Tag Archives: supernatural

get it out, rewrite later, when more awake… in the style of a semibiography translated from 1349.

There are some in my family who say I bear a passing resemlence to Ziito, the large height, wild hair, predeliction to tell tall tales, and a willingness to confuse and amuse the royals as well as the common man.I’m going to tell you about my third favorite ancestor, and then go to bed…one of the most remarkable magicians of whom history has any record, Ziito.

He was a sorcerer at the court of King Wenceslaus of Bohemia (afterwards Emperor of Germany) toward the end of the 14th century and among his more famous exploits is on chronicled by Dulsavius, bishop of Olmutz, in his History of Bohemia. On the occasion of the marriage of Wenceslaus with Sophia, daughter of the elector Palatine of Bavaria, the elector, knowing his son-in-law’s liking for juggling and magical exhibitions, brought in his train with a number of morris-dancers, jugglers and such entertainers. When they came forward to give their exhibition, Ziito remained unobtrusively among the spectators. He was not entirely unnoticed, however, for his remarkable appearance drew the attention of those around him. His oddest feature was his mouth, which actually stretched from ear to ear. After watching the magicians for some time in silence, Ziito appeared to become exasperated at the halting way in which the tricks were carried through and going up to the principal magician he taunted him with incompetency. The rival professor defended his performance, and a discussion ensured which ended at last by Ziito swallowing his opponent just as he stood, leaving only his shoes, which were said to be dirty, and unfit for consumption. After this extraordinary feat, he retired for a little while to a closet, from which he shortly emerged, leading the rival magician by the hand. He then gave a performance of his own which put the former exhibition entirely in the shade. He changed himself into many diverse shapes, taking the form first one person than another, none of whom bore any resemblance either to himself or each other. In a car drawn by barn-door fowl, he kept pace with the King’s carriage. When the guests were assembled at dinner, the played a multitude of elfish tricks on them, to their amusement or annoyance, however the case may be.

Indeed he was at all times an exceedingly mischievous creature, as is shown by another story told of him. Feigning to be in want of money, and apparently casting about for the means for obtaining some, he at length took a handful of corn and made it look like thirty fat hogs. These he took to Michael, a rich but very mean dealer. The latter purchased them after some haggling, but was warned not to let them drink at the river. The warning was disregarded , and the hogs turned back into the grains of corn. The enraged dealer went in search of Ziito, whom he found at last at a vintner’s shop. In vain Michael shouted and stamped, the magician took no notice, but seemed to be in a fit of abstraction. The dealer, beside himself seized Ziito’s foot and pulled it as hard as he could. To his dismay, the foot and leg came right off while Ziito screamed lustily and hauled Michael before the judge, where the two presented their complaints. What the decision was, history doesn’t relate, but it is unlikely that Ziito came off for the worse.- (from Spence’s Encyclopedia of the Occult.)

Very extraordinary things are related of Ziito, a sorcerer, in the court of Wenceslaus, king of Bohemia and afterwards emperor of Germany, in the latter part of the fourteenth century. This is perhaps, all things considered, the most wonderful specimen of magical power any where to be found. It is gravely recorded by Dubravius, bishop of Olmutz, in his History of Bohemia. It was publicly exhibited on occasion of the marriage of Wenceslaus with Sophia, daughter of the elector Palatine of Bavaria, before a vast assembled multitude.

The father-in-law of the king, well aware of the bridegroom’s known predilection for theatrical exhibitions and magical illusions, brought with him to Prague, the capital of Wenceslaus, a whole waggon-load of morrice-dancers and jugglers, who made their appearance among the royal retinue. Meanwhile Ziito, the favourite magician of the king, took his place obscurely among the ordinary spectators. He however immediately arrested the attention of the strangers, being remarked for his extraordinary deformity, and a mouth that stretched completely from ear to ear. Ziito was for some time engaged in quietly observing the tricks and sleights that were exhibited. At length, while the chief magician of the elector Palatine was still busily employed in shewing some of the most admired specimens of his art, the Bohemian, indignant at what appeared to him the bungling exhibitions of his brother-artist, came forward, and reproached him with the unskilfulness of his performances. The two professors presently fell into warm debate. Ziito, provoked at the insolence of his rival, made no more ado but swallowed him whole before the multitude, attired as he was, all but his shoes, which he objected to because they were dirty. He then retired for a short while to a closet, and presently returned, leading the magician along with him.

Having thus disposed of his rival, Ziito proceeded to exhibit the wonders of his art. He shewed himself first in his proper shape, and then in those of different persons successively, with countenances and a stature totally dissimilar to his own; at one time splendidly attired in robes of purple and silk, and then in the twinkling of an eye in coarse linen and a clownish coat of frieze. He would proceed along the field with a smooth and undulating motion without changing the posture of a limb, for all the world as if he were carried along in a ship. He would keep pace with the king’s chariot, in a car drawn by barn-door fowls. He also amused the king’s guests as they sat at table, by causing, when they stretched out their hands to the different dishes, sometimes their hands to turn into the cloven feet of an ox,and at other times into the hoofs of a horse. He would clap on them the antlers of a deer, so that, when they put their heads out at window to see some sight that was going by, they could by no means draw them back again; while he in the mean time feasted on the savoury cates that had been spread before them, at his leisure.

At one time he pretended to be in want of money, and to task his wits to devise the means to procure it. On such an occasion he took up a handful of grains of corn, and presently gave them the form and appearance of thirty hogs well fatted for the market. He drove these hogs to the residence of one Michael, a rich dealer, but who was remarked for being penurious and thrifty in his bargains. He offered them to Michael for whatever price he should judge reasonable. The bargain was presently struck, Ziito at the same time warning the purchaser, that he should on no account drive them to the river to drink. Michael however paid no attention to this advice; and the hogs no sooner arrived at the river, than they turned into grains of corn as before. The dealer, greatly enraged at this trick, sought high and low for the seller that he might be revenged on him. At length he found him in a vintner’s shop seemingly in a gloomy and absent frame of mind, reposing himself, with his legs stretched out on a form. The dealer called out to him, but he seemed not to hear. Finally he seized Ziito by one foot, plucking at it with all his might. The foot came away with the leg and thigh; and Ziito screamed out, apparently in great agony. He seized Michael by the nape of the neck, and dragged him before a judge. Here the two set up their separate complaints, Michael for the fraud that had been committed on him, and Ziito for the irreparable injury he had suffered in his person. From this adventure came the proverb, frequent in the days of the historian, speaking of a person who had made an improvident bargain, “He has made just such a purchase as Michael did with his hogs.”

from Godwin’s Lives of the Necromancers

{recount my comperable tales involving Dunkin’ Donuts, the drunk with the glass eye, and the yodelling nanny goat. also the country-fried steak eating contest with Steve at Po’ Folks.}

note to self, and some others

Back in 1997, there was an exorcism perfromed on Mother Teresa.

http://www.salon.com/mwt/wire/2001/09/05/mother_theresa/index.html

Perhaps she was possessed by some demon whose obsession was with healing the sick?

Some of the stuff in the article about the process of becoming a saint makes me think about the saints that didn’t exist or have been removed from Orthodox Catholicism. This has always been one of those things that fascinates me (having been raised Catholic), like Pope Joan. Surely there’s something about just creating saints wholesale, or taking heathen gods and making them saints. check out http://www.magma.ca/~artlois/pages/bogus.html for some background, then look at the rest of the site for some paintings that might also be story seeds (see the section on people pointing guns at their reflections, which I could make a few stories out of).

Gun at self in mirror.

how to become a saint – http://www.howstuffworks.com/question619.htm

The Pope is planning on naming a patron saint of Internet users and computer programmers. Several saints are being considered, but the lead candidate is St. Isidore of Seville, who is credited with writing the world’s first encyclopedia… I’d have thought St. Gerome (the Patron saint of libraries, and a hermit. 🙂 ) would be more appropriate.

by the way, the Patron Saint of Journalists (LJ?) is St. Francis de Sales – http://saints.catholic.org/saints/francisdesales.html

Halloween story seed.

According to Scandinavian lore, the ghost of a dead infant was called an utburd, which meant *child carried outside*. The utburd was vengeance incarnate, and also a symbol of an old tradition: letting newly-born children die of exposure when it wasn’t practical to feed them. The illustrative tale associated with this ghost (real quick) is: a fisherman and his wife must live a sickly child outside to die because of all the mouths they already have to feed. Later, it enters through their keyhole, then crawls up on the woman while she sleeps and tears out her eyes.

Other traits of the utburd; generally invisible, but can take the shapes of animals such as owls, or black dogs. It can also grow to the size of a cow or turn into a curl of wispy smoke. It could make sounds like boulders dropping. It also continued to take victims long after it exacted its revenge on the parents that killed it. Its main method of attack was to chase down lonely travelers, and then press an invisible weight down on the victim’s chest, crushing him/her

Sakes… Teach me to read Norse Eddas at 2 in the morning. I’m going to have nightmares now for sure.

Robert Anton Wilson, my Hero.

The Magick of Language
We never experience “thoughts,” “feelings,” “perceptions,” “intuitions,” “sensations,” “body symptoms.” etc. We invent those categories after the fact. What we experience, nanosecond by nanosecond, consists of continuous reactions of the organism-as-whole to the environment-as-a-whole, including incoming verbal signals from others in the same predicament. These incoming verbal signals also produce in us reactions of the organism-as-a-whole sometimes culminating in a return signal.

That much seems simple neurobiological savvy.

But suppose I point a shamanic death-bone at you and recite a curse? Or utter a Magick Word that alarms and threatens you as much as a simple “fuck” threatens simple Methodists? We never “know” organismically all that we know theoretically. Parts of us remain simian, childish, inertial, mechanical etc.

Illustration: Consciously and will-fully remind yourself that you can tell the difference between a “movie” and “real life.” Then go to see the latest ketchup-splattered horror/slasher classic and pay attention to how many times the director magically tricks you into real gasps, internal or overt cringe-reflexes, , dry mouth, clutching [seat-rails, coke can, companion’s arm etc.] or other symptoms of minor but real [polygraph-diagnosable] anxiety and short-term near-panic, sometimes verging on vomit-reflex.

Illustration #2: With the same conscious and will-full reminders about the difference between “movies” and “real life,” attend a hard-core XXX porno flick. Observe how long it takes before physiological responses indicate that parts of you at least have lost track of that distinction.

None of this represents trivial cases only. The role of magick in all language transactions has very concrete and exhilarating/terrifying implications; viz.

Well-documented case of a man literally killed by a shaman’s curse and a “death-bone” — The Psychobiology of Mind-Body Healing, by Ernest Lawrence Rossi, Norton, 1988, page 9-12.

Equally well-documented case of another man, a cancer patient, “miraculously” blessed by remission and recovery due to a placebo [with tumors shrunk to half their previous size], then cursed back into critical condition when learning of deaths of others receiving the same placebo — same book, page 3-8.

Whoever speaks a sentence to another human may pronounce a blessing or a curse without even intending this.

Remember this the next time you get angry.

hugh downs digging up mummies… (seanbaby was here!)

May 30th, 2000 – Hugh Downs vs. the Mummy

One week ago, Fox took some time off filming cop cars crashing into gasoline trucks and televising home movies of cats clamping onto crotches to show us something different. A full camera crew led by actor Bill Pullman and undead Hugh Downs went into an ancient tomb to dig up 30 mummies. I guess it’s how rich people attempt suicide. Not like my neighbor who keeps trying to end it all by standing outside with a note and holding his breath really long. But Hugh, it does seem like for all the money you spent, you could have died a horrible death without desecrating graves. If you want a 5 million dollar suicide, how about buying Alyssa Milano, coating her in poison, and eating her?

Millions of people watched the show, and not because of our fascination with Egyptology. If we gave a damn about that crap, there wouldn’t be so many empty parking spaces at the museum. That place is more deserted than the makeout room at a Star Trek convention. Speaking of, here’s some free advice about museums and romance: If you need to fuck in your car, it doesn’t matter what time it is, the one place no one’s going to bother you is the museum parking lot. You can dump dead bodies in the middle of the museum parking lot. And even if someone actually does show up years later and finds them, they’ll just think it’s a couple of bodies that fell off the mummy truck. Remember — that’s exactly what you thought when you walked in on your grandparents in the bedroom.

We didn’t tune in to learn about the mysterious history of pharoahs, mummification techniques, and featurettes with actors that starred in movies about mummies. The people making the show thought we did, but they were as wrong as that time they invited Sonny and Cher on Scooby Doo. We only sat through that garbage to see the finale — when Hugh Downs is torn to pieces by the living dead angered by the desecration of their eternal resting places. We wanted to watch Hugh Downs’ last moments while he’s melting in front of the camera crew and screaming, “The mummy’s flame — it burns EVEN MY SOUL!!!!!”

UPDATE: It’s been a week since they desecrated the ancient tomb, and there’s still no word of Hugh Downs, Bill Pullman, or any of the crew being hit by meteors or spontaneously exploding. If no one dies of curse-related causes in the next 30 days, Fox promises to try again with their special, “Barbara Walters Takes a Dump on Indian Burial Ground with Jeff Daniels and Elton John.”

EDITORIAL:
I think their decision on hosts was good. Hugh Downs may not be able to read a cue card anymore and has to be held up with strings, but he’s perfect for this show. Since he’s already half-mummy, he can translate.

To be honest, neither I or anybody I know watched it all the way to the end. After I saw a couple of mummies dug out of their graves, it was pretty obvious the only Secrets of the Mummy’s Tomb were that they are very old and very dead. Hey, Hugh Downs, I already knew that. You should have called me before you cameled over all that camera equipment. I could have saved you a trip, and you wouldn’t be stuck with a cargo plane full of dusty corpses and a deadly curse. Seriously, if Hugh Downs makes it another month without stepping in front of a bus or getting a hole dug through him by a fantastic superbaby, I’ll be amazed.

Actually, I have a better theory. Hugh Downs is already dead. He fell into piles of chunks on the flight back. He was probably sitting in his cushioned private jet with a glass of port saying, “You see, everyone! Ha ha ha! There’s no such thing as the curse of the RAAAAAGGGGGG!” His lower jaw detached and dropped into his glass, his legs turned into cobras, and then he noticed his chair was made out of flesh eating bugs. The Hugh Downs the senior citizen demographic is knitting in front of right now is an android. You know, I bet he’s been an android for at least three or four seasons of 60 Minutes. If he wasn’t, he’d be like 108. Not that it matters. They could prop a corpse up on that damn show and let it do the news. The only people that watch it can’t stay awake past the opening watching ticking anyway.

Back to the casting decisions — Bill Pullman might seem like a weird guy to lead a mummy excavation, but he was the best choice. Not because he’s a great digger, and definitely not for his broadcast skills, but because he might be able to fight them off when they snap to life and hunger for living brains. You saw him in that shitty movie Independence Day. He could probably kill 4 mummies. Five if he found a big stick or a torch. And if he kills them all, great. But if he doesn’t and they turn HIM into one of the mummified dead, no big deal. We can deal with a rampaging Bill Pullman mummy. If we sent Bruce Willis or Danny Glover in and one of them got turned into a mummy, we’d be fucking dead. Once those guys came stumbling at us, our only chance would be to get in a rocket and find a new planet. And even that wouldn’t work. While we’re taking off, the Bruce Willis mummy would be hanging on the outside of the rocket growling something in mummy that translates to “Nice rocket. You know what else is going to fly away from its home soon? YOUR FACE, PAL.” And the Danny Glover mummy would already be inside beating us to death with our own space helmets saying, “I was gettin’ too old for this shit TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO!”

Now that I think it through, maybe our planet is a small price to pay to see that.