And so, at last, Yule is upon us! Bitter chill the marvellous nights, blue ice the days. We love these times, this month, this season, for it stands outside life. The salmon-crowded seas of spring, summer and autumn are past. Now there is only deathly silence: no birds sing; no rainbow-winged ephemerons dance gaily in the wind. Death holds us close in season; life is remote and far away.
And this is the occult spirit: standing apart from life, looking on, as it were, from a vast, immutable peak of cool disinterest, a mocking smile on our lips at the petty concerns of lesser men. For Hexers like us are higher, nobler: a superior breed. We care not for the rabble and their ways. We hate, we despise and loathe, yet remain unsullied. Only weaklings feel guilt.
Excuse my lateness with this month’s missive: I was getting my Yule presents. But not the mundane, dreary gifts from Sears-Roebuck or Argos: Oh no! These were Hex-Me presents from the deepest, furthest reaches of vengeance and hate.
Angelo Alvarez was in town. He took a red-eye flight from Lima to the States, and I provided full board and lodging for a fortnight. To see the man in the flesh is an awesome experience. His dark skin is knotted with scars acquired in the hardy days of his youth. His strong hands are sensitive, compelling. His laughter is continual, goatish and obstinate. Strange dark eyes that burn like naphtha illuminate everything they touch. Frauds and dilettantes like Aleister Crowley and Anton Szandor LaVey would wilt in that terrible gaze: Mr Alvarez is the real deal!
Rumour has it that he has personally killed over ten human beings in pursuit of the perfect hex. This might sound a trifle immoral, but consider it well: his victims were merely children of the poor, destined to a life of grinding misery. Frater Alvarez has dignified their lives by including them in a wondrous experiment. As his familiar spirits, they have boundless mastery of the elements – of mountain, storm or flood. No more selling their bodies on the streets for a paltry fee; no more sniffing glue to escape the pangs of hunger; just immortality in Angelo’s growing legion of spirits. What a happy end!
I hired a local call-girl for the pleasure of Frater Alvarez. It was my thought that an hour of dalliance would soothe his soul. Nothing of it! I heard a scream and burst into Angelo’s room, where his knife glinted mere millimetres above the breast of his erstwhile concubine! He considered this succulent morsel a mere hexing-lamb, not some pleasure of the bedchamber. Unfortunately, my largesse hardly extends to such gifts…
I comforted the poor girl with several hours of Tantrik sex magic, emptying her mind of that eldritch brush with Frater Alvarez and his sparkling knife! She went home in a glow of love, at peace with the universe.
For the rest of his stay, we talked and worked magic. Hexes dark and malevolent were placed against any number of enemies. These were my Yule presents: invocations of hate and destruction. When I dropped Angelo off at the airport for his return journey, over a hundred unfortunates had been death-cursed. Within a week, three of them were dead. The new spells we forged combine Sex with Sacrificial Magic in a unique and dizzying blend: Never have I witnessed anything more powerful.
The power of the Hex is an invisible arm that strikes our foes from afar, lays their lives waste, but leaves us in the afterglow of joy and ecstasy. But no chains for us; no bars of legal retribution; we dance on our opponents’ graves, their marrow sucked and their blood drank, untouched by god or man.
This is the month of gift-giving and merriment. Give gifts and be merry, O Hexers! None should be merrier: for you have that gift of gifts, the Curse – instant solution to all problems. Thrust thy muzzles in the mulled wine of chilly Yule, probe soft lips with a savage tongue and curse your foes to blind satiety!
Our cursing day this month is – when else - the Birthday of Mithras, December the 25th. All our Hexing team will be on hand to strike down the insolent, the worthless and the inhuman. Place your requests now – book, early!
Until 2007, I bid thee brief farewell! Happy Hexing!
Labels: Christmas, monthly address