Was R.W. Chambers, he walked in Carcosa, and beheld the ragged splendour of the tattered cloak of the King in Yellow.
Autumnal trinketure: dreaming willow herb, horse chestnut sickening acidically, sycamore rotting crimson, partakes of that masked kings grandeur. in 'Maker of Moons' american woods are beautifully infected by the alien virus of 'ku', chinese black magic. coincidence had brought the following fragments into my sphere, so I felt it right to group them thus:
and to conjure a swathe of autumn moons (and the swirl of a thunderbolt/sunwheel):
Autumn makes us rememberful of Uncles, tygers of instruction and fascinating lore. Here are two, the Laird of Boleskine, Aleister Crowley, and the Arch-Duke of Allerton, Leroy Murgatroyd; both reflecting it seems, on pleasant misdeeds, and the pleasures received thus. Long may their examples fill us with fervour:
Aleister again. the enterer is also the going forther. the gate is nearer than we often think.
Voudou / Silken Creatures
and, in our kingdom of bandcamp, autumns ravages are lushly celebrated in
'Sunset Ornaments in Black Glass'
