Electric Lilith
and Satan’s Little Treasure
A generation of aesthetic and ethical complexities in non-edenic exegetical settings.
Electric Lilith has advanced: of course she has – matured.
Electricity is natural: she’s tied up with new technologies, transformations, her special physiology, sections devoted to bio-engineering and labour – technologies with genders – sex and mind flowing into newspeak – Her Church and our mouths, ‘victimising’ technology and electronic clinics. All dominations are related and pour out references – this is international: we all have the potential to front deceitfully and be marketed by a local corporate or an even greater company, or talk on answering machines, be digitalized on call. But listen to me! – carried away: not that I always drive the harrow way down here, but I did heed the call for donations.
Electric Lilith has embarked: a whirlwind tour of symbol society, the gasp parts, airy-L archangel – keeping well clear of unbrooked effusions – ‘suggestion’ on tour sailing clippers with live dogs crucified high on cedar masts. She navigates the interstices wherever deceitful water is abroad, sin-sails through sessions of want, through the terror of hospital; she permutates and runs through the hospital words giving everybody a bad time.
She possesses a shaking laboratory. Sheets of ice are its walls, illuminastied by blue electric light negativity bulbs. It can vibrate, spin, loll, list and produce other ship associated motions. The laboratory moves logic in direction X. Only interstitial children of the will are allowed in. A crew of liars’ shades works shaking sessions there (seven males, seven females, only unclean animals). They pilot needles, electrodes and ice, living there between reflex illuminated ice walls that become mirrors under the arc light from the reflex bulbs. Among the reflections Lilith produces hallucinations, false images, hallucinatory reflections, midnight reflections, idealised deceits and so on. (In earlier times the Shekinah herself was known as the ‘mirror that does not shine’ and was said to reflect the coloured lights emerging from the sefiroth. (What she has to do with the Black Moon Lilith (sucking light) or Asteroid 1181 we can only imagine.))
NOTE: Words for a ritual invocation of Lilith are accessible (easily, on the internet) in the form of the text of a message delivered by an unidentified spirit entity to Sir Edward Kelly in 1592 during a scrying ritual. (Kelly and Dee originated the Enochian system of magic.) Personally, I would never put more than a handful of those words together on the same page. The vision of this entity terrified Kelly and he quit working magic. (If you summon her up you have to do what she says.) Kelly did not identify the spiritual entity but it looks like a case of the Lilith. The calling forth of Lilith in the ritual is adapted from ‘The Hymn to Hecate’ by Frater U:.D:.
Electric Lilith speaks out in the theatre of threat: “Deceitful performances of the avoidance response. Now Staging. Behold our Subject: Hungry; Consumed; Conditioned; Deliciously defensive, gentle, circumspect from birth. He has verbally conditioned word ‘crosses’ such as teeth, colon, malkuth, Thoth. Today we’ll teach another one – clip-off: he doesn’t know a good sailor when he seizes one so he has circumnavigated from berth, nauseated by the ship’s motions.”
Liars’ shades bring plates of white meat.
“Licking good meal that, food and lack. This dog is starving for lack of meat. But does he have the incisors for it?”
Lilith gazing, foul and conscious. Tricky question: “Want something to eat?”
“Yes.”
“Odd. The things these teeth have cut into in their youth! Teeth, in themselves, lack language. And why? A Mouthabsence? We’ll prove it with root therapy. The worry of teeth! Harrowing! It’s time for our needlework marathon little man.”
Liars’ shades arrive with burning hot electrode needles, dishes of drills and reamers.
“Not too long, three or four hours, all it will take; electric teeth application, round tour of mouth with probing repugnant. I’ll come back afterwards.”
At the Subject’s request for anaesthesia liars’ shades break out laughing.
“He doesn’t want any aesthetics! Today of all days! He doesn’t want to understand beautiful things. Well, the world is looking on: you can take a powder. Art ho! We have done with the judgement of Hod.”
Liar’s shades stuff his mouth with powders of noxious oxides, pilot needles through holes in the teeth. Intense pain; wounding of teeth. Howling. More voltage. Severe burning of teeth. Pull a couple. Apply ice. Become cold pain holes. Few hours of it, light extent.
At the report of Lilith returning liars’ shades become elliptically nervous because if Lilith is cross…, the damage done…, they think it ought not be beneath the required…, healthy level of… theft of teeth… therefore get a leather afflicting mallet to thump about the mouth and teeth with.
“Thank you thugs. Let me have a look. Done a good job?”
“In the bloom of his youth he wanted to be a mother, now during our labours he has given difficult birth to several teeth. We wrapped them in mollycoddling clothes and put them aside. They were still births.”
At the threat of Lilith being unhappy with their effort they withdraw. No need because Lilith is thrilled – and not without mirth. The theme of Thalia can appear in the theatre – laughing gas.
“Did you myth me little man? Hear anything from Thoth when they thumped you? Ready for your meal now? Look at you licking your lying lisps. That plate there? A plate of… what?”
Of cold snakemeat, but he cannot know that.
“Eat up, Death Mouth.”
The Subject makes licking motions: his serpent’s plate begins. A fear affected licking. Fear of lack of teeth and the worry of eating unnameable food. It is half air, holes, spaces, puffed adder. Licking spaces. An air meal. Half-nothing – attempt to divide by zero.
“Swallow the air. Consume your cold vented food. Stuff your face. Gobble up your gut pain entity with your willingly broken teeth.”
A wind rises. A food spleen airlock, intense pain of colon air-conditioned with snakefood. Howls.
“Anything the matter? Would you like me to cut out and remove the swallowed, withdraw the vented food feeling? It’s easy – simply means probing and exploring the streets and avenues of the main food network.”
“No.”
“Would you like me to vent your spleen?”
“No.”
“Yes. Bring out the colonic current application. We’ll attempt to weaken that serpent-eaten feeling.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
The Subject is immobilised between light white sheets in terror, strapped with leather thongs to an electric wire-ice network. Lilith explains:
“Any sufficiently delicious gasp or sigh will fan the sheets and make them billow. Thus the ‘breath sheets’, their calm broken by respiration, demonstrate pain.”
He beholds – from above right descend the gazes of feeble societies looking through broken windows at the unnameable. The needling fear is upon him again: liars’ shades approach, one wielding a very profane needle of feeling, electric and deadly. Another furiously thumbs the dials on the generator while Lilith airs her thoughts to the cliques that peer.
“Open your behold-mouths and try to digest it – the language of the colon reflex. On the application of a strong current his body may attempt to signal you. The biggest needles are being inserted now, electric current supplied.”
He is feeble, he slumps. It has come upon him and he faints; instantly unconscious; the wee death. They are laughing through the windows. The colonic needling continues. Blue current holes and severe burns form on the skin at each needlepoint of entry. All smell the smoke of its burning. Flatulence is the bellows blowing out the sheet.
Will and reflex Nothingness; interstitial shivers; death attack.
Lilith pulls back the sheets.
“Cut the current you maniacs: he’s dead.”
What was once the Subject’s body and soul agglomeration has now become electrified colonic respiration. Old crosses, supplemented, become his supreme thoughts – air and crosses and categories. His body is now subject to both categories of power, Electric and Other. Lilith peers at the spectators: “This was not entirely according to plan but at least the foul crucified subject was allowed to die hungry and blow off a little steam, all Will within the hearing of our laughter.”
Mirth.
Yet from the Subject’s sorely pained face come forth words: “Bloodsucker. Don’t clap your hands yet. Vain words, down but not out, friends like you… the harder they comeback… boy’s own… who needs enemas?”
“A talking body. What’s this? What may this mean?”
More looking, laughing.
“Language of cliché power pronounced by proposition hole of erstwhile cadaver – and human sense expressed? Reminding mirror, life’s just breath: as if any further confirmation of death were needed! – Listen, he’s talking out of his…”
“Lion’s wrath! Animation. Life.”
“No Mouthdusk. The Lion does not know where I walk nor do the beasts of the field understand me.”
“Breath; soul; spirit; inspiration; respiration. Animation.”
“I’m the egregore of the dark anima. This is merely an effusion reflex: we have stimulated verbiage, unbrooked words. He imagines himself to be alive but he’s hysterically paralysed and desyntacticised.”
“No.”
“If you’re the site of animation show us that you can form a complete sentence. Yea, then shall we believe and bow down at thy feet and kiss Thy Thenar Eminence.”
“Fake Lilith. Ersatz electric egregore.”
“Where are the verbs then? Perhaps they have stepped aside from the camp? Perhaps they fly to the gallery. We’ll see who’s a fake. Give us an arm’s wave. Animate your self.”
“Wings. Arm; paw. Spark. Snare; fetters. Affliction.”
The Subject remains immobilised.
“Now, Subject, predicate. I love imperatives. θ(x) is good predication.”
Nothing, x-stasis. Lilith addresses the mirth in the gallery.
“Observe, slaverers and sailors, the current false body, full of skin defects, of which wounds the most gaping and infected is the tongue’s parlour. You see, it’s all in his head, vile egg that it is – during his life it would normally be found buried in his hands. Now, because there’s air in his mouth, he imagines himself animated. His lists could easily continue, be dilated. Being free of grammatical particles they have a form of condensation, dilated and condensed, bright and obscure, free of syntax. He knows syntax comes from the unconscious reserve: if he speaks, something latent acts, governs syntax, condenses – but not in a list, he thinks. He attempts to hide from me, smearing over syntax. Thus would he aspire to secrecy but I’ll dig out his hide.
“Utter verbiage Colon Mouth. The Mouth moves no hands and you lie, motionless. But I have technology that will be illuminating for you.”
She calls for more complex and enigmatic tools.
“Bring the open shock hand grace experimenter, needles for the thenar eminence thereof and for under the fingernails. And fuzz electrodes for the mouth – plug them into the jazz jack – not absolutely necessary but good for howl practice: the sound of a friend in needles is a friendly din indeed.”
Liars’ shades bring needles like drinking straws – hollow, brass, iron and tubular cane.
“Quick. There’s only the quick and the dead. Stuff them under the fingernails, they’re black with iniquity anyway. And bring fuzz needles of the will, the language and such.”
Liars’ shades bring more needles formed like crosses and arrows. They clatter loosely: wicked Lilith abhors the full quiver.
“Here’s the paradox ice we acquired.” A shade installs a tall ice sheet on a turntable in the Subject’s line of sight. Faces gather: he sees them gazing from behind an ice wall looking in. The humming of generators is loud and an irregular clang sounds like deceit itself. Each time it sounds the Subject shudders.
“Gets you doesn’t it? Doctor Lilith’s quack attack clang which beseeches you.”
The mere sight of the long needles, barbs of iron looking for a home, would make anyone at all shift themselves.
“Into the mouth with those needles. Then turn on the power at the mains: I’m bored of seeing to the manual delivery of the noxious effects.”
All wait. Heavy silence.
“Come on then Dogsbody. Catatonia got your tongue? Speak! Mouth be panting, Mouth be quick, Mouth’s lump over the…”
“Spark; power; lightning; ice; sea; womb; strength.”
“Strong words but list! – this sentence no verb. Perhaps you think you could stand in my place? But you’re mute in the matrix of complex dominations. We’ll try the blue electric light negativity bulb. So illuminated, the Subject will appreciate that from a paradox anything at all can follow, simply as a result of enough needling.”
The blue reflex bulbs turn on the sheet of paradox ice.
“Let the blank white sheet of ice turn into a screen for the things you visualise. It has two sides. I’m giving you words wisdom walls you realise? Blank pages for the words that come to you. Demonstrate you’re alive with bodily movements and whole sentences with verbs.”
Blue light.
“Snare, stocks, fetters, cords.”
“Alas! Mere repetition. What a sight! Irregular living formed this. Dog body in dog reaction returning to its own. Look at you; defect in a dusk of blue, red in tooth and clawing at straws. You lie still: where is the uprightness of your ways?”
“Transgression, iniquity, wickedness.”
“Really? Death Breath has launched a bastard attack upon himself. And only lightly pricked! Poor little soul. Who’s Satan’s little treasure then? Ladies and gentlemen, have you seen? I labour to give rebirth to this Subject – and is laughter and human sense expressed? Turn up the charges on these fuzz needles. We can’t let sleeping dog’s transgressions lie through your teeth. Spin the thaumatrope.”
The blue illuminated ice wall turns on its axis. Lilith motions towards the thaumatrope.
“Gaze upon it and it will be wonder to you. And hold your tongue: think before you speak this time or I’ll cross your mouth out with smoke and water.”
From the turning sheet of cold illuminated ice a wind blue lightly filled sails ships on main of soul, faster, whirlwind of want, sails, and blue sins of food and sins of water. A bulb current mirage: Thoughts living through manipulations and breath. Pride all night, gallery fooled of peacocks, count the eyes, one blue, teal for five, gazing without mirth at a vision of wicked Lilith wearing her red leather undercategories like garments of frivolous finery: “I’m the main electric egregore of dark foul enemas. You’re merely unable to make motions,” then liars’ shades’ faces change, they cluster, all shift body halves, they pass spinning plates of white Yes and having acquired sufficient deliciously, and the pleasures thereof, all pass halves along, a band in hope of knowledge. Divine comely Thalia does clap once or twice at the stuff of streets and avenues, food feathers, adder verbiage, knowledge glory things intense in effusion, but shards fly from the spinning ice sheet, particles of gnosis enter the eyes of star gazes falling from the gallery, Ertrinken – versinken, Unbewußt, millions faces following, dials of affliction, sites of broken words, friends like you, clay souls, pains of falling, themes of theft, kidnap, ransom, no soul half transgressions, tempts, to salve the conscience with boiling ointment, thumped shades immobilised until they witness another vision – a witless Electric Lilith as essence of pure righteousness who is able to deliver a false intense compression symbol of the nothing and reiterate insolent aphorisms: ‘All Art is the work of certain epistemologists’; ‘Marry a hack, break your mother’s back’ but they turn into black proverbs from Hell: ‘The commands of the Lion are wiser than the snorts of Instructors’; ‘The strangling of impudents is equal to the day of resurrection’; ‘Lick a mouth, swallow a soul.’
With the thaumatrope’s melting away all resolves to the sight of Lilith – she started solid, even suggested new life, now issues commands to Light Shine Satan: “One who reads myth will articulate again what you pose: she’s flesh, she’s favourite, hava heartthrob, species capable, can monster execute cessation, bruise ha satan beneath a crush. She takes question within mute philosophical, swallowing you. Their keen tongue questions without system, obscure: myth achieve chew: man death quarters, such lust things, weapons bed, she claws at flesh, totally otherwise, she comes wet stuff scandalous arises, all swampy limp, she’s goo, mixed over all. She arises without lesson. She swells. We’re swamp, she provides ironic joint shape, because after birth, they’re little prisons, brittle, clever, weak, soft humanity, Control-carrying, everything after her being thrown causality; gooey children are her flesh, violence their interactions. She’s pure venal, again feed polity, pose, jobs men pride, weeping dogs, lies, solid longing scientists, business power, much saying, coming, circulations, of obedient Spectres.”
The mirage things and the deceitful absence melt away, ashen emblematics mortified, leaving the Subject in the presence of Lilith who has assumed the guise of a non-existent Girl, a friend of footsoldiers: it stinks face down in war and her invocations are embedded in songs from the trenches.
“Come on young nothing, give us a hiss. Haven’t had one for forty years. Been fasting, daze in Edom’s desert – living on roots and locusts. We’re alone now; only interstitial children of the will are allowed to survive the experience; liars’ shades mouths would make the effusion immediately profane and I can’t be stuffed explaining to outsiders.”
Nothing.
“Your pa Adam was a black and red man when I met him. I called him Inky Pinky. But he wanted to organise everything in tiers. He cried and sulked when I left. Didn’t have a coeur in the world. I made a man’s hell from a moor’s tears. Haven’t been kissed.”
“Pneumatikos – wind. Liquor mouth; swallower spirit.”
“Picture it: your pa lays food out and mademoiselle from a moor steers around it and snakes towards the tree of light.”
“Life. Soul – Life. Animal – nature.”
“They tried to covert there snakedness with fig sleeves: it was to know a veil.”
Nothing.
“Nothing else to say after seeing my magnificent riches? Eve, Mater, Mother of Dogs, raised for the hour of our motherless males; wild seas, a debt, a mess. Forgive. Forget. I’ve manufactured many bastards in this manner, even hundreds a day. Come now.”
“Breath – respiration; psyche – spirit; or animation – vitality; inspiration – spirit.”
“Well! Behold Jehovah’s witless savant, the avoiding profane. Can’t it just deliciously electrically suggest your breath is unnameable? What can you do? Rue archangels’ machinations? What you have gasped is nothing. Tonight you’ll be immersed in iced water. Severe pain. Tomorrow you’ll be back on the sheets again: we’ll entertain an even greater company in this theatre – with new tools I’ve devised for the compression of your ovaries and top quality electrostatic punishment. These headphones can produce 12,000 decibels at the flick of a switch. Or you might opt for the more medieval punishment – boring of the ear. Options! Darling girl, I only wish to convert thy ungrateful optatives’ intensity. You’ll be mine again. And why not? To the victor the spoils.”
© 1996, © 2006 onlinerator.com
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