Monday, March 4, 2013

"Showtime": Loki Movie Post

A friend on FB was looking for some movie characters that can be related to Loki.......

This of course, fills my blackened little heart with JOY, as I sort of have a thing for analyzing movies as though they were modern myths. That of course, leads to a lot of "Hey, that reminds me of Loki" moments. I tried to pick movies that are actually well made, engaging films. I get a somewhat "darker" Loki compared to what you will find out there in interweb world. Not to say there aren't moments of levity and humor and wit and all that. There's plenty of that.

In any of these, I'm not saying "This is Loki". But rather "bits of this and that bring Loki to mind for me". I haven't related it back to any specific myth and it's obviously highly UPG oriented. I'm not sure how one could undertake this task without it becoming colored by UPG and personal taste. I sometimes feel at a loss for words when trying to talk about Loki things, so I have included Youtube clips to give you an idea of what I mean. Hopefully it helps. As often as possible, I have provided links to places where one can watch the movie in question. Enjoy!

For starters, Bedazzled, the 1967 version. Peter Cook as Lucifer. The sense of humor is what does it for me. What says "hey, reminds me of Loki". Especially as someone who frequently suffers from suicidal thoughts and depression, this is very much reminiscent of him for me. Minus the million pounds. This is the ONLY clip you can find on Youtube from this film SO PLEASE GO WATCH IT ok?  This film is just brilliantly funny, yet hits some great philosophical points as well. I cannot recommend it enough.
Example from Youtube:1967 Bedazzled Suicide Scene

One of my absolute favorite movies is Harlequin (1980). You can see the trailer HERE. I don't want to describe it too much due to spoilers, but there is a definite "dark trickster magician" thing going on that reminds me of Loki in many ways.  You can watch the movie on Youtube Harlequin (dark forces) on Youtube . It's also on Harlequin(Dark Forces) Netflix DVD.

Onto something more modern. Have you ever imagined a redneck/metal Loki? Me neither. Til I saw this movie. Which is basically what this seems like to me. The way Hesher helps and interacts with the child who's suffering, and the kindness with which he treats the grandma......and the overall message of Hesher's character seem very Loki to me. Again, this is a great film. Highly recommended for fans of Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
Youtube ( my favorite part of the film starts at the 5 min mark in this scene. Great story, very Loki to me) : Snake and Mouse Story (Hesher)

Ok kiddos. Let's all put on our grown up pants because this....this is the Uncomfortable Movie. I'll start off by saying this has just about every single one of my triggers  in it, and the first time I watched it I had a 3 day existential meltdown about my childhood. This involves child abuse, sexual abuse, closets, mental will wonder if you are watching a domination/submission porn without nudity. What does this have to do with Loki? Crawl inside my head for a second. Imagine healing from massive childhood trauma, but your adult life is so fucked up you spend most of your time in some semi-astral trance state because it's easier and safer than being present. During that time, Loki decides to do construction on your mind. And for about 2 or 3 years, your "godphone" (beginning to HATE that word btw) experiences bear more resemblance to a CIA interrogation/mind control experiment than anything I've read from most other Loki experiences. But it helped. It was for my own good. This movie feels like that.
SPOILER WARNING! This woman is not sure of what reality is in this movie, and I wasn't too sure of it then. (or now, for that matter. is anyone, really?). Learning the difference between your "crazy" and the Divine (however you experience it) is a long and hard process sometimes. Especially when you're having to learn  the art of discernment while still entangled in an ongoing series of abusive situations. In fact, the better I got at telling the two apart, the less and less of those situation popped up,  until I actually got a happy life. I started making better choices.  I'm not always happy (who is? who wants to be?), but I am happy with the life that I have, despite my lingering crazy-ness and "issues". In the end, the woman refuses to admit to what she knows to be a lie, and the movie ends with her going into a bright light. Enlightenment? Truth seeking? I think there is more to this movie than meets the eye and that it's very metaphorical and symbolic. Imagine that it's happening on the astral plane and maybe you'll sort of get why it feels Loki-ish to me.....or at least like what my experience was like during that time.

NOW THAT THE INCREDIBLY LONG PREFACE IS DONE and I have rambled at you sufficiently.....(FYI the whole film is on Youtube)

Youtube (go to the 5min mark til 6 min. This reminds me a quite a bit of things Loki has said to me. minus the lawyer part. Found this on VHS on a random Goodwill excursion and picked it up cause I love Alan Rickman and "conspiracy" movies. When I saw that part, I got chills.)
Seekers of Truth scene

Gotta follow that with something much, much more lighthearted. Lord Rochester as portrayed in movies, often reminds me of the happy shiny pansexual joker side of Loki.  For me, that side always comes in Rococo/Regency attire, so that's obviously tainted by my head, lol. Very upper class.
( I might add, that for me, Loki may wear that as a costume, but the interactions are usually deep, soul wrenching stuff)
Two good examples of this aspect, in the character of Lord Rochester, would be Alan Cumming in Plunkett and Macleane for "costume" (again, this is SO TAINTED by my personal tastes it's not funny, but look at it for  THE PRETTY. ( My Rococo Loki Story ). And for a sexier  aspect, Johnny Depp does a fine job of it HERE.

And while we're mentioning Alan Cumming, if for some reason you are ever forced to watch Spy Kids, you can delight in things like THIS SONG that are rather "Silly Loki". And if you, for whatever reason, become tempted to catch Alan Cumming in the Son of the Mask....there is no need to. Just watch This Music Video instead. All of the "Loki-ish" facial expressions, none of the shitty movie.

Another comedy is the movie Klown.  The way this is shot and the structure of the story feels very "norse myth" to me. Since it's Danish, I guess that's close enough. This feels very "Thor and Loki go adventuring in Jotunheim" to me. Sure, in the movie, they MIGHT call it "Tour de Pussy" but you get my drift. There is one scene especially in the pancake house that reminds me of Loki stopping in for....let's call it a bit of "Jotun Hospitality". The "Loki" character is Casper.
Youtube trailer: Klown Trailer
NSFW Youtube scene (mostly because OMG is she cute): Le Boobs
Netflix Instant Link: Watch It Here

Back to something slightly darker, and another "adventure in VHS". The movie "Brainscan". It came to me in a big box of tapes I borrowed from a right wing gun nut. Amongst a sea of crappy action films, this one stood out. First off, the character is straight up called Trickster. And that's basically what happens. A boy gets completely mindfucked by a reality simulation game, complete with it's own Trickster. Teen horror-comedy. Not so much a characterization of Loki really, but just a movie involving a Trickster that I'm pretty sure Lokeans would get a kick out of.
Youtube clip:Brainscan Trickster
Netflix DVD page:

And to top it off, a couple of occult oriented movies that I think Loki's folks will enjoy.

For example. There is a reason I always push The Holy Mountain so hard. It is ripe with occult symbolism and it's sort of a trip of a movie. I don't have the right words to describe it, but the first time I saw this film, I felt a sort of mental and emotional "click", like my awareness was opened up. Probably just me, but it seems like the sort of thing Loki would be into if for some reason Loki took up a hobby of watching surrealist art films.  You can watch the full movie on Youtube Here. Or find it On Netflix DVD HERE.

And the demons in "Lo" seem sort of Loki-esque in their interactions/style of communication/humor. This is a great indie comedy/romance. TrailerNetflix Instant

Monday, October 22, 2012

Summoning The Demon Bechamel


Let it be known on this day, that there exists no more fearsome spirit than the Demon Bechamel. For this Demon does not enter your domain in the usual fashion, such as rock and roll music, short skirts, or people you disagree with. Rather, he sneaks in at your most vulnerable moment, that moment where the core of your being is demanding nourishment. He slips between your lips, glides over your tongue and ensconces his infernal presence not only in your entrails, but in your arteries, his fatty leavings slowly choking your blood within it's vessels. Hear me now, dear reader, and hear me clearly. The Demon Bechamel, if over-summoned, WILL lead to your earthly demise. He will force his way into every life giving vessel and chamber and seize your heart for his own. Be warned!

To summon the Demon Bechamel, you must first gather about yourself the tools of the Art.

- The churned cream of a bovine beast
- Grains of wheat, ground into a fine powder
- The milk of a bovine beast, or, if you dare, a mixture of bovine milk and cream of equal proportion
- A stainless steel saucepan, suitably consecrated in your preferred manner
- A Wand of Incorporation, common name :Whisk

  There are three different levels of summoning for this Demon, though in each, the fatty churned cream and wheat powder must be in equal proportions. One tablespoon of each  shall result in a lighter summoning. In truth this is Bechamel's most insidious form, as He feels so light one may over-invoke him into one's being without giving it a second thought. Two tablespoon of each and Bechamel's infernal presence becomes more apparent. With simple disguises like browned pig flesh or perhaps an aged bovine product such as cheddar, He insinuates himself in every home. A common sign of his presence is the low hum of "mmmm" and satisfied grunts of digestive pleasure. And for those times when you need to have a definitive sign of the unholy, three tablespoons of each should produce such rich and sinful effects that you may indeed need a triple bypass just for gazing upon his deliciously evil visage.

The summoning of Bechamel is, in fact, a rather simplistic ritual, easily done by even the most novice of magicians. Allow me to list for you the processes and incantations

- Place your Saucepan of Summoning upon the burner, and light the eternal flames of torment on medium-low.

- Within the pan, show your dominance over the churned bovine cream by forcing it into a liquid state.

  "Hail Bechamel, Giver of the Cardiologist's Salary!"

- Once a liquid state has been obtained, add in your wheat powder (equal proportions, depending on    the degree of summoning you wish), with a flourish and stir vigorously with the Wand of Incorporation.

- The churned cream and wheat powder will undergo a secret alchemical process and become as one, who is now called Roux.

"Hail Roux, Binder of Sauces!"

- Slowly add the bovine milk, continuing your vigorous application of the Wand of Incorporation. Allow for the Roux to be absorbed completely. Roux is a troublesome spirit, and the lumps of his misfortune must be beaten out with the Wand.

- When the mixture is at the desired consistency for your purposes, allow it to come to a simmer. Simmering destroys the raw flavors of wheat powder that Roux will cause if not slowly tortured with heat.

"Hail Bechamel! He who hath come forth from Roux, I command thee to do my bidding!"

- If the summoning seems too strong, your mixture may be quite thick. The judicious use of additional bovine milk shall rectify that easily.

Above all, remember that the Demon Bechamel thrives on decoration and enhancements. Popular additions to the ritual include:

- Pig flesh. When browned in a Skillet Of Art, may produce enough of it's porcine fat to replace the butter in the creation of the Roux. This is perhaps the most deadly incarnation of Bechamel to date.
- Cheese, of all sorts, can be melted into Bechamel at the end of the ritual.
- Onions, garlic, peppers- they may all be put to the flames till golden and soft  in the liquid butter prior to the addition of the wheat powder.

These are just a few changes one can make. Remember, when practicing these sacred arts, experimentation is the key to a successful summoning.

May the Darkness Of Nom fall upon thee!

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Some Awesome Magick Themed Videos

Pandeism and the Left Hand Path ^

Intro to Chaos Magick ^

Awesome thing to do with sigils!^

Long, but great lecture on magick by Grant Morrison^

Below is a bit of funny. Andrew O'Neil, Occult Comedian, parts 1-7

Monday, August 27, 2012

Another Loki Mix

Some darker stuff. Some funny stuff I think fits His sense of humor. Some stuff I use for meditation and ritual. I'll leave you to figure out which is which.

^ Black Light Burns-Lie

^Oomph- Labyrinth

Zowie-Smash It

Kate Miller Heidke- The Devil Wears a Suit

Kate Miller Heidke/Fatty Gets a Stylist- Are You Ready?

The Left Rights- I'm On Crack

Mustard Pimp- Money Shot

MSI- Stupid MF

Big Bang-Fantastic Baby

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Fire, Fuel, and Yellow Light.

there was something brewing
in the cupboard.
fire suspended in fuel.
you whispered softly
"it's amazing what a
substance, can actually
do to  face"
there was something brewing
in the sky.
the sweet yellow light
of your coming.
i won't drink from a snake, darling.
you must mistake me for
one of those holy roller
slain in the spirit lokeans.
i won't hold your bowl.
i don't serve that which
lies in shape, waiting.
i will gladly serve that which Is.
there was something brewing
in the cupboard.
venom of it's own, toxins
and fire.
my old familiar friend.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Insert Witty Title Here

This is a stream of consciousness sort of thing, both fictional and true. I rarely write anything other than "divine rage" type of things. it's hard to be open. it's easier to be open in the form of a story. Preceding it are two videos that sort of set the mood for what my mindset was when I wrote this.

smoke swirls upward from the clove cigarette. thin, delicate fingers don't so much grasp the vintage cigarette holder, as they simply balance it between themselves. he's in full rococo tonight....or is it regency? i can never tell them apart, though i'm sure if i asked, i could arouse in him a two hour lecture on the finer points of eighteenth century human fashion. the lace edging of his cuff bounces as he neatly flicks ashes into an open mouth. apparently, some dwarf or another has gotten on his bad side tonight, and was serving as an ash tray. He glances at me, as if aware I might judge him as cruel for it. "He owed me, darling. Anyway, he's a masochist. If you don't like it, you're free to remove yourself". The sparkle in his eyes dared me to complain further.

I look around his hall tonight. "GILD ALL THE THINGS" seems to be the theme. Tiny cherubs peep out from every conceivable place one could imagine placing a chubby, winged infant. Gold, of course, some with gemstone eyes, the overall effect being demonic-eyed gold babies staring at you everywhere you turn. Rococo then, Definitely Rococo. The walls were draped in pastel fabrics, pink and lavender, baby blue and a foamy green so light as to be nearly white. A riotous peal of giggles erupt from the chaise he's ensconced in. "I decorated just for you dear." The cherubs echoed his giggles. "Brandy, then?". He rose and glided elegantly towards the end table, where a intricately carved glass bottle of brandy and two crystal snifters were displayed.

i took the time now to drink in his appearance. deep red hair, streaked with blond and golden highlights, tied back in a ivory lace ribbon. his face was lightly made up, porcelain skin, eyes lined in smudgy black, a light glittery sheen on his lips. Our sigil, done now in rose gold, hung on a thin chain around his neck. He must have long since discarded his cravat, judging by the pool of pale green silk crumpled on the floor by the chair. His jacket was some sort of pastel brocade. If you looked closely, you could see the design was a skillfully woven map of the nine worlds. It hung loosely, unbuttoned, and the ivory lace-edged shirt beneath was open, allowing a peek at his lithe body. His cream suede breeches left little to the imagination. All in all, he resembled a overly sexed parody of a dilettante lord of the manor. But I like that sort of thing.

He filled the snifters to the brim, and handed me one, a playful grin on his face. "All this, just to wet a pair of mortal panties. Such trouble you lot are." He scanned my face again, squinting his eyes this time. "
No, you are indeed not here for a game of slap 'n tickle, are you? You never are. So, what now? Still afraid of dying and afraid of living at the same time? Mommy-ruined-my-life again? Oh, or maybe more " save me from killing myself or i'll turn atheist? No? Hmmm?" More giggles. More puffs of clove, More ashing in the dwarf.

He folds himself back into his chair, and I perch on the cherub-covered couch across from him. We sip our brandy in silence for a bit, while I try and gather my words. I try and force them out of my mouth, but all that emerges is short grunts, single words. Tears, however, I have in spades. I weep, harder and harder, while he stares at me, much like a child entranced by the television. He knocks back his brandy in one fell gulp, and suddenly rises, throwing the snifter down. It explodes in a shower of glittering glass bits.

"ENOUGH!" He bellows. "Enough of your weakness! You can't trust anybody, not even ME. Not even the person who has stood by you all your life. You stupid woman, you will be your own undoing! I know what's wrong with you, even if you can't balls up and say it. You're unhappy and you have no right to be. You know you have no right to be. Simply put, you choose to be ungrateful for what was given to you.  You can ostensibly look at your life, and see that it is good. You not only have a loyal, beautiful, mortal man who practically treats you like his goddess, but you also have ME, and do you have any idea how blasphemous and insulting it is when you sit there and say "I hate myself"? You may as well piss on an artists painting! You are my great work of art. All of you are. You are all my beautiful paintings, restored and glorious, from the shit heap that was your fate before me. We won't even get into how Deus must feel about your blasphemous little emo bullshit. You are a fucking god and it's about time I teach you how to act like it." He rips off his jacket, hurling it a corner. He picks up his cigarette and again and inhales deeply. "Drink your fucking brandy!" I take a sip. "LIKE YOU FUCKING MEAN IT". I knock back the rest of the glass, glaring at him with an almost teenage level of defiance. The cherubs laugh sinisterly, their high voices echoing through the hall.

He fills my glass again. "Once more. Drink. But this time, you drink to your own divinity. " I do as I am told, this time it burns less, instead forming a nice warmth that spreads, and flushes my cheeks. Again my glass if filled. " This one you drink to your own memory. Others may remember you fondly when you pass. But you must remember yourself as the glorious creature you are". The warmth becomes a glow, the flush becomes deeper. I am calm.

He sits beside me then. The anger that flowed so fiercely had died down, evolved to whatever resembles sympathy for someone like him.
"Listen, I could have done that without the screaming. I have a lot of far greater problems right now. That's not a put down, it's just fact. I'm sorry. I'm still right though. You have no reason to be unhappy. Your misery is self created." I nod. I know. I created it. He patted my tears away with his handkerchief, my eyeliner leaving black streaks on the pink fabric."Come here" he said, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. He tugged me over to stand in front of the grand mirror hanging on the wall.

The mirror was possibly the most beautiful mirror in all existence. The top was crowned with a yellow, rose, and white gold sculpture of Yggdrasil. The trees roots cascaded down the huge mirror, ending in a an complex knot of roots at the bottom, entwined with a serpent. A tiny squirrel of gold set with topaz and jet scurried up and down the mirror, around and around the frame. He grabbed my shoulders and lined me up so my reflection was centered.

"What do you see?" He asked.I replied,  "A short, fat girl-cripple with a back curve. Who's trying too hard to be fashionable. Like when a crippled or retarded lady tries to dress up cute, and everyone around her tells her she looks great, in that sing-song voice liberal women use when they encounter the handicapped. The implication being, you look great, for what you are. "

"Well, aren't we a superficial little cunt today?" He murmured. "Go deeper. What do you see?"

"Me. Just me. As I am. Not perfect. Not fucked up enough to elicit true sympathy from anyone, but too fucked up to ever fit in to normal society. Someone who tries to make the best of what they have, as much as they can.
A collection of damages, traumas and personality conflicts shoved inside a dysfunctional body, and ran by a dysfunctional mind".

"Accurate, but quite negative. This is what you feel like inside, isn't it". He waved his hand in front of the mirror. My reflection changed. I stood about 5'6". My breasts were perky, and round, My stomach gently curved, but lean. My back straight and healthy. Full, lush, feminine hips. Strong thighs and sculpted calves. Feet in fashionable heels. My skin was smooth and pale and perfect.  He waved again, and the image faded. "You feel like a normal girl, who is somehow trapped in this prison of a body." I nod. I do a lot of nodding with him. "This is what you're stuck with". He gestured towards my normal reflection.

"This is what could have been". Again with the waving. The mirror showed a woman, not standing, but in a motorized chair, strapped in at the waist. No makeup. Hair short, but unfashionably so, and greasy. Instead of dark jeans and a cute tank top, my reflection was wearing grubby sweats. Beneath the sweat pants, my legs were shriveled and useless, never able to walk. "And that's just what the outside of her looks like....the inside is worse. So much worse. She can't read. She was locked up in a place for the lame and crippled. No one. She literally had no one. No friends. No love . Nothing. Ever. She never touched a pencil. She never put paint to canvas. She never even thought to question God or reality or try magick. She was born "wrong" and locked away by the same parents you had. This would have been you without me, and my work. This was your fate. This is why I call you ungrateful."

He waved again and images flashed. There was my grandmother, at my age, deciding to pick out a new lipstick at the store. As her hand lingers on the orange-red so popular with her generation, I see a man in the background. Auburn hair, short and slicked with pomade. Black suit. Reading a newspaper and staring hard at her while she tried on the shade, purchased it, and left. Flash. I am three. My grandmother is sitting on the couch, holding a lipstick of the same shade out at me and I teeter on my two recently healed legs. I stumble a bit. One foot goes forward. Then the other. I walk. I see her putting the lipstick on me, holding me up to the mirror as she told me what a good girl I was. Flash. Scene after scene, of Himself in the background. Influencing my choices, my past, going back decades to make one tiny change that would lead to my inevitable current state of being. Ensuring that each opportunity for beauty, for knowledge, for perseverance, for survival, was met to the fullest possible influence. I see abuses, that though they seemed horrific, were so much less than what could have been. I see him making chances for me to thrive, to be more than a result of what was done to me. I am speechless.

He turns and smiles at me then. "You are the best possible outcome of your genetics. I will do all I can to turn the chances in your favor. But you have to work towards your own evolution . You cannot stagnate. You cannot drag yourself down. Do you hear me?'

"Yes," I said, looking him in the eyes. "Yes, I do".

"We need to make a contract. A binding contract." I nod.

"Rule one: You will not hit yourself. You will not bite yourself. You will not cut yourself. Period. It is blasphemy of the worst kind. A rejection of creation. You will call to me. You will ask me for help. You will talk to your husband before your issues build to that point. You will ask him for help. You can do this. You've went years without self harm. It is possible".

"Agreed. I will call to you. I will ask for help. I can and have done this before."

"Rule two: You will stop referring to me in terms of mental heath crap. I am not "an alter persona of your idealized self". I am not " some dissociative hallucination". I am not " that crazy Loki stuff you ramble about". That shit drives me mad, woman. It stops now. I am Loki. or Loke. Or Loptr. Even Lodur, should you interpret it that way. But I am not something that rose from your abusive childhood. I am what saved you from it".

" I agree. Even my husband has corrected me on this. I'm sorry. I let one arrogant chaos magician convince me I'm crazy, and allowed one man's opinion to dictate what I think of a lifelong friend. That is wrong of me. And Dustin was wrong for assuming you were part of my other mental health issues."

He smiled, and did the sign of benediction. "I forgive you, my child".

"And the last rule. You will create for me. You will paint and cook and make music for me. You will keep yourself in good enough health to continue to do this for a long time. Everything that comes from those hands should be for me, for my amusement or pleasure, or for your own. They are one and the same"

I laugh, then. "What do you think I do? I agree, easily".

Everything fades then. The mirror. The gilded palace of opulent tackyness. The psychotic cherubs. His legs. His dick. His torso. His face. Fading. I am sitting in my bed, at a loss for words. I sleep, healed.