Hekate Station Book 3 Transcript

Raw document can be seen here. I might make my own mirror upload of the images, but who knows. Password: Earth
Note: The text is not one for one and is rewritten to be more understandable.
Page 1: Magic works in that perception affects reality, it’s a drug. More life altering than LSD is what we call madness. You will see things that others don’t. It is another world, a parallel universe, there is a reason this behavior persists. It has a Darwinian advantage, it makes you unpredictable. Think the Romans taking a device from the flight paths of birds or the spilled entails of animals. This “magic” practice persisted for a reason, it was an ancient random generator, it added unpredictability to their actions.
Page 2: It’s hard to be random. The universe itself makes things happen in patterns. People call this coincidence, or déjà vu, but it’s just like computers. It’s hard to make things random. Reading this as it was written will be more magic inducing than a translation as it will be more conducive to become unhinged, a controlled contrived insanity, and addiction of internal drugs, a chance to never come down. A brave new world. 
Page 3: Current projects; the twenty skulls, the Hekate station, trees for Mab, the torture interment of the innocent. Sometimes errors are made. Other times you won’t know they are.
Page 4: The monstrous children began in sets. The rape of his sister could not be born on anyday of the year, so five days were being that were not any month. The last five days of the year, the Saturnalias, birth time of the monsters. You see Father Saturn with his scythe, then a child and a timepiece ushering them in the darkest days. The world celebrates a week of birthday partying. Confetti, and gifts, and travel, and feasts, and noisemakers right up to the last second of the monster birthing time. The entire planet counts out the remaining second.
Page 5: Last New Year’s Eve found me creeping about in the dark, skull in bag. An early outing at Hekate’s hours for me. Predawn being my usual haunt. A hole in Mother Earth I filled with a skull, dated, too close to a home for a series of pics. I snapped 2 under my cloak. The 20 skulls are pictured elsewhere, one and thirteen I cannot tell apart anymore remain unmarked, they’re the wisest one I could not photograph as I had battery failure. I get ahead of myself. That New Year’s Eve I was out early, people sending fire into the air illicitly made me take a civilis path.
Page 6: As I walk in the darkness, I travel not only here, but elsewhere. I don’t ask, focus on the task. I’m not brave enough to do it all they ask. I am more the strange hand advanced man putting the crops in their proper place. Siblings, snipers, nestlings, the golem mothers and their broods, the six flying things, the punishment vaults for some just because it seems... I don’t ask questions. And now the twenty skulls, there’s far more than this, but the 20 are the one counted. They’ll wait. I think to lure those they will try and wield them. Facial points and lenses, one and thirteen scare me, the rest now where the Hekate had been. Their main difference is later. They’ll want to be found.
Page 7: The chill and gloom of the predawn is the time best for works of Saturn. The sky, then a sea of glass that refuses to reflect on you or your doings, instead offering glimpses of distant diamonds you cannot have. Own a black handled knife or stay home. Fog gray wet helps one focus on where he is actually at and not worry above where you think you should be. In the predawns, lack of light, one’s lack of a shadow is of no concern. Winged mice and owls are a sign it’s time to return home. Magic that fails instills in some a need to place an unseen. Easier than accepting that they have failed.
Page 8: Fools dig up graves for body parts. The wise want the coffin's nails from which rings. A crossroads newly built, a maze of them trestled over cold iron tracks. I try not to cross, is to be the future sight of a train station. I am conserving it to the three in one. It will be called one thing, but will in fact be the Hekate station.
Page 9: The scary thing is that it is working, dare I say, is evil seems drawn to it already. Why? It craves spilt blood, laying the groundwork for a tragedy. I see Lady Del’s minions? Friends, denizens there, is she an aspect? I think not, but I try to remember. Question not yet blood it thirsts for, too timid and poor a servant I too provide. Instead, lay psychic lures under and about, PSI stares. Alternate reality trip wires, pitfalls without pity for the pray nor the Nimrod. I write, you listen. Words echo echo echo in your head. You will kill one day at a time of my choosing, maybe after you’re gone. Until then, now you plant the seeds of someone’s destruction with trepidation and a plea guilty with survivor remorse. I should be dead.        
Page 10: New moon, white rabbit. The blackest nights for the Hekate stations beckons, a troll man lives there, harmless and engrossed in flickerings, the full moon Mab. I try to visit the bills of Mab with the twenty skulls, I have 79 cords of them, they've lived here before. And are mildly curious about today. I can not understand, please tell me more. Henbane smoke, things undone, deeds undone, darkness, your sole friend, your soul friend, check it is the door.
Page 11: New development with the birds. Having success with writing spells in the Earth, laying ritual patterns over, I do the same with seed, then lay seeds out near the target area. Birds carrying the spell with them. Writing originated from the birds. The Babylonians saw birds staring at the mud on the banks. I went down to investigate. I saw marks in the mud and realized that marks must be messages to & from other birds. I emulated them. Writing was boring.
Page 12: Returning early this new moon (a.m.), I encountered a man of my same general build and look in the dark. I, at the time, thought this was unfortunate as he is going the opposite direction as I and he will serve as a handy smokescreen if in the area. I just left in case someone is at watch. A bit later, it occurred to me that it may have been my doppelganger. Not far from there was an area I frequented much, and at the time, a lady there kept telling me of another me she kept seeing. That was a good 30 years ago. Probably the same guy, huh, meeting him in the dark ? just awoke, right? I said "morning" to it. It nodded at me fearfully. 
Page 13: I'd have a minor problem early on that morning. Sitting for a bit, I began to cough up a green curdled milk like mud that looked like something a toad would be found under, mudlike. I should have fashioned a man from it myself but I left it for the others. Whitening words on walls, I push on those about to fall. Statements, brief words to the point. Writ. High writ low with whitening on it. There places passed so the spell could linger. I pore there before their very nose. Future finders of the 20 skulls sell them beer, for each one holds a different secret. There might be a weapon. Be careful connecting. Whisper under the pepper tree, fearfulied he'd be. The coffee coffin knows little, but can be trained up quick to the bidings that make minds sick. 
Page 14: Learned something from the birds, they didn't really do what I thought they would. I had to think about my actual wording. I asked them to act against my enemy at the target site. Nothing happened. Looking back over the situation, I came to realize that I was in error. The one I targeted was not the main threat, but a minor follower. The winged ones were waiting for me to target who was actually the enemy of I. At work today, I opened the door as I left, and there they were. The messenger's fowl. I greeted them. They disappeared, laughing harshly.
Page 15: "Pains dreadful, and chains and fire, in lie shall him with I that hopes, and bad am I, when glad is Satan." Chanting the above three times in cold moonlight will bring you luck here on Earth you've not had before. I advise against it. Loki's mark is drawn on an inconspicuous part of you, but not being hidden from view doesn't make you invisible, just less noticed. This can be dangerous around cars. Hell, I've had traffic light metal detectors ignore me and I had to wait for someone else to trip it. Trippy. 
Page 16: Losing track of time to the extent that I've let milestone dates slide by, I may have too many pots. So I had seen little guys like these. They, of course, are not in a helpless role. Coffins start the season for condemned seeds and coffee. Things go back and forth. Time is Saturn's, chaos reigns, Lady Del is as brand new and timeless as the endless rain that has never stopped. That's not quite true, I'm a bit lost at the moment. Look at a brain and try not to see a maze. You can get turned around in there.
Page 17: At the Hekate Station, there is evil being drawn. It is there on a solstice where a young child tells himself to time a knife. The vernal equinox was near the new moon, but I'm still too lerry to go to the station, so I went up in the hills with an offering for kind Mab. Up there, I could look down at the Hekate Station. There had been a huge wreck. There must have been 9 fucking cop cars there. The Hekate Station will have their blood. In June, the fog will return. 
Page 18: It just seems so easy now. All I'd take is a bit of filling and I could let go and be as mad as a fox, so let the other world. That is either insanity or magic taking over. I'm not sure if it's an easy return, but I can't imagine why I want to talk about perception and reality. There was a full moon last night. I go to the Hekate Station's future site. As the beautiful full moon sets, I set out a sigil, food for the ?, an offering. I rededicate the crossroads to the three in one. Their bridges, yellow/red apple, black seeds.
Page 19: Then I look east. I'm getting turned around. I look away from the setting moon and see on the far end of the openness an ethereal man going south to north. I stared, then decided it wasn't odd it wanted seeds. I wanted to think the moon was casting my shadow over there, but I was stationary, it wasn't, and behind it were bright lights.
Page 20: Moreover I was below it and very much in shadow. Fuck, I was at that spot because it was so dark. I went home and the first image I encountered of note was of a gal with a lunar cycle drawn on her belly with a marker. Can't say that was unwelcomed. Devils & ghosts obey a regime. They must slip in and out by the same track entry. It's their choice for exit. They're enslaved. The whitening is succeeding now, far better than I had hoped. It's a simple process. I settle when I exhale.
Page 21: The Whitening. The word is important. It needs to match. The weakest chink in the mare's psyche, the will, the force to know it right was harder to master than the deed, which is the actual act of magic. Always in this and other acts, knowing transferences is very much a key. I had a white unspoiled crayon stolen from an innocent. It lay for a time on the Hekate idol spot. It had to reside with me the night before. In the manner with the color, I go to the place where my vic will pass frequently. Near the old height, I invert the word white on white. Their subconscious, our target, will note and absorb it, forcing its way in, over and over each time they pass. This deed makes them treat you rather rapidly with difference.
Page 22: A clock on the wall around accepts they are bad. Not could that one proud elf could have ever thought. The idea that an anxious prone to worry gets adored with one exit despair. One that was consumed with a fear of being rejected with a simple bye-bye as she left the room and awaited them outside within an eve, one fighting to prevent what they saw wrongly as chaos, to the point of being meant it's depressive gets to see doom each day over and over. One I want to act even more erratically gets lunacy by the never used switch. Sexual sigils under the desks so the gaze down to their privates adds to their sense of disease. 
Page 23: Now mind me son, make two of one with ten, then you will be done. Make even three and you'll be rich. Let five go free. Four and six, with these spawn tricks. From eight take seven, one will curse heaven. One is nine, none is ten.
Page 24: Masks do not hide your face as much as they hide the world from you. Through them, you see the world as it could be, without them, the world as it is. This is the purpose of clothes. They mask you from Mother Earth. This mask you don to flee. Escape the prison. Green with rivers, four and beneficial. Tree damned by it's wardened hoary. Callous of your freedom and wisdom. Surely you shall not die. Be silent then, for danger lies in words.
Page 25: The tragedy of Faustus is that he used so much of his time in the pursuit of worldly things he could have had without infernal aid. Why not use the power of his familiar to become more than Faustus? His idea of power seemed more as attempts to impress the jaded, himself most of all. We should be working towards a less personal goal. Servitude offers that. Ask and you will be deceived. Weary knows the rest. Blasphemy attracts them faster than a ring of dust. It lowers the playing field level with the plane they're on. They hate you.
Page 26: And I woke up, my lungs on fire, my throat ablaze. I could not breathe. I was acutely aware I could well be dead in a matter of minutes, tops. I could not breathe through my nostrils. I had not been ill, yet I had vomited in my sleep. Acid burned my throat. I could neither expel what felt like a sponge soaked in flames nor swallow it. I bolted upright, slapping the bed. I knew this was a taste of how'd I die. Maybe not right then but sooner than later, my body turns on me in disgust, using itself as a suicide tool, taking me out with it. Then I could breathe. I had no recollection of why I didn't vomit but it didn't reenter me, just kinda vanished. I lay awake long, glasses of milk nor water could soothe my throat's raw pain. I know this taste of death too well. Now it will return once more and I'll write it not.
Page 27: I spent a lot of time thinking about what I'd eaten so that I could eat the same amounts and vanities so that I could help my body do it again. Even my prison wants me dead. This is not an uncommon effect. "An occupational hazard, do well to accept." This world is Hell to those that ascend and heaven to we that descend. Every organized thing is falling apart and was chaos before it was organized. Order and rationality are not the norm, give reality a push and see for yourself. Love is evil. It grounds, attaches you to this Earth and keeps you from higher plains. Shun it.
Page 28: Hello. I think I see more clearly now the purpose. The twenty skulls have power that can be portals to knowledge (a weapon). The golems' tiny army, protectors, familiars to those that know how to unearth them rightly, unending to those that awake them too early or wrongly beware. There's more than one force and they don't like each other much. The twenty have unique insights to share. Wards: Swords, flight, stalking, skin eating disease, destructive lust. Boons: Unseen, talk to the dead, entropy to embrace.
Page 29: To summon a demon, all you need to do is blasphemy often, and most likely, it will come hoping to get your soul. No special magic is known, but a few spells are needed to make it a bit safer for you to draw it through a gate you can control. They may choose whence to enter, but are slaves as to exit. Again, getting one to appear is not hard, having any say over the events that follow are.
Page 30: Silence is golden, not everyone is ready to hear. Action needs no narrator. Act! Wisdom is not a secret club. Chasing someone off because what they want to know is petty. Some wisdoms can never be discussed as we have not the words, nor even similar concepts to which to compare them. Those that lack have luck, those prepared have fate. We may all use the same exit, but the path there and beyond is determined by other factors. Mastery of the word requires giving things mastery over you. Things aren't evil, but you can't have two masters. Kill the voice in your mind that gets mad when you don't do what it says. The unlit isn't more valuable than the lit. Wisdom from error, strength via loss. You don't deserve to be rewarded for suffering anymore than you should be paid for any other opportunity. 
Page 31: The creator has a very high tolerance for chaos, random events we want to ascribe meaning to. Pattern recognition served us well in the brush now has us seeing faces on Mars and the hand in car wrecks. All I can defend on is "be here now". Every seven years, it was thought each cell in your body was new, replaced over the course of those seven years. So it seems at seven you start to know right from wrong. Once you live past 13 you are a teen, ready to reproduce and at 21 you are an adult, soon to die breaking a mirror with your image needing the time to insult. Seven years of caution, but our friend science intervenes. Brain cells don't grow that fast and they may die more "you" than anything else. And this cell switchover would destagger, no? The seven years is timing something else. Time files.
Page 32: And this was the tragedy warned in Faustus, to have great power and use the boon for matters of lust and not the betterment of the beckoned. He had wisdom, but squandered his chance on rutting. Be not like that. Man up. Prepare for your stint in Hades. Earn a place and a job. Make yourself useful. In the dark, seek to not be feared when you see their true faces.
Page 33: Kill the ego. There is a voice inside your head that gets mad if you don't listen to it. Kill it. It is not your friend. It is the voice that angrily defends a position because it is its position not. Because it's correct, you don't need that. Do what thou wilt not what some little voice says. From Tell: Murder is a drug, surpressing, altering chaos, smashing of there, here, & now and uphinges you, frees you from the factors of being.
Page 34: Dog shiverer.
Page 35: Be three feet behind you. A body mind dividing trick used by ones I avoid. Practice being behind yourself. Where are you usually? Try standing on one foot for as long as you can. Try it again. After merging "you" out of your head, out of behind your eyes, make yourself down to your belly, then try it. It's easier. Now be behind yourself as you try it. You can't do it. You aren't there inside you. You can do it, but that's not for now. Your body is not you. You are eternal, the body isn't yours to make real than a bag of piss and shit the bones hold up. Go out at night, perform a profane ritual. Note how hyper-reality engulfs and overwhelms the droll. Now you start the day on a new level, more than the ones the others live in. Leave the droll below your boots.
Page 36: The more repugnant the act, the further you'll move from the gray world of the weak. Look for chances to embrace the fowl. Mock openly the childish pleas of the followers of the dress wearer for help from their unresponding pal. Avoid the fire in the sky. The moon does not harm those that like it, does not blind them as a scalding reward for noting it's path. Strengthen your soul with immersion in gore and revulsion until you're used to it, then you're hard. Feed a pig or goat something you made. Mark yourself. Art is the improvement of nature, learn an art. End any innocence encountered. Study. Shadow. Find a group of entities already past physical that work for you and aid them while asking for nothing. Create, change, challenge.
Page 37: You live as you dream, alone. The other you see a little better than figments, your projections on events beyond your control, other people in your mind's home, rattling about giving little to no support to things in the way. You can like or hate them as you feel about furniture if he wishes a fetish. A perverse bonding with one thing you encounter can only lead to ill fixation on one one moving, fleeting glimpse to try, and to try and garner its attention is like waiting for a leaf to fall towards you. You are alone. The universe is indifferent. Nothing else stops if you die. Nothing else is what you are and will take care of you. See if the chickens notice. This is a good thing. You are accountable to no one. You are free.
Page 38: Things to do while awaiting the hours: On a full moon night, find a ring of mushrooms and while it's circuit nine times. Midsummer's eve, take some honey fruit and sparking favors, not money, into the oven and give them to your good neighbors. Raise a black cat and a salamander. Draw something, then draw it better than it is, improving it. Kill a friendship as practice for going one step further next time. Keep a dream journal. Ingest powerful psychotropic substances. Seal yourself with too much repeated exposure to images of gore and depraved sex. Hide decks of playing cards in things you fear may be stolen, like a vehicle or a bit of baggage.
Page 39: When magical thinking surpasses logic, they both vanish and what lingers is not so much an absence as their effects still prey on the world, like phantoms of gravity or the legal decisions of ghosts and familiars. We obey due to tradition, for which some render them more ghastly than ones can. You can't address them anymore if they're gone. You can't bring them back to life if they didn't die. The two are something else now, or more precisely aren't what they were. Negation isn't so much destroying something or generating it's opposite. Negation is replacing a thing or occulting it permanently. Destroying an idea is hard, generating it's opposite puts you on a Hegelian treadmill, but replace that idea with another and you win. Hide it in rubbish and it's eaten, unsortable mess.
Page 40: I saw cool things. First one is of the ground, a very small creature-like owl. It was scurrying across my path as of late out in the dark. I had a surprising large owl find and looked at me quite low. I can be up on the hill, or down by the quarry, and it's still there, guiding, gilding, their soft "wooft wooft" as it bats it's large dark wings. What with all the leds and everything and the klieg lights in the parking lot, it never is totally dark in my apartment, so it was a shock to walk in just now and find my bedroom a cavern of solid black. In my hand was a study of the St. Louis haunting-poltergeist case I'd been reading, so I was of a nervous mind. I half expected to find something in my bed less than two feet from the door.
Page 41: I usually don't turn on the light by the door, just fall in bed then switch on the lens at the bed's head to read by, but it was so uncannily dark. Then I figured "fuck it". I'd do as usual and fall onto the bed. I did so, still expecting something to be there, to greet me, nothing was there. I fell to the ground, hurting my thigh and wrist somehow. I fell away from the bed on the other side of the room! My fucking leg really hurts.
Page 42: The big ol' owl. I may have been missing the point, which leads me to the truth. The owl follows, knowing I leave trails of inviting seeds and fruits and bright shiny things for the fey and their friends. He awaits and eats their… "corporal aspects"? Something I know, I feel dab if that's it. Buried the last of the skulls. Great calm as this task is finished, though I contracted poison oak/ivy and have clear fluid filled pustules that itch, mild reminder torment.
Page 43: They don't have to make things you don't want to do illegal. You want to kill. Blasphemy isn't illegal, is it? Stupidity is a part of power, the weak cannot afford this luxury, for them it's tail. The weak is too intricate to have happened. It must be a trap life written on a maze of thirsty twisted tangles. On what does it prey? Tell it not. Spoils and history go to victors. Victims are not rewarded in some undiscovered land anymore than they are here and now. Everlasting life is the fate of all. Hell is eternal. The pain seems fatal, surely you'll die, but you don't, as all good things must come to an end.
Page 44: New moon. I went out to the murmur area, well, two days prior actually. I layed out the three barred seed offerings and sat. Fog rolls in on cue, then a fat crow followed by three thin ones. I don't think it was a raven, just ruffled. They're low and circling in all like "wow, they'll land and feed." No. The three were chasing the big one and harrying it badly. I go to the pepper where the murmur talisman had first been. Something is keeping the bows clean. A machete, rusty and bent with a dirty duct tape handle was cleft into a trunk. This means these designated areas so quickly attract an eye opening. Thirteen feet up the tree I tie a fetish skeleton image to a leafy branch. I walk home, on the way finding a child's necklace and one little left shoe. As I approached my door, a ruffled hawk slowly floated by. Three little brown birds awoke in its wake, pursuing it angrily.
Page 45: It is becoming rare not to see the owl on my night walks. His father is large and hard to miss. Things I have not seen: A book with alternating red, black, & white pages. A beheaded toad. A black turnip. And a cross eyed Mary.
Page 46: You have no idea how bad my left arm hurts.