

In the years of the Primal Cause,
From the dawn of Terrestrial Birth,
Man marched with the Mammuthon horde,
And Man was the lord of the Earth
He made him a hollow skin
from the heart of an holy tree,
He encompassed the Earth therein,
And Man was the lord of the Sea!
He controlled the vigorous fiends,
He harnessed the lightning for higher,
He drove the celestial beam,
So Man was the lord of the Fire!
Deep-mouthed, from their throne, deep-seated,
the choirs of the aeons declare
the last of the Demons defeated!
For Man was the Lord of the Air!
Arise, oh man in thy strength,
The Kingdom is thine to inherit,
'Til the High Gods witness at length
that Man is the lord of his Spirit!

The Poet

Bury me in a nameless grave.
I came from God, the world to save.
I brought them wisdom from above,
worship and liberty and love.
But they slew me, for I did disparage
their thought, religion, law and marriage.
So be my grave without a name,
that earth may swallow up my shame.

At Sea

As night has stars more rare than ships in oceans,
placed from pole to pole,
so all the wonder of her lips incur innavigable soul.
Such light she gives to guide my path,
that I am am swallowed in her swell of her heart, so sagely dark.
Controls my heaven, controls my hell.
In her I live most my new dancing moments in the sun
In her I die, but a sterile shoot of nightshade from oblivion.
In her my self dissolves, a grain of salt cast careless in the sea,

My passion purifies my pain to please her personality.
God grant the years to confirm my prison, roam too [?].
Anointing love, a scourging tear, in the sanctifying solitude.
Man is so infinitly small and all these stars determinate.
Yet maker and moulder of them all,
Man is so infinitely great!

The Titanic

Down crashed the serpents brittle steel,
In summer sparks of mans demise.
Down crashed, upon an immobile, brainless barrier, ice.
May Gods shoot their laughing lip,
Let not fate founder with the ship.
We reel before the blows of fate,
Our stout souls stagger at the shock.
Oh, there is something ultimate which sparks over the living rock.
Catastrophe beyond belief,
Harden our hearts with fear of the debris.
The Gods and the Titans showered their high, intolerable scorn.

But no God know it, in what hour, a new Prometheus may be born!

Man is doomed to drag him down.
A crown of thorns is still a crown!
No hard nature can bark the spirit of mankind,
It is not built upon a pen?
It is not washed to the wind?
Disaster and destruction came
before our triumph in the end!

My fingernails grow on my fingers.
And my fingers are fixed firmly to my hand.
It is my hand that terminates my arm,
and that's fixed to my shoulder like a charm.
My shoulder is a portion of my pelvis
I hope no prostitute however adroit would
end this shocking sequence.
Yet we find even in England men of evil mind,
pornographers who love of fiendy tales, (and are)
shameless enough to mention fingernails.

For You and Alan.

Pro Tebe a Alana. Skutečnost,teď.

Když byly z jeho těla odejmuty kousíčky kůže,

uvědomil si holou pravdu, nic než pravdu.

Držela v rukou elegantně ladně rozmáchle líbezně benátskou masku,

 bránila se tak zapomnění,

Zmizela nakrátko.

Nikdy neviděl někoho tak úžasného,

Nikdy necítil někoho tak živého,

Nikdy nepoznal Tebe.

Tak jak jsem Tě poznal já, jen já.

Ve dvou očích.

V jednom úsměvu.

Našel jsem lék na život, lék na naše životy,


Můj chybějící korálku.

For you and Alan. The fact, now.

When pieces of skin were removed from his body,

he realized the bare truth, nothing but the truth.

She held a Venetian mask elegantly gracefully in her hands,

 she prevented oblivion,

By disappearing into the darkness.

He has never seen anyone so amazing,

He had never felt anyone so alive,

He never knew you.

As I knew you, only me.

In two eyes.

In one smile.

I found a cure for life, a cure for our lives,


My missing bead.

Právě jsem našel jednu z předmluv k Mapě kontinentu Tvého srdce.

“When our worlds and our hearts are consumed by a tempest, we can always only seek the highest ground, be that moral, intellectual, or literal.” The presence of the word “tempest” makes one suspect that this is Moore speaking directly to readers the message he hopes we take from Tempest.

První věta…Když jsou naše světy a srdce spotřebovány, stráveny ,požírány bouří…My…Ty a já.

Sedmnáct inspirujících.

1. „Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn, or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude.“ — Denis Waitley

2. „There are friendships imprinted in our hearts that will never be diminished by time and distance.“ — Dodinsky

3. „I am grateful for every precious moment life offers me. It allows me to see the miracle in each experience.“ — Emmanuel Dagher

4. „Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.“ — Kahlil Gibran

5. „Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.“ — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

6. „You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.“ — Christopher Robin

7. „I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.“ — Anne Frank

8. „The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart.“ — Helen Keller

9. „Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.“ — Thich Nhat Hanh

10. „What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.“ — Aristotle

11. „When you are joyful, when you say yes to life and have fun and project positivity all around you, you become a sun in the center of every constellation, and people want to be near you.“ — Shannon L. Alder

12. „When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth.“ — Jess C. Scott

13. „A joyful heart is the normal result of a heart burning with love. She gives most who gives with joy.“ — Mother Teresa

14. „Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.“ — Joseph Campbell

15. „Laughter is a sunbeam of the soul.“ — Thomas Mann

16. „Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumblebee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams.“ — Ashley Smith

17. „Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.“ — Marianne Williamson

Vcelku vážná večeře.

pro Pavlu

Lubomír Tomik

Vcelku Vážná Večeře pro nás dva se změnila v :
kosmické nadlábnutí pro dva servírované na orbitě Fantazie,
dům na hranici světů snů doteků hluboko v jádru neznáma, pro dva,
jsi krása snu,
jsi vtělení snu ,
myslíš, myslíš si,
že dnes, že dnes,
bez bolesti a smutku,
bez bolesti a smutku,
jak jinak, víš,
že dnes,
že dnes neusnu ?

V lůžku pro dva ?
V právě koupeném hliništi za Jeruzalémem ?

Zakletý v Tobě.

Zakletý v Tobě.

Lubomír Tomik

V podstatě jsem sněhová vločka,

v mracích rostoucí,

kam se snášející?


Rozplynul jsem se, pára, vítr,

když jsem se setkal

se žhnoucím meteorem,


navždy zakletý,











Orchestr padl do ticha,

do ticha.


Mé srdce je u Tebe na severu

2:51-3.21 je nej …změna rytmu..melodie…nálady…mé srdce je u Tebe na severu. miláčku
And should my spirit soften
Like snow in early spring
Or waver in the sultry haze
That soothing summers bring
Engage the compass of my heart
All arrows drawn to N
When night falls on my journey
And my path comes to an end

Take me north again

Take me north again


Hnus…poslouchám na youtube nový singl Sólstafir…naprostá nádhera…úplně okouzlen rytmem, zvukem, tempem, islandštinou..najednou po čtyřech minutách podělaná reklama na T-mobile…opravdu ? Opravdu ten zásah může být tak hnusný a necitlivý, barbarský ….NIKDY nechci mít společného nic s touhle společností, ať tam jejich reklama skončila bůhvíproč, ať někoho napadlo do půlky oficiálního singlu vstrčit reklamu…strčte si ji na jiné místo… nemůžu si poslechnout jeden OFICIÁLNÍ singl….? …..hnus. ….naperte tu reklamu všude…nejlépe do bubínků revolverů a mačkejte spoušť jako o život, však co, pár vteřin reklamy…hnus.


Právě jsem udělal pěknou ztřeštěnost, ale tak to asi má být …a pak jsem koukal na mé včerejší články a …v ..jedné z prvních básní, které jsem napsal….mělo by tam být ještě jedno slovo….Hladová…protože co jiného je snášející se bleděmodrá noc, sápájící se po nás, temnota, které tam někde číhá, cinkání zvonků a obraz za okny, prázdnota…., to místo je pořád hladové…

Klíží se mi oči,
do mého snu vkročíš,
bez reptání,
bez ptaní,
nelze čekat, jaké váhání,
sladkostmi mne zahrneš,
jak bleděmodrá, 
hladová noc přikrývá umírajícího.

Padáky touhy.

Padáky touhy.
Lubomír Tomik
Jako je idea boha,
jako je idea víl,
dílem nich samotných,
v oříšku Královny Mab šepot,
zlatý claim, zlatý depot,
pokaždé když jsem Tě políbil,
vyměnili jsme si perleť křídel víl,
rty je přimáčkly k sobě,
a ony se snášely k zemi,
drobná prohnutá vílí těla,
padáky touhy.

Jedna z mých prvních věcí…

kterou jsem napsal, pamatuji si ji celý život, kdysi dávno, v devadesátých letech, noci plné lásky a absintu…je … pro Tebe a Pavlu , za radost ze života, kterou pro mne jste, snad není vše ztraceno:


Klíží se mi oči,

do mého snu vkročíš,

bez reptání,

bez ptaní,

nelze čekat, jaké váhání,

sladkostmi mne zahrneš,

jak bleděmodrá noc přikrývá umírajícího.