Heaven

(§245) The speech of evil and infernal spirits is likewise natural to them because it is from affections; but it is from evil affections and consequent filthy ideas, to which angels are utterly averse. Thus the modes of speaking in hell are opposite to those of heaven; and in consequence evil spirits cannot endure angelic speech, and angels cannot endure infernal speech. To the angels infernal speech is like a bad odor striking the nostrils. The speech of hypocrites, who are such as are able to feign themselves angels of light, resembles in respect to words the speech of angels, but in respect to affections and consequent ideas of thought it is the direct opposite. Consequently, when the inner nature of their speech is perceived as wise angels perceive it, it is heard as the gnashing of teeth, and strikes with horror.

De Caelo et Ejus Mirabilibus et de inferno, ex Auditis et Visis

Emmanuel Swedenborg, 1758

In 19--, an associate professor at the University of C-----o did an analysis of a sampled nonsense language from a children’s television show as an exercise in comparative linguistics. To his astonishment, however, the nonsense language could be ascribed an apparent high degree of complexity and regularity in terms of apparent syntax and internal organization, atypical of glossolalia and more like a natural language. Further, the structure and pattern of the apparent language seemed unlike Indo-European inflected languages and more like an Austronesian isolating language.

Upon further inquiries, it appeared that the show was produced in the United States, but edited from unlicensed source material with minimal English language narration and scenes added to provide context, continuity and educational content to the puppet performer sequences where the nonsense language was used.

Further questions arose as to how the show was filmed, particularly the elaborate puppet segments and their alien setting. The degree of detail and peculiar range of movement displayed by the puppets called into question the actual scale of the puppets and what was inside of them. Most adult viewers had assumed a forced perspective and extensive use of miniatures created the fantastic locales that the puppets inhabited and that the "smoky god" that illuminated their world was just a lamp. 

Asemics, July 1982

With the disastrous success of the Montauk and the Mohole and Kola Superdeep Borehole Projects, it became obvious that the Satanic language provided by the OTO was as obsolete as the Ancient Greek, Egyptian and Sumerian phonemes that had been cut-up into glossolalia by its original practitioners…

The failure of Lingferno and other mathematically derived language approaches is usually attributed to the incommensurability of infernal numbers, particularly its dependence on division by infernal zero, absolute negative values and the value of infernal negative zero to the zero power being whatever the interlocutor thinks it is not (readers may refer to Hunt on "The Thousand Cuts Problem and Other Satanic Math Problems").

Serious researchers therefore turned to Desperanto, an artificial pastiche coddled out of the roots of obscenities and blasphemies from every human language….

As pragmatics gained more acceptance above ground, this too was reflected in infernal linguistics' reappraisal of traditional diabolics in terms of the original context of most ritual communication. It is now widely accepted that just as heavenly language is a mixture of context, angelic facial expression, affections, gesture and pure thought, infernal language is equally context bound, being articulated through violence, crime, diabolical expressions and satanic gestures, undying hatred and willful spite. The complex and verbose rituals of the first generation of satanic interlocutors received some justification and now it is typical for a team to have at least one orthodox Satanist on hand for such purposes.

“Milestones in PROJECT CEREBUS” SITI Chronicle, August 2008

One morning, after breakfast, my master announced we were traveling. He had heard/dreamed of our unfortunate brethren amid the stones and bright darkness of Heaven and had resolved to set out to see them himself to see if he could help. It was a matter of doctrine that those in paradise cannot receive aid, but in this, as in so many other things, my master was of his own mind and determined to see for himself and form his own judgment.

We stopped for lunch a mountainside café that was most refreshing and quaint… The mine had been abandoned, like the town, since the disaster. The tailings formed a slippery road to our destination.

Though I was only adept to the Third Darkness, I knew the Blind Way well, and followed my master’s descent agile as a drop of water spilling into a rocky chasm. He seemed to make haste in our descent. For us this near vertical descent was no more difficult than a set of steep stairs.

As we descended, the earth began to swaddle us in her mother’s warmth, the air burned and the rock grew soft beneath our grip. I was used to such extremes from our practice of meditating in ovens and burned not.

We came to an area called “the falls.” It was here that many angels and other such beings were said to gather on their way to and fro the cities of Heaven.

We sat on this ledge to meditate.

We had only sat for a few hours when the citizens of that deep place indeed began to appear. I was aware of their presence for a long time by the scratching sounds they made as they dragged their angelic bodies about. They were as described and I dared not actually behold them. Indeed, the whole of heaven is filled with such creatures, all in highest exultation and singing a continual chorus of joy. It is this sound with which the earth sings.

Upon realizing I observed them, they began to gather and disport themselves in an angelic way, making such threats and obscenities as divine creatures habitually make as greeting. They began to make good upon their offers of hospitality, but finding my master unmoved, they began to disport themselves by holy displays of fornication, profanity and violation upon each other. Host upon host of creature began to combine in an incredible hallowed gathering that writhed and reeked. I had never contemplated such things, such a degree of holiness before and my heart leapt and I began to sicken.

However, in my meditation, I felt the calming hand of my master. Did he point? Or rather he pointed by not pointing.

I realized that in all these grotesque, cruel and blessed sports, our hosts were like children. My attention animated them, my own desires fed them. Humbled, I returned to the most basic mantra and they vanished from whence they came. We finished and stretched, much refreshed.

As we had to return before nightfall, we began our ascent.

On our ascent, we encountered an angel, or spirit, apparently lost, like a bird in an attic, between two worlds. The creature begged water. My master poured some. In the creature’s hands it boiled away into a scalding cloud. The creature bleated in surprise and dismay, apparently unused to its unfortunate form.

My master smiled and poured again.

Nearer the surface, we encountered a food vendor coming down, apparently going to market. The wagon wheeled toward us, the scorched and roasted victuals swung before me, dribbling fat from the ends of its fingers, from which the nails still clung. In the wrists,  ragged holes.

My master said, “Do not criticize his wares; they are all he has and honestly got.”

On our way back home on the surface, my master's only comment was: “Ha, what a terrible place. I would not like to go there again."

Dim-Sook, Dim-Waz: Being an Account of My Induction, My Training In That Secret Order, Travels With My Master and Final Banishment From That Order with Some Simple Explanation of the Practice (Though Forbidden) and Helpful Diagrams and Tips,

Author, Date Unknown

How To Reach Me

Dear Tom,

ก.ท.ม. is indeed remote from L.A., I would beg you not to risk such an endeavor. You would have to travel very far up your own difficult and intransigent coast line, through the farthest land you have already visited, the land of potlach and salmon, to even farther, farther than Pytheas or Parry. In the white lands, it is said that it is so cold, pockets of moist air collapse into columns of standing fog that resemble hooded figures, that mere possibility and exhausted stars fall like ash from the skies and a man's heart stops beating, its sound stolen.

Here, at the summit of the globe, you will find the iced over and justly neglected ruins of Hitler's last fortress, done in a style that is monumental, overbearing, impregnable, illucid and non Euclidian, a sort of n-dimensional kitsch poorly copied out of badly understood alien forms, crossed by the transepts of UFO ports and the melted altazimuth mounts of various super vengeance weapons, all disintegrated and derealized by weapons of still more occult origin from Ag-Har-Ti, the capital of the hollow earth and the unsurpassable armory of its King, who shall remain nameless, but to whom all other kings and leaders are slaves.

Also, nearby the hardy community of Little Arctic Bavaria, settled by the survivors of the arctic conflict and denizens of the inner world who have developed a taste for harsh living, suffering or growing old, or could not or would not return : fitting subjects for Milton's poem.

It is recommended that you stop by Little Arctic Bavaria, particularly the Biergarten, where the ageless Sargent and his children make a number of fine and rewarding Bavarian comestibles. Here, too, some of the heavenly ways survive and if the Sargent thinks you a worthy traveller, you may taste a further draught of the “waters of paradise” courtesy of the children's mother. The way to the inner world is closed, so this may be your only opportunity. But do not mention it directly; it suffices to be a good heart who truly likes beer and children. Everyone else will wake up in the snow. Or not.

The way to the inner world, it must be emphasized, is closed. Do not stay overnight, as magnetic peculiarities produce extremely disturbing and vivid dreams, particularly of continually waking up and dreams of erotic bondage. These are particularly common among younger, more attractive travelers. It is important to remember that everything about the land of the Smoky God, particularly dreams of waking up there, are highly misleading. Do not talk about, or otherwise refer to your dreams, especially to anyone who was in them.

If you and your package somehow escape this remotest of circles, then you will still have to travel south, to negotiate through the Forbidden Kingdom, which is surrounded by a singular and impenetrable wall, whose 9,999 classes of bureaucrat have prepared an infinite maze whose complexity is that of heaven, and whose every citizen will place themselves before you as a guardian of a door you will never open.

Were you to somehow pass through these impenetrable doors, unscalable walls and mysterious foods that leave you hungry a half-hour later, then you would still have to pass through the spoiled Kingdom of ▣▨▩, whose inhabitants are all cursed lepers and whose twelve princesses you must win and marry in order to pass through the country, each disfigured in some terrible way and each afflicted with a different, even worse depravity within.

You must find a way to love each, well and truly for who they are: mutilated and evil, unlovable and unlovely, or never cross the kingdom, but remain in the province of the princesses' rejected affections, along with the other rejected suitors, whom the disease continually consumes, biting off a piece here and there, until they become all but unrecognizable to themselves, hardly able to intelligibly or distinctly pitch woo at all. To end up a suitor in this court is an unenviable fate, dressed up in soiled finery, whose cut cannot accommodate one's horrifically degraded symmetry, pawning what possessions one had for a tincture of parfum to try and abate to any degree, the deadly smell, or a piece of clay to replace a ravaged nose or missing lip, and then to compete with the barbaric yawping chorus of similarly debased and degraded half and quarter men, mumbling loud rumbles of stolen rhyme and gaudy praise through decaying throats and palates, all for a wretched, evil and ugly princess whose heart is long turned against love, in a land whose very soil seems soft rotten and unclean like the flesh of an enormous corpse.

Even if you should succeed in wooing, winning, and ultimately, truly loving each, fighting off army after army of failed and leprous suitors on diseased horseback, you would still have to then live with your bride in a fecund palace surrounded by over ripened groves, as husband and wife for 21 moons, until the birth of your child, who will stumble out like a fetid spoiled coconut and whose death in the river will end the curse and withdraw the venom from the rivers. And you must do this twelve times.

Then you would still have to pass through Lan Na, the land of a thousand rice fields, the Kingdom of my forebears. This will require due obeisance requiring at least 502 head of cattle, 1,400 pigs, 678,000 chicken and eggs, 1,000,897 sacks of rice, 302 bolts of finest silk, several wagons of finest fruit, at least 1,000 fine birds and peacocks of a musical nature, 134 barrels of salted fish, no less than 103 comely and accommodating slaves and Universal Soldier 3 -on VHS.

From there, it is only a week's journey or so to the capital, here, where I will welcome you and your gifts, Venetian, in the highest and most appropriate manner.

As you will no doubt die here, I will erect a splendid plaza in your memory, that curves in a spiral as long as your journey has been, done in gold and ivory, recounting your travails in your journey here. At the center of this structure will be your tomb, where I will select the comeliest and most talented of girl-slaves to lie with your body each night to the accompaniment of fine music.

No visitor shall escape the memorial, however, just as you could not escape your own death.


Or, you could just send your package to the US Post Office.