The Doors of Deception [Redux]

Six long weeks
roaming the dry crust
of a sun burnt wilderness
Nothing but rocks
and red dust
The hot desert wind
that flays the skin
now murmuring
with words broken
of souls lost and forsaken
Perhaps it’s far better
upon this alien terrain
I finally surrender
to the haunting trauma
I’ve tried in vain
to never remember?

For once upon
a most mercurial night
I had an encounter
with an angel
of blinding light
Whether or not
it was Lucifer
or some other
diabolical pretender
I can not rightly answer
He appeared
an uninvited intruder
on some mission of spite
as if the bearer
of some inalienable right
to blight and smite
with more than just a touch
of insidious delight
without any doubt

By the grace
of a mother’s prayer
I was spared
a face to face
in the then and there
with this spectre of despair
Yet for an instant
I beheld the reflection
of a most horrific apparition
as if torn from the grasp
of a tumultuous storm
revealing a mere glimpse
of a ghastly syphilitic form
repulsively seething
through a mist of ashes
dust and sulphurous gasses
as hellfire was his clothing

Was I see-sawing
over the borderline
of madness?
Like an insult
to time and space
this essence of pure malice
made it’s appearance
within the dank
and fetid air of despair
in a room drained of life
where just me
and old friend Jimmy
were living the top shelf
in our riverside apartment
amongst the fashionably wasted
and the terminally bent
Just two slices
of decadent white bread
cut from the same loaf
of self entitlement
like two hungry wolves
set loose amongst
the living and the dead

I was high off my feet
when I noticed
Jim getting paranoid
whilst sinking into a void
somewhere below his seat
when this flood lit entity
from a mosh pit deep
reeking of hatred
and envy
came rising up
from under the ground
as the roof disappeared
and 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
A dark shadow
like the wings unfurling
of an out of contol
all consuming being
spawn of a black hole
The unnerving buzz
of charged particles
frantically colliding
was deafening
Drenched in an 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 incandescent red
and a turgid green complexion
with 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 belong to eternity?
Could the spirit world
really be a possibility?
That’s not what
Richard Dawkins
and his theory of delusion
had diligently taught me?
Nor what Carl Sagan
kept on saying
over and over again?

I am forever grateful
to have sighted
only 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.
Perhaps you should head for that
fire escape and dive down the ladder!”
~ Guru Da Hoodoo

How to resist
this nefarious manifestation
that I simply
previously
didn’t believe in?
(thank you Richard Dawkins!)
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?
Was this maleficent
rabid attack monkey
looking to hop on the back
of 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, you skin bag,
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.
Deliciously tormenting,
then ever so slowly devouring
whosoever comes his way.
Or … quickly if you prefer?
Your naive friend is
higher than Bob Marley
when he shot up the Sheriff
and smoked the Deputy.
He has swallowed whole
the Lysergic Sacrament
and is now taking part
in the Luciferian initiation
of Le Grande Hallucination
as his own God given imagination
is weaponized against him.
He doesn’t stand a chance
against the mighty Anvil of Chaos!
He who loved me to death
whilst astral couch surfing
at Jimmy Page’s house,
and became my Unholy Boss.
Day and night he must deal
with these walking apes!
Always talking so loud and proud
and thinking themselves
higher than the angels!
So at least have some sympathy!
Sight unseen, it would seem,
you have some fine feathered
angelic companion who is
cramping my Master’s demonic style
and jamming the party plan.
SO GO SCRAM … while you can!”

And yes …
the irony was not lost on me
Wasn’t Aleister himself spawned
from the same gene pool 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 with grace.
A strong tower of love power
awaits all those who
hear and heed the whispered 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 beastly 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,
seeded from heaven,
in which love may grow.
For as you may well know
that’s no his thing,
that king of hell.
And you mortals with all your
foibles, your flaws, and
all that chaotic
creative self expression.
That about sums you up
… without question.
Unbridled imagination
without direction.
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 raise anchor
and sail off fast
in some fairer direction
leaving this place for dust.
And in future I’ll thank you
not to keelhaul me into this
chaotic demonic type of situation.
It really drags me down!
So stop acting the psycho clown!
‘Tis only for the prayer
like a distress call
of your sainted mother
that I’m here at all!.
I should be hanging out
at the Sagrada Família
as some gothic decoration
passing prayers up to heaven.
In hope, never look back, Jack,
with a hardened heart
overloaded with regret,
or you’ll slide flat on your back
and become a dried out pillar
of salt just waiting to crack.”

[Note;
As always, the language of angels,
with all it’s interdimensional static,
reverb, and quantum amplification,
is 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
in 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.
But for now I have
an appointment to torture
your brother from another
demented reality,
young Jimmy.
His brain is already
squirming like a toad.
So leave him to me, Jack,
and go hit the road.”

[Note;
This is my best guess. ‘Ancient Stench’,
the diabolical dialect of fallen angels,
is not easy to translate, with all it’s
conspiratorial falsehoods of every kind,
hollow flattery, fulsome curses within
empty blessings, erroneous predictions,
proudful boastings, body shaming (when
in reality, they are envious of those
in this corporeal state of existence),
never ending accusations of downright
unpleasantness, bullying, guilt tripping,
etcetera, and etcetera.
All ingredients of a demonic discourse.]

Who was I to argue
with this floodlit Uber-Spirit?
So, with some reluctance
sorrow and foreboding
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 against colonialism
alongside Comrade Ho Chi Minh
for the glory
of the worker’s revolution
This was all too cute
since Jimmy
had never worked a day in his life
and was from a most affluent family
But it showed that he had a heart
caring so for the poor
downtrodden proletariat
I then informed him
how Joseph Stalin
had murdered millions
A rival in evil to Adolf Hitler
. . . and Vladimir Putin
Men fuelled by hatred and avarice
like the outpouring
from a blacksmith’s furnace
worked with human hands
as weapons forged
in 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
and took on the appearance
of a traumatised war veteran
Self piercing with many pangs
at every chance
as one unsaddled
into the darkness
of a collapsing wormhole
Whilst paying the heavy toll
of a soul strangely wronged
Jimmy seemed to be
swallowed whole
by that unholy maelstrom
from dark sorcery spawned

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 armchair 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 Zeppelin
we’d strum some Dylan
and then … on the road again

Like so many vets
of a war long gone
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

Eventually
I made the journey
to Vietnam
on behalf of my good friend
Jimmy

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
well and truly
on your side

~ by David B. Redpath © 2018-2025

“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 © 2018-2025