Oh hey, this book that I'm sure I'm going to mention in every single thing I do for the next several years is officially out and you should absolutely check it out. What's it about? Well, why not consult the blurb from the back cover as it was specifically written to try and sell you on the thing:
Throughout pretty much the entirety of human history, the idea that shamans and sorcerers can achieve direct contact with daemonic forms of intelligence has always been there. You have to look fairly hard to find a culture or point in time where this narrative isn’t at least mildly pervasive. So why is that?
Most forms of shamanism involve the ritualistic ingestion of psychedelic compounds and nearly everyone who experiments with them has that one story where they accidentally went waaaaaaaay too far with the stuff. In my version this happened on gel tab acid that a self-proclaimed “gutter punk” goth Wiccan dude I worked with at a pizza joint sold me. The truth is I didn’t like him at all but he had the sort of hippie drugs I was craving and years after the fact, the idea that it was Midwestern goth acid that first put me into contact with an ancient art being strikes me as beyond hilarious. So let’s run with it. It’s not like I don’t always have extremely intense reactions to hallucinogens but maybe it did take the “evil acid”, as it were, to first make me start talking to daemons.
How can I best describe this experience? Well, at one point I was sitting on the couch and a multi-splendored serpent emerged from the wall and reached across the room to lick my face with its mind jewel encrusted tongue. When it did, radiant sparks erupted outwardly in a transcendent electric bliss state. The elastic purejoy was overwhelming and just when I thought the wave was about to subside, it happened. The walls receded completely and there I was face to face with this ungodly and inhuman forever entity. Oh, the piercing obsidian eyes. Thousands and thousands of them. It was always there, right behind the veil of normal reality yet completely devoid of a human pulse. Timeless, insectile, and 100% alien. The thing was art, and from our perspective what would absolutely come across as deviant art.
I could see it and feel its presence, but there was also an eerie sound that resonated like a wind in its world reaching out from a vast distant reality that had now interpenetrated my own, a looming presence bellowing in a language well beyond my comprehension. I don’t even pretend to understand, but I can still hear it in my mind’s ear as clear as day, coming through as sonic yet visible clouds of transient black mist. This whole me-staring-in-complete-awe-at-a-thousand-eyed-dark-art-entity thing went on for a while, and it’s not like there wasn’t an underlying communication afoot. There was a relationship there. This sentient mass of overwhelming concepts was involved with my reality and we knew each other, or moreover, this thing knew me. I don’t recall meeting an insectile alien god creature before, so I’m guessing this happened in some distant incarnation millions of lives away. No clue. Anyway, eventually the walls came back and the being receded into the timeless realm it’s from and I’m sure continues lurking behind the scenes everywhere I go to this day.
What I didn’t even consider at the time was that this was the beginning of a lifelong dialogue with one of the very founders of human civilization. Shamans, sorcerers, magickians, and mystics have been communicating with these entities as long as there have been people but never has so much channeled intel been so meticulously documented in such a concise manner. Have you ever wanted to read a non-fiction book about one man’s ongoing dialogue with a psychedelic omni-dimensional archon? Well strap in true believers, shit’s about to get freaky.
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