There is no honesty that is not born of patience. There is no hope without thee embracing of hopelessness. Thee acceptance of a moment after cynicism. There are lines, boundaries, earthiness in all these places. Split in two like a hacked corpse.
So many bodies, severed by thee railway tracks. So many tracks now, Berlin is breeding tracks, developing damage to a fine spell. Casting its special runes in thee language Fupark, strong, masculine and angular, yet decayed. Thee same split of mind and body, embodied in his Story and contained very precisely by thee addiction of time.
Thee Spear of battle and thee individual expressed as race. Words have a potence not diminished by technology, merely transgressed, and transfixed.
Thee German Order is a Cult of Souls. Dead Souls, Lost forever since they finally made essential contact with their collective consciousness. A far too dangerous application of deflection and distortion of hope and desire. For Germany practices magick, practices thee eternal divination which is so stark and real. Creates patterns which flicker far too long and clearly for sanity. Thee nightmare of Pan. Thee Pan Germanic nightmare. And yet, in this world of time there are no nightmares, only ugly dreams, life made real. Thee struggle of Man is to feel alive, to live in crisis is a basic method. To affirm our existence, to focus a blurred Self-Image. To cause resurgence through Imaging. To understand mortality for a moment of terrified bliss.
Thee German Rune. Thee place where all dreams meet from a pagan past that was so deliberately suppressed with total unawareness of thee primal risks such suppression invoked. Thee Christian mentality implanted upon thee Intuitive Magick of elemental human experience and observation. For Magick is in fact merely observation of Individual and Collective experiences and a functional, practical application of them. It expresses inarticulate flashes of thee abstract perception of our brains. Articulated by thee most accurate means of its moment fixed in time. So a prehistoric expression is made through sticks, blood, stones, thee environment. And a Medieval expression through chemicals, glass phials and written text, thee most contemporary language available. Now thee expression of Magick is through Video, Cassette Tape, Polaroid cameras and thee most sophisticated toys of our technology. There is a fusion of a disturbed potence when energy meets intuition with malignant force and generates flames of ecstasy. In a real sense we exist in a hall of Mirrors. Thee individual mimicks thee race. Thee race mimicks thee Individual. Both pure and abused. Thee disturbance of one can create thee disturbance of thee other. Their common language is one of symbols. This synergetic response can reverberate through all time. It ends with Time, and Time is that which ends. Germany has become an ikon. Its people trapped within it unreal. A tiny clenched and crushed symbol. How often do we really feel real, how often do our memories feel real? Thee problem was and is, how to come to terms with thee awesome fact of being alive. Humankind has in a very real sense common consciousness, a neurology. It is in a very real sense subject to a motivation based upon instinct, thee language of motivation is intuition, which is thee essence of Magick. This magickal view and direction of history has been suppressed for so long that evidence of it is almost invisible, yet contact with it is universal. You have been trained in scepticism and cynicism, you are trained in sarcasm. Dismissed without awareness of one's act is a method of pavlovian power.
Thee real work is investigation of thee potency of all symbolic languages and their sources. TV is a language, so is all expression, so is memory. A language of freedom must include an integration of conscious and unconscious where contradiction and non-verbal feeling cross fertilise. We have been split, separated from our sexuality, our neurology, our privately groomed mythologies. Symbols are our oldest, truest language yet they are invisible to order. To society. Only thee most unsubtle use is encouraged.
Germany is an archetype, living within and without its involuntary legend. Germany grew from thee articulation of thee psychology of thee unconscious. It grew into a nightmare expression of Pan, organised by senex consciousness with numbers and an idea of a clear centre. A mutation of thee exploration of thee background of thee rational mind by hysterical dissociation of all thought habits. We cannot touch myth without it touching us. Pan is panic. Compulsive. Fear is a call to consciousness. Through nightmare our nature is revealed. So strongly are they impressed upon our mind that on waking we often find it impossible not to believe them. They become a living reality, a motivation of Life. This is our memory. To articulate Germany we can only use image, there is no language of words. Thee themes and thee images of Germany are not mere subjects of knowledge, they are living myths and actualities, expressions of human magick, human sexuality, and panic. They have existence as psychic realities more real than their place in Time.
Bodies, decaying with fear, twist themselves around our unspoken language. Empathy and revulsion coexist. Thee potence of symbol, vivid yet unseen. There are never conclusions in this observation, perhaps a way through thee psyche into myth. In a very real sense thee order is artifice and disorder is thee precise benefactor and instigator of a final hopeless regime.
Within all people time struggles. Those awake feel motive and motif, those asleep feel nothing. Occasionally myth, through intrigue, generates an explosion. Thee veins of thee body run with fear, thee nymphs of sexuality create oblivion. Timeless indeed, thee lost souls move gently like fading rivers. All boundaries lead to madness. An exact science is one that admits loss.
TOUCHING, both physical and sentimental, causes rejection and attraction. All magick is intuitive, instinct is not primitive, it is sophisticated. We are its final army aflame with risk and freedom.
What pictures do we have? Support, sadness, fragility, madness, and inspiration. Vision, a language of vision, a heiroglyphic language, a vicious brutal language. Germany is itself a neurological language. It speaks in tongues and flames, in myths and bodies, hopelessness and hope. Thee scapegoat celibate, thee goat Pan fertile and rampant. Both love of nightmare and hatred of disease. Sometimes just a tiny hole in Time, closing slowly over thee guilt of every linked subconscious sore.
As we make a final stand, we have no choice anymore. Sadness. Memory flooding. Once, relationships seemed simpler, unsophisticated, naive, less self-conscious. Our euphoria has been swamped by thee damaging sarcasm of thee majority. Thee human dead. Thee unmagickal. Thee blind. Thee sleepers in grey. Thee word may be virus, but cynicism is virus too. Now we find our ground and we stand and fight. We fight with flickering pictures, runes of video, frames of memory and primal response, thee coumbination of animal lust for survival, and its tactical expression. We fight. We have no other choice. We are engaged in a life Times fight. It was never, is never, and never will be a game. It's a matter of contact. Of motive. Of integration. Of strength. Of isolation within a network. If time is measured, this fight measures time. Time is equally for us and against us. Germany is thee image of territory. Thee image of battleground. Thee rune of coumplexity and simplicity warring for fertility. Pan. Thee barren are rendered fruitful, thee rituals are earlier than memory. Thee animal floods through thee man and through thee crisis creates panic. Life. Our dreams are vivid. Our rituals stand us apart. Motive is a key. Why? One does not need answers to feel confident of motive. And motif, picture, crystalises inate intuitions that flicker and fight. In a universe of flux there are no fixed answers. No fixed moments. Rapidity, fusion, flexibility are thee hard edges, thee frame of this alchemy of survival. Place is, in thee truest sense, merely a landscape we pass through. It has no density. Remembrance should be more exact. There are lines, boundaries, in all of these places. Their common language is one of symbols.
When order is lost, time spits.


Copyright 2000 Genesis P-Orridge. Reproduced with his kind permission. All publishing rights reserved by the author. No reproduction without prior written consent of the author or his agents.
This text was published in Gasolin 23 No.9, 1986.

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