The Doors of Deception

Six long weeks
roaming the dry crust
of a sun burnt wilderness.
Nothing but rocks and red dust.
The hot desert winds
that flay the skin
… now murmuring,
with words broken
of souls lost and forsaken.
Best I finally surrender
upon this alien terrain
the haunted trauma
of a time I’ve tried in vain
. . . to never remember.

For once upon
a most mercurial night
I had a strange encounter
with an angel of light.
Whether or not
it was Lucifer,
or some other pretender,
I can not rightly answer.
He appeared, uninvited,
on some mission of spite.
To fright, blight, and smite,
with more than a touch
of subterranean delight
. . . without any doubt.

By grace, not so much
a face to face . . .
Yet, for an instant,
I beheld the reflection
of a most malevolent embrace,
as if torn from a fiery storm
of ashes and dust.
Was I see-sawing
over the borderline
of madness?
Like an insult
to time and space,
this essence of pure malice
came to life
within the dank
and fetid air of despair,
in a room drained to death.
Where just me,
and my old friend Jimmy,
were chilling the top shelf
of our riverside apartment.
Two lords of entitlement
laying waste
with the fashionably bent.
Two slices of burnt toast
cut from the same
sourdough loaf.
Spreading the processed spice
that lacerates like a knife.
Always seeking
something more thrilling
whilst diving the dump bin
of a basement burning.

I was off my feet.
Jim was low and down
in a quantum entanglement
vibing in some paranoid void
of overheated defeat
when this flood lit entity
from a mosh pit deep
came rising up from the ground.
The ceiling disappeared
as the floor began shifting
with a bone scraping sound.
Concrete and stone
as in a compulsion
of revulsion
started convulsing
with the vibration
of a bullet train
from a stray dimension
fast approaching.
I could feel
a really bad deal,
and a cold wind of steel,
rising up from behind me.
A dark shadow
like the wings unfurling
of an all consuming
out of control black hole.
The buzz was deafening
of charged particles
frantically colliding.
All drenched in unholy light
the walls before me
began to blister
as in the presence
of something most sinister.
The portrait hanging there
of a gracefully ageing rock star,
that only moments earlier
had appeared ruggedly handsome,
now became a horrible distortion,
with a countenance most gruesome.
Eyes of candescent red
and a turgid green complexion.
Hideous sores weeping,
seeping slime and drool.
This repulsively fiendish ghoul,
was well beyond
even my fevered imagination.
It must surely be
an outside transmission!?
Possibly of some alien origin?

That room had known
both untimely death
and miraculous resurrection.
Usually in the one session.
But this …
this was something different.
A grotesque apparition
of old time superstition.
In my seventeen years
I had seen many things
…with eyes half open.
But this near brush,
with the infernal
high priest of disruption,
threatening imminent death
by deceptive stealth,
left a lingering question;
~ If all that is seen
is only temporary,
then all that is unseen
must surely be eternal?
Could the spirit world
really be a possibility?
That’s not what Richard
the Dawkins had told me?
Nor what Carl Sagan
kept saying,
over, and over again?

I am forever grateful
to have only glanced a reflection!
Through the pulsating gloom
I could see that Jimmy
had withdrawn to his room.
Was it my turn to pay this
non-corporeal pied piper?
Or was it time for flight ,
being a lover, not a fighter?

If you wish to excel, grasshopper,
you must choose one or the other.
~ Guru Hoodoo

How to resist this manifestation
that I simply, previously,
didn’t believe in?
That by all my worldly doctrine
shouldn’t even exist?
What purpose this dire visitation?
Had this entity come for me?
Could it simply be
a case of mistaken identity?
By chance, a diabolical coincidence,
us both at the same address?
Or was this an overdue attack monkey
looking to hop on the back
of poor pitiful me . . . or Jimmy?

From under the cover
of Hotel California,
my treasured vinyl copy,
came the disembodied voice
of Aleister Crowley
(English occultist, and cheerleader
for the Organ Grinder of Deception
. . . now deceased),
rebuking me;

“Hey … Skunk the Skin,
you show some respect!
Behold the manifestly manifold,
and prophetically foretold,
by none other than me,
gloriously nefarious bird of prey,
doing what comes supernaturally.
Tormenting, then slowly devouring,
whosoever comes his way.
Or, if you prefer, quickly.
Your naive friend is
higher than Bob Marley,
shootin’ up the Sheriff,
and smokin’ the Deputy.
He has swallowed whole
the sacrement
and is now taking part
in the Luciferian initiation
of a grand hallucination.
He doesn’t stand a chance
against the mighty Anvil of Chaos.
He who loveth me to death
whilst astral couch surfing
at Jimmy Page’s house.
Day and night he must deal
with these walking apes!
Always talking, and thinking
themselves higher than the angels.
So at least have some sympathy!
Sight unseen, it would seem,
you have some
fine feathered companion,
who is cramping the style,
and jamming the party plan,
so go scram!”

And yes…
the irony was not lost on me.
Was not Aleister, himself, spawned
from the pond of humanity?

Amid all this devilish locomotion,
like a slow motion terror explosion,
my Guardian from La Capella
whispered something within my ear
. . . “Don’t turn around!”

[Translation;
“Fear not!
Your space in this place,
I have encircled for you.
A strong tower of love power
awaits all those who
hear and heed the call,
and in truth make it through.
Do not be overcome by evil,
but overcome evil with good
… as you know you should.
This unprincipled prince,
of least resistance, is opening
a multidimensional paranormal
portal of the soul,
with much luciferic turmoil.
For he hates, with pure venom
you earthen pots
in which love may grow.
And all the creative self expression
of the frail, the flawed,
and the mortal.
That about sums you up
… without question.
I can provide only so much
mother loving protection.
Your friend, Jim … well,
he’s four sheets to the wind,
to use a nautical expression.
Time to brush the dust,
raise that storm anchor,
and sail off fast
in some fairer direction.
And in future, I’ll thank you
not to keelhaul me into this
chaotic type of situation.
It really drags me down!
Tis only for the prayers
of your sainted mother
that I’m even here.
I should be hanging out
at the Sagrada Família
as some angelic decoration.
So stop acting the psycho clown!
In hope, never look back, Jack,
with a fearful heart full of regret,
or you’ll slide flat on your back
and become a dried out
pillar of salt just
just waiting to crack.”

Note;
As always, the language of angels,
with all it’s reverb and amplification,
open to some interpretation.]

Through the pulsating gloom
I could see that Jimmy
had withdrawn to his room.
Was he trying to zone out
this flood of unearthly light?
From directly behind me,
with a fiendishly guttural tone,
came one word … “Leave!”

[Translation;
“Piss Off Quickly!
I find the company
you’re keeping
disturbing to me.
One fine day
You’ll be all alone,
face down and prone,
with no guardian drone
to guide you home
after a rollicking stone.
You may think
you’re some voodoo child
free basing the wild side,
but from me you best flee.
So go run and hide.
Sooner, rather than later,
I’m bound to catch up with thee,
you lowly worm.
Just another fool
riding the storm.
But for now I have
an appointment to torment
your not so good friend,
young Jimmy.
His brain is already
squirming like a toad.
So leave him to me, Jack,
and go hit the road.”

Note;
This is best guess. Not easy to translate
from the dialect of the fallen angelic.
Plagiarism, guilt tripping, bullying,
proud boasting like roller coasting,
body shaming, falsehoods of all kinds,
hollow flattery, fulsome curses within
empty blessings, erroneous predictions,
and downright unpleasant rudeness …
all ingredients of a demonic discourse.]

Who was I to argue
with this floodlit Uber-Spirit?
So, with some reluctance,
and foreboding sorrow,
I picked up my books of the dead,
blew out the candle in the window,
and promptly fled.
To a cosmos rent and spent,
along the Great Scenic Rim,
I was duly sent.
Through a hole in the floor,
down a winding corridor
of fast flowing water.
A mere human being transported
on a wild night of flight
to the heights of Mount Macedonia.
And there,
in the morning light,
a bright towering sight,
the white marble cross
of the unknown soldier.

Jim once talked of going to Vietnam,
to fight alongside Comrade Ho Chi Minh,
for the glory of the worker’s revolution.
This was too cute, since Jimmy
had never worked a day in his life,
and came from a very rich family.
But it showed that he had a heart,
caring so for the downtrodden proletariat.
I then informed him how Joseph Stalin
had murdered, persecuted,
imprisoned, and executed, millions.
A rival in true evil to Adolf Hitler.
Like the outpouring
from a blacksmith’s furnace,
worked with human hands,
fuelled by hatred, greed, and avarice,
weapons forged
from the deepest darkness.
For all of this world’s chaos,
can you always blame the anvil?
Yes, I guess, I do have
some sympathy for the devil.

Jim never spoke again
of joining the Viet Cong.
But, after that blighted night,
he gave the impression
of a traumatised war veteran,
gone strangely wrong.
Self piercing with many pangs,
as one unsaddled
in the collapsing wormhole
of the soul.
And in that swirling storm
of dark sorcery born
. . . swallowed whole.

If I had taken that spin,
from somewhere within,
would I have been capable,
to have somehow reached him?
Me, at all of seventeen,
being a T.Z.P.
of the highest degree
(Transcendental Zen Padawan),
and a bonafide handbook shaman.
Could I have thrown Jim
an astral chord
like some lifeline
of silver string?
Perhaps even given him
a mantra to sing?
But this had been no fair fight.
No schoolyard rough & tumble.
Yet, it all left me
feeling somewhat culpable.

It was Scotty,
another old school friend,
who informed me
of Jimmy’s passing.
In Scotty’s back room
we would listen to ‘L.A.Woman’,
and read beat poems.
Jimmy would always play
the Grateful Dead … with
Casey Jones driving that train.
After canning the heat
with a whole lotta Zepplin,
we’d strum some Dylan.
And then … on the road again.

Like so many vets,
for forty years long,
Jimmy got on with the job
… of just hanging on.
Till at the age of 57
he put it all to a final end.
I hope he found peace,
if not that stairway to heaven.

In finality,
all I can say,
is take a tip
from one who took the trip
. . . Tis best to abide
with the Angels from above,
and the God of pure love,
we’ll and truly
on your side.

~ by David B. Redpath © 2018-19

“Finally, brothers and sisters,
whatever is true, whatever is noble,
whatever is right, whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely, whatever is
admirable, if anything is excellent,
or praiseworthy,
think about such things,
and the God of peace
will be with you.” ~ Paul of Tarsus


Photography ;
Linda & David B. Redpath © 2018-19

142 thoughts on “The Doors of Deception”

    1. Thanks Bojana.
      I’ve been using
      a new spirit level.
      As Aristotle once said,
      “I know nothing!”
      Or was that Sergeant Shultz,
      from Hogan’s Heroes?
      Anyway, I only have
      one true superhero,
      and he has the key 🔑
      to all that’s good, spirituality.

      Liked by 3 people

  1. How in the world can one man have so many words to write on a subject? I usually let Lola run around 800, because that seems to be my limit, but what of DR, I wonder? This is to bow to your many words, and your fantastic colored photos, and last but not least to thank you for following my girl, Lola. She started out a bit more difficult, and hard to handle, than she is today, but there is always give and take in relationships, isn’t there? We never really know what lurks around the next corner, or what words might just jump out of our imaginations and onto these virtual sheets of paper…….

    Liked by 3 people

  2. David, what a wild ride this is, a trip of a lifetime, a PLUS-SIZE trip, where the non-corporeal meets and greets the corporeal. It’s definitely a frightmare whenever Crowley appears, cough to wake yourself up, save yourself from the clutches of the undeserving. All kidding aside, this writing is brilliant and pushed all the right/rite and holy emotional buttons. ~ Mia

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you very much, Mia.
      My cautionary tale did seem
      to take on a life of it’s own.
      I meant not to prevail on any
      poor unsuspecting soul to trevail with a writing so long.
      But, between you and me, Mia,
      I left out far more than I pit in.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Muchos Aparición, Mia.
        As this one was launched,
        from Davy Jones’ locker,
        ( the pirate, not the Monkee)
        with much fear & trepidation.
        And a ratio of corporeal transportatio thrown in.
        ( that spanish spell check ✔
        keeps clicking in ?)

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Dear David, I hope you’ve put those fears behind you, as they say and I’m paraphrasing, “Keep your eyes on where you’re going and not where you’ve been.” Hey, Hey, what’s up with the Spanish Spell Check, is that a new craft I don’t know about?

        Liked by 1 person

      3. And never count your money 💰
        while yout sitting at the table.
        Don’t know what’s with
        my android phone, amigo.
        It keeps switching to Spanish
        ever since going to Mexico.
        I think my smartphone must want to go back.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Wow! That was original and amazing, a modern-day Paradise Lost. Jimmy’s story is a way-too-sad, way-too-often tragedy we simply must do better with in awareness, action, and hopefully prevention.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The call of the wild is hard
      to resist when you’re a curious
      young cat.
      In the meantime, our leaders
      and legislators, continue to hand
      our children over to criminal
      enterprises, and/ or the legal
      pharmaceutical industry.
      Thanks Tektite for dropping in.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Your poem shows the truth of the Greek word for sorcery in Saint John’s Book of Revelation being Pharmakeia (from which we get our English word “pharmacy”) for in the ancient world drug taking and communing with the spirits of the other realm usually amounted to one and the same thing.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Nothing new under the Sun.
      As back then, the pharmacy
      industry, legal and otherwise,
      are big time financial backers
      of all major political parties.
      As the marginalised are duly
      criminalised, mental health
      issues are handed over to
      unadulterated criminals,
      pushing their adulterated
      chemicals.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. This is very interesting, (and so very poignant with your friend), as I was delving into Satanism before I met my husband. I had some, shall we say, intriguing experiences I would never wish on anyone.
    (That Bible verse is also one of my favourites, and important to me).
    Another masterful piece!!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh my goodness, I can imagine. My parents met in New Guinea as missionary teachers.
        We have friends who have taught in parts of Africa too, some of their students had to be careful while walking to one particular class, as they passed through the territory of a cannibalistic tribe. So many stories!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I guess you could say that…my parents were there in the 60s and my older sister was born there. They loved it. They said it was the happiest time of their lives.
        haha wow…I hope you are writing these adventures down somewhere?

        Liked by 1 person

      3. I’m still stuffing them in. Perhaps,
        when it’s time for a walking frame,
        and a mobility scooter, I’ll have the
        time to sit at the typewriter 😎
        I’d like to go back to New Guinea.
        One day when West Papua is free, and
        try chewing the Betel Nut ( I didn’t get
        around to it last time. I was on my best
        behaviour ) 😎

        Liked by 1 person

      4. “Twas in another lifetime,
        one of toil and blood 
        When blackness was a virtue
        the road was full of mud.” ~ Bob Dylan

        Yes, about thirty years ago ( long before
        Manus Island was turned into a detention
        centre ). And the roads were mostly mud.
        And like the Blues Brothers, on a mission
        from God 😎

        Liked by 1 person

      5. Great quote!
        I am sure you have some amazing stories!
        oh my gosh…thanks for the reminder of that movie, I think I had a badge of them on my uni satchel that I hauled around for all of the three months I went, almost thirty years ago…yikes!

        Liked by 1 person

  6. It’s better out than in
    is temptation’s sin
    said the ANGEL of Light
    who’d had the Devil to fight
    to THE DEATH.
    I suspect you’d witnessed THE BLIGHT
    A Warrior’s HEAVENLY INSIGHT.
    Your Poem is WONDERFUL David
    And Jimmy is in Heaven
    so there’s nothing for you to Fear.
    Sibyl X

    Liked by 1 person

      1. My pleasure….and You’re fine. Heavy yes, but You carry us in it. Your poems are truly like a train….they are physical to me….so even when You slam something hard or get heavy….the flow keeps it moving and there is an uber awareness that the destination will be reached. Bang pow. 💖

        Liked by 1 person

  7. That Sagrada Familia
    Still incomplete
    Angels well have to put up
    With the construction noise
    If they have the ears to hear
    Methinks:
    A little bit of directed deafness
    May not be that bad a thing
    For the angelic choirs of Barcelona

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes … tall cranes were placing fruit salad
      sculptures atop of the Sagrada Familia
      when l visited Barcelona last year.
      Inside, all was serene. The construction
      work is all on the exterior. So have no fear.
      The Spirit can be heard there, here, or
      anywhere 😎

      Liked by 1 person

    1. PPS. On the Xmas Eve of The Millennium’s New Year
      Purple rain Purple Reign, purple rain Purple Reign
      Purple rain Purple Reign
      I only want to see you HAPPY in the Purple Reign
      Said The Prince of PEACE & LOVE in HIS War-ship . . .
      And
      . . . I Died for you
      You know it’s True
      everything I do
      I do it for you.
      Sang by The Prince of Thieves’ Warrior Brothers ETC. etc. etc.
      With one foot in Heaven and the other in Hell
      HE’s The Phantom Of The Opera . . .
      Lots of Love Sibyl X

      Liked by 1 person

  8. Oh David, quite an epic, of biblical proportions. The conclusion is powerful and stunning, ……. but now, after reading, time has flown past the sanity hour for my sleep…… I could be turned into a pagan impostor…. and steal the green witches broom…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My apologies Ivor, for not putting
      a trigger warning;
      Do Not Consume If You Soon
      Hope To Be Peacefully Snoring!

      Thanks for the review of my Cecil B. Demille
      Universal Studios Sinematic production 😎

      Like

  9. The portrait hanging there
    of a gracefully ageing rock star,
    that only moments earlier
    had appeared ruggedly handsome,
    now became a horrible distortion,
    with a countenance most gruesome. — I saw such a poster recently on the street. An aging singer coming to town for a concert. Who wants to go, I wondered.
    Angels and demons must speak the primordial tongues. I once saw a demon in my computer screen. He asked for my soul but his Greek was bad, so he ended up with my fridge.
    In your picture, you look like a prince.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. That pic was taken by my wife, Linda.
      She tends to see me through rose coloured
      glasses 🕶️ 💗👀 so I guess it shows.
      And yes, placing your unwanted guest in the
      fridge, to chill alongside the demon drink,
      was certainly for the best 😎

      Liked by 1 person

      1. We found the stupid demon one night while searching for badly spoken Greek in American movies. He turned “soul” from feminine to neutral, and that’s how he’d get the fridge. Seriously now, I wonder, since there is some money spent to make a movie, can’t they find someone who speaks correctly the foreign language they want to use?

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much, Violet.
      I did happen to catch Lou Reed in concert,
      on his “Sally Can’t Dance” tour, back in ’74.
      Believe me, it was a wild ride, with not a
      thing left to throw over the side 😎

      Like

      1. You are welcome , David 🤗
        This stew you created
        Ten on ten we have rated
        In taste and texture
        Your misadventure is a clincher
        I would call it coup de grace.
        Leading Lucifer in a merry chase.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Dearest Yassy 💛
        your kind words
        they do flatter me 🤗
        But enough said
        of darkness and dred,
        and fools who rush in
        where angels fear to tread.
        I suppose you’d not believe me
        if I said it was all just poetry ?

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Your words immortalized
        In verses harmonized
        Giving mere mortals happiness and laughter
        That’s your poetry , David
        Making my day brighter.
        I am sure #Lucifer feels lighter 🤓👏🏻😂

        Liked by 1 person

      1. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that
        … but you must make allowances. After all,
        I am an Australian 😎 Thanks for taking
        the time to read & comment 🙏

        Like

      1. Sadly, the attack itself, Marta
        ( … and perhaps a bit of poetic licence).

        Linda and I were at a festival in Malaga
        when that terror attack happened. The
        Costa del Sol instantly switched from
        summertime celebrations, to grieving
        … and mourning.
        I had visited La Rambla shortly before that
        awful event. The shock factor seemed to be
        magnified, occuring in such an iconic and
        idyllic location. It must have been traumatic
        for those of you living in Barcelona.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Sure, it was traumatic although we knew that such a terror attack was bound to happen one day or another as it had happened in other touristic European cities. What is worse is that the Spain’s central government let the two terror attacks (there was a second one in a Catalan town called Cambrils), indirectly happen. There was a link between the main perpetrator of the attacks, that is, the brain of the operation, imam Abdelbaki Es Satty, and the State intelligence services. The Spanish police and the Guardia Civil did nothing to stop him long before when he was a suspicious person. The central government of Spain let the two terror attacks happen in Catalonia in a subtile and indirect way. If you do nothing to stop criminals you are their accomplice. One day all this will be fully investigated and it will come out that those 15 killed people are victims of the Catalan process toward independence.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Carried, over the nesting grounds
      of crazyness, on the shoulders of
      literary giants from a nuclear age
      of beat poetry counter culture.
      Yes … that’s where this one was happening, Peter 😎 Thanks for taking the time to read ✌️

      Liked by 1 person

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