“Human eye terror cuts the madness in the Hawthorn wood surround then bites deep into the already sickening tree stump reality. That is used the magickal methods to gain access to the Astral plane. Decide to turn on the off beat and spinning around catch the red corpusels on the run laughting at the song of winters death ”
Seen by the crossroads propergander televisual, singing to the moon and the sun already dying down over the horizon .decide to cut the channel and order the Gods of chaos to their doom. Chuckling now at the funny “d” in’ the mixed type writing and re-hashing the lost devilary with the new found valid experience... sheltered from the hideous first word draft blacked out from the steel ribbons cut tendons.  Out there beyond the door of your own creation cuts  pure reality with the stone chisel will of the Magus.
The scene lies discoloured and figured by the rays of a gross and indeterminable mere machine that lacks its own reality until eaten and feasted on the minds of those unfortunate viewers. They then lack the inner viewing invention capacity to unlock the door of their own ‘creation and so lacking so turn once again to the box of destruction blaming all at once those that have the will To unlock and open the door created at their own bidding. 
Eventually it had to happen that as of now the Guards to this wall to the abyss have left their posts and now forgotten the passwords of their own creation. . .they leave the  door wide open to any and all that will enter and as such mass industrial tourism has taken over and any that can leave the screen for a short while unaccompanied by flesh may journey the Abyss without passwords , nor filtering .The guardians to the Astral have left their tedious jobs and sit idle now at the screen watching their own forms and creations sold back to them.

I wander along unaided and as I please alone the unofficial, routes unt1! I reach where I am aimed the Astral writings dept where the history of Humanities real history of Magickal development is located.
These-books detail the whole secrets of every system of magick, through the ages and it is a particularly obscure branch of Nordic Rune magick that I aim to research in these records.
The books in such a place are ripped and maggot riddled unread by the invading tourist and deserted by the new curators to a state of decay. You enter such a library of worm books and fall short in the growing haze as a thousand deaths heads word lines run out screaming to be read and not dead in the fading ink of centuries past.Meanwhile all forms of modem devilry sit about in comfortable.. leather televisual pc interviewers bound chairs,  parasitical television personalities that have taken the records section as their rest room off screen, cockroach cathode stars that burn brighter than the real stars obscured by the orange neon street lighting, glare harshly obliterating the rising falling dawn, and call their own tunes in three notes now one. 
Metaphysical monsters with feet up on the ancient as they rip pages out to wipe away limelight make-up off cracked faces, idly chiselling out their scripts across clear white light and quoting out of context the historical books manhandled and shat on by a thousand phoney resting Shakespeareans on screen.


The far travelled adept rips hair from head in frenzied anguish at the desolation of what was once the source of all magical knowledge. . .Frustration at the infiltrating television personalities idle yet to be written that”p6llute all areas of this world beyond doorways of own creation.

One last look at the wreckage of ripped paper learning picks up a book from the mash soaked in skin cream amidst the jeers of the actor personalities, a mob of madness reads to find the whole system rearranged in a non-linear form as according to contempory styles of modem literature... Abramerlin words scattered amongst voodoo possession rites in turn cut up with Enochian backwards transcribed spells .and a pinch of Egyptian Ra rituals chaotically mixed in. The television personalities jeer by calling the horror  expressed on the face of the occult scholar the face of a fila stein. . . can’t appreciate real art...
The script of last years “crossroads” episodes spliced in with an invocation to Hecate reading first up and down and: then across.  The long travelled frustrated scholar of ancient times adhered gives scream of pure desperate decent. Then  comes an idea and pulls the plug on the chattering hateful personalities pollution and they swirl screaming whirlpools of anti-matter as ants down the plug- hole.
As Ancient customs demand.
ice.. .
Such a s when a traveller comes into a village pub to ask
directions and to sit a while to drink. The villagers see it
is Odin back from the underworld in disguise of-modern dress
although the design is over larger than that is realism a Hawthorn walking stick and dark over sized cloak and hat obscuring one eye and the faint smell of cinnamon: 
this being a corrispondent to the planet mercury : protector
of all travellers. The villagers in fear disbelief and confusion give the traveller beer in plenty for free. Walking where there are cars and modern implements of transportation a walker with a destination lacking conjures fear and mystification. The price of the beer sacrifice no where near out 
weighs the burden of doubt the simple ritual lifts-.
The mythical old gods return with vengence in unrelated out-
posts of the imagination. In certain fictional works their power characteristics return. They are the first know attempts at building block reality constructs,  and although the mass media have put their meddaling nose into the astral light more than once spreading distortions across its surface with television personalities and realistic social dramas so they-think.  The light remains clear and the images of the ancient ones comes through clear when ever an artist writer. . . Magickian having a mental block falls into free-fall chaos.             
Images of the cinnamon god come through in characteristic disguise a shape changer when ever possible, mutates into forms that will last through the dark ages. worm their ways into pulp fiction and soap opera banalities.  Riding thru the middle ages on a horse. In the form of death a skeleton with over sized hawthorn spear and dark cloak riding after country folk loitering by a cross roads. . .Two Ravens squawk over head rules the dead and the lost spirits chases the plague across Europe. with two wolves lurching at the dead. .riding out across the sky from Glastonbury Tor leading the dead souls out across on their play day of Huntingmoon, Halloween,  the break between the two worlds.