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[The person of Austin Osman Spare (1888-1956) is a splendid example of]
[misunderstood and forgotten genius. Deserving the fame of Beardsley, he is now]
[almost unknown outside the occult scene. Trained in ceremonial magic under A.]
[Crowley, he later created his own ZOS KIA CULTUS, which can be called "urban]
[shamanism". The famous sigilization, some Chaos Magick principles, etc. bear]
[his influence. Besides many breath-taking art pieces of painting he left]
[several books where the passion of Blake meets Nietzsche's harshness.]

I tasted the fever of Your existence
seems like cold grain to my mouth
I stand aside, I stay away
transmuting my quicksilver blood

KIA - that I may see
ZOS - that I may touch
insipid are the describing words
the self needs no vulgar praise

This worship has no supplications
my rite is to live and do
things naked, pure, of honest lust
the throbbing vortex feeds on it all

Sleep is the best of possible prayers
the winged eyes are blessed to see
downtrodden deception of every torment
transpierced hymens my lust adores

Many images yet one raw flesh
animal steps I love to tread
an ideal point where Time is Space
memory giant sores this journey must heal

Lady of Mourning and her monsters
lay down the scythes for here I come
joyful and priapic my baby soul
a new-born one, ten million years old
[The person of Austin Osman Spare (1888-1956) is a splendid example of]   [misunderstood and forgotten genius. Deserving the fame of Beardsley, he is now]   [almost unknown outside the occult scene. Trained in ceremonial magic under A.]   [Crowley, he later created his own ZOS KIA CULTUS, which can be called "urban]   [shamanism". The famous sigilization, some Chaos Magick principles, etc. bear]   [his influence. Besides many breath-taking art pieces of painting he left]   [several books where the passion of Blake meets Nietzsche's harshness.]      I tasted the fever of Your existence   seems like cold grain to my mouth   I stand aside, I stay away   transmuting my quicksilver blood      KIA - that I may see   ZOS - that I may touch   insipid are the describing words   the self needs no vulgar praise      This worship has no supplications   my rite is to live and do   things naked, pure, of honest lust   the throbbing vortex feeds on it all      Sleep is the best of possible prayers   the winged eyes are blessed to see   downtrodden deception of every torment   transpierced hymens my lust adores      Many images yet one raw flesh   animal steps I love to tread   an ideal point where Time is Space   memory giant sores this journey must heal      Lady of Mourning and her monsters   lay down the scythes for here I come   joyful and priapic my baby soul   a new-born one, ten million years old