By Wiz Kininigin

Full illustrated article from:

(A real experience)

Note: Simply the act of writing this down, after years of attacks, blocks and sabotage, has unleashed even more high strangeness in my /our lives and immediate vicinity.

Birthed one night, with prayer circle and all, the first part of this true story NOW SHINES.

Lives ago,

during the finale of a constricting castrating ‘Marriage’,

a concept opera was taking shape in my mind.

The work involved a sect of time-space cartographers and a virtual muse;

this muse was my dream goddess,

she served as a medium between worlds,

her eyes and brow were Frida Kahlo,

her demeanor feline, ‘vampiresque’.

As I persisted with this venture,

that ‘Mirage’ went hell,

and closing a process of self-destruction,

i launched my Self into the heart of mystery, into the heart of the Amazon,

into my own enigma.

There i AM WE

drunken with ayahuasca

interlaced in the fabric of time-space

… months..? eons..?

i reached a peak, Aleph —

and communed into the pyramid man, WE THE CREATORS!

WE could see the virus, the ghost cancer, the city hologram creeping into infinity.

i understood the mission

and emanate from there still


So I returned to the world of shadows,

with magic and power at my side,

yet so little Knowledge discerned,

for the battles that unfolded)))

Yes We through I achieved much,

but the darker side was tempted, fueled by toxins and egos

and grew so much powerful.

I lost center.

Then…  ‘Out of the Movies’

Once having returned from my experience in the jungles of my/our own mystery, magical synchronistic events accelerated and engulfed my destiny.  A project was begun and precisely the key people appeared.  We persevered and quickly drew much attention. There was glory and envy and our compass in a flurry.  When suddenly my colleagues received invitation abroad to participate in an important festival.  My contribution would be honored. This was exciting!  Although somehow I felt hesitant, still all showed promise.  We confidently departed and entered the foreign city as prince’s and kings.  But in truth we were ill overshadowed with vices and inner struggles.  On our first debut, with the purpose of celebrating opening night, we ventured off into the colonial old town next to our hotel.  There in the festive air we came upon a small quaint café where the sign in spanish translated “Out of the Movies”.

Inside it was glass pane blue.  Archways, wine racks and amber candles, it was like a cinema boutique. We boastfully positioned ourselves at a small door-style table exhibiting our own exotic qualities.  And then, she happened.

At first, like a strange androgynous young girl.  She was intense and intriguing.  Doing the cat walk.  Admittedly, I was an easy lure, all pretentious and horny.  Still, she was just so fascinating, I could swear her face went in and out of focus, like a blurry hologram.  All at once it came over me, Oh my god, it’s her!  The eyes of Frida Kahlo.  It’s her, my virtual muse.  She fixed her glare on mine. I entered passion and……… Chaos.

She was dark, dense and fascinating.  Such a seductive enigma, like a beautiful venomous wild orchid.  However, curiously, whenever I was most sane, I could see she was actually also quite plain.  During our choreographed courtship, in her small make-shift room, there was a movie poster with her very image, yet it was entirely another actress… absolutely striking!  The characters name rhymed with aracnea.

The Frog meets the Scorpion

There is a beautiful park in that foreign city where I’ve converged so many times.  I remember the sunny day as we strolled the brick walk above the city planetarium glancing flowers and lovers.  It didn´t first strike when she told me this story, which later I understood as a perverse foreboding:

Once there was a frog who was crossing a stream.

A scorpion called out to the frog asking for a ride.

The frog was obliged and the scorpion climbed on his back.

But once they were near the other side, 

The scorpion bit the frog with its tail.

As the frog drowned, it cried: “Why?”

To which the scorpion replied: “It’s my nature.

Enter the Solar Plexus

After a wonder week full of magic and fantasy, our last night in that foreign city, she came for me.  Till then, every encounter was a thrill and a tease, but that night I found my Self in an other-worldly trance.. mesmerized.. hypnotized..  She hovered over my pelvis, winding her thighs, swaying her arms.  I was paralyzed into impotent awe when from her throat a snake-like member metamorphosed out of her mouth.  With her head cocked back, it was dancing like an arm over my naked vulnerable being.  This was delirious.   Unbelievable but all too real.  The snake-like extension slashed down snagging the area over my navel, surging into the solar plexus.  I was in utter shock and inevitably lost consciousness.

The next morning, I discovered her leaving the shower rushing to work and so we bid a quick farewell.  That was a serious hangover.

During the trip home, this solar plexus area became increasingly uncomfortable and my mind was inundated with flashes of her.  But my memories seemed vague, while relentlessly, the uncomfort had transformed into a twisting contorting knot.

Abruptly, 3 days after returning home, in a waking state, I pre-sensed this ‘knot’ erupt with hundreds, if thousands, of tiny opaque transparent spider-like creatures which swiftly dispersed over my body and being, spinning an etheric cocoon around and of my very soul.  I heaved in thrushes of pain, entering a state of ecstatic shock.

Upon ‘waking’, minutes later, I was driven by the impulse to hear her voice, so I lifted the phone to call, and received no tone, only silence, until magically, her words: “Hello?” overtook a creeping void that would follow me onward.

A Grave Departure

A few months passed with flights to and fro.  I was puzzled and pulled in a tug-of-hopes. The base of my skull referred to as ‘the reptilian complex’ began to tense and swell. My colleagues displayed compassion but were finally pushed to derision. Tempers flickered and flared, and eventually so many desperate, drastic, hasteful, wasted decisions.  Against all logic I left my dream there and escaped to the promise of passionate plenitude and wild freedom.  When I entered the café proud of my courage, she was unpleasantly amazed.  After 3 days and nights of grinding sex and emotional taunting, she ‘asked’ me to leave.  On a dismal city corner, a  total foreigner stood without a place, without a ‘peso’, without a clue. Very strange daze indeed.

Still the Light was always with me; helping, protecting, guiding when unhindered by my own confusion.   (During this period, approximately 3 months after I was originally ‘dumped’… another key person appeared.  This person unselfishly helped me while she could.  Then, after irrationally remaking contact with the ‘love bite’ imposter, I eventually lost contact with this key person whose essence I recognize in my present companion.)


Several weeks dilated into a lonely period of chronic hunger, desperation, lucid dreaming and out-of-body experiences.  Until, as usual, darkness came to ‘help & save’ me, always the reassurance; “All you need is fame and funny money.”

So I toured a few cities and returned to see her triumphantly.

This time she was amazingly pleased. Almost immediately, she moved in. From there on, perpetual sabotage, even lots of setting-up only for eventual disaster.

Perpetual Hypnosis – “Where attention goes, energy flows”

She could talk for hours, she would stare forever,

and so… given to and driven by alcohol, tobacco and caffeine use,

she practiced nightly sleep deprivation, constant teasing and sexual milking of me, I would be her ‘apprentice’.

Verses from Gurdjieff

She trained me in the Tao of Chi and Tantric sex. Sometimes she would urinate during my orgasms… some kind of courtesans’ spermicidal technique?  or a personal fetish? A master of I Ching, and only 21.The way she saw, the things she said, She simply Knew… too much. But how?  I witnessed her social-economic background.  A poor only-child with no formal education except for a standard military primary and high school.

In her wily words; during the late 70´s, a young Spaniard traveler met her mother, she was hippy and freestyle, got pregnant in a rigid catholic society, and in turn her own mother demanded they wed, which forced the young man on his way, leaving the young mother-to-be grieving and ostracized.  The little girl was then raised by the grandmother, a low middle class old widow with a simple downtown shoe store.  She had not a happy childhood.  I saw the images before they burned.  One day, the little girl, now late teens, came across her mother on the opposite city lane.  The mother was all woe and derelict, the little girl arrogant, simply ignored her and walked on by.  News came later, the sad young woman died a drug addict prostitute in a popular slum alley.  A few years more and the grandmother corroded of cancer in the ‘little’ girls arms.  Anguished and ostracized by her relatives, she fled to the wilderness and lived horseback in a remote cabin for a short while.  Sometimes she would drift back to those moments in an attitude of inner discovery and adventure, one understood something ‘special’ happened there. Then, she returned to the big city.  By 19, she’d aborted, snorted, and connived her way through certain circles of the intellectual bohemian city maze.  As a dark object of desire she evoked alternating emotions in different people: suspicion, lust, admiration, envy, compassion…

Impulsively, compulsively, she scribbled, undulated and exorcised in automatic writing, with never-ending diaries, any paper will do, all fragmented prose, her texts a bazaar of torment, flower clippings, samples of wisdom and lost forgotten mythologies, emotional fencing, a play of mirrors, and beautiful literary brilliance?… or was it perhaps profound schizophrenia?

Her voice was a mimic of a prude radio personality who conducted a classical music show which was transmitted each morning.  Like a spontaneous lunatic, immediately after playing a spoiled naughty Lolita, she was a new age gypsy diva, only to later unleash an hysterical vibrant shrew.  Unbelievably I was…in Love?

Nightflower Dreamcatcher

Tied to her entrails, I allowed my Self to fall into wretched misery. I was gifted with a penthouse place, but soon after she moved in, the administration made complaints.  My attitude polarized to that of her self-declared protector and with excessive pride, we desperately sought out an alternate abode.  Simply no luck, I was exhausted and under such pressure, we ‘decided’ to move to the first small cheap suite that appeared, temporarily….

It was terrible.

During this dark space, one of her sketches revealed her lurid vision of my soul probing from a cocoon. The cocoon was settled in an ephemeral flower, colored like bruised fuchsia. I understood this image as my escapades to the astral plane to replenish my spoiled reserves.  I had succumbed to an anorexic state of quasi-existence.  She would be drunk, dreamy and glowy with my own scarce energy.  I was hell.

From the depth of the bowels of my being, the worst emerged, we both breathed shit, wired on pleasure, hopeless lovers, like flaccid junkies.  She was fierce.  I was bled of will and cried for light.  The Bardo Thodol, the Book of the Dead, I delved into the shelves of the city library seeking refuge, seeking Truth.  During this inferno, she gave me Dante’s book, his songs so describe this Divine Riddle.

Revisiting ‘The Divine Comedy’ by Dante Alighieri






From within/without this cosmic cocoon, I understood my Self as an mphalus, vesica piscis, the luminous egg of energy we emanate))) 

This ova was encoiled by a serpentine being, as I rediscovered my Self to Be… the Divine Seed, this vipers precious treasure.

(To be continued…)


Share this: