> I could die at any moment. The real tragedy is that even if I can keep
> up my current pace into my 80s, there will still be things I haven't
> done. Haven't eaten, beaten, ridden, kicked, bought, sold, broken, or
> made, things I just can't do. So, like a 7th year president in the
> home stretch, my thoughts turn to legacies. I'm talking about much
> more than a few tomes that are mostly plagiarisms of my deceased
> mentor and bud Israel Regardie. I want something that will be a much
> more permanent representation who I really am, an icon that is capable
> or representing my whole life's work. Something that will strike awe
> into the masses AND please Tabby forever so much that she will not
> even THINK of pursuing another man after I'm gone.
>
> Everyone dies. A few of us truly live. Even rarer is a man who lives
> well and leaves a legacy that achieves life of its own. Jesus.
> Mohammed. Count Dracula. Real people, or representations of real
> people, who are greater in death than they were in life. Think of it:
> the silver bullets. The Holy Grail. The Koran. The Shroud of Turin.
> Artifacts, touchstones, elements of a physical legacy linked to
> something greater than the objects, greater than you or me or time.
>
> What are you going to leave behind?
>
> I'm going to leave my cock for the ages, that it may fuck with people
> long after I can't.
>
> Here's how. Ever have anything plastered? You can get kits where you
> stick your dick in wet plaster, or your fist and forearm if you're
> into that, and when it hardens, pour liquid rubber into the hole. Then
> the rubber hardens, you break away the plaster, and bam: instant cock.
> Mail it to your girlfriend. Mail it to your ex. Make a dozen, hang
> them off a tree at Christmas, or stick 'em in your neighbor's Hanukah
> bush. That's my favorite.
>
> But a plastic likeness of my member? Fuck that. Plastic is the
> material of our age, but I'm going gothic with solid fucking bronze. A
> solid bronze dick, to shimmer in the sunlight and clean up really
> easily... but not an exact likeness of reality. I've never lived in
> reality - it's too boring, to stifling. I prefer that skinny part of
> the knife's edge between genius and insanity, where physics are
> relative and life is what you make it. Success, failure, measured in
> terms you decide. Apply your own labels. Write your own definitions.
> Don't be limited by reality - liberate yourself from it.
>
> So I'm going to commission an artist to sculpt his impression of my
> cock, from a solid block of rock-hard bronze. He'll get the materials
> and the tools and an endless supply of hallucinogens. Then I'll set
> him up in a windowless room, with piles of socks, and set him off on a
> wild tangent as I chase him around the room waiving my cock. When I
> catch him, I'll leave mushroom shaped bruises all over his body, so
> when I'm gone he'll just have to look in the mirror to see an exact
> likeness of my cock smashed deep into his forehead.
>
> Don't worry, it's not gay - it's art. And my girlfriend understands.
> She would do it, too, if she had a cock. Perhaps she'll do it with the
> finished product, chasing down artists and poets and pedestrians on
> the streets in the Village, brandishing an abstractionist's rendering
> of my family jewels.
>
> That will start the myth - a gorgeous woman in an old pink ballerina
> tutu beating joggers and dog walkers retarded with a heavy bronze
> phallus. After a few cover stories and daring getaways, there will be
> reward posters up in the subway.
>
> My bronze phallus is the biggest secret in Samuel MacGregor Mathers'
> "Kabbalah Unveiled"!!! This is a secret that up until this day was
> known only to a select few Sorors in my most inner circle-the one
> closest to the Third Order. Now it is, by divine direction, a secret
> no more.
>
> After laying low for a while, we'll pass it on, like the Holy Grail,
> imbuing in its recipient the holy quest of fucking - and fucking up -
> as many people as they can. It'll travel by underground railroad,
> passed from one adherent to another, penetrating, lacerating, stuffing
> and beating people in alleys and cathedrals of its own. In a decade
> it'll be in San Francisco, where its abstractionist shape and unique
> attributes are highly desirable to Mr. Maxx the OSOGD and some his
> other circles. Altars will be erected, and word will spread. A
> deranged man, at whit's end with neither money nor friends, will post
> on SFBay Craigslist "Man Seeking Holy Phallus," and perhaps to court
> the odds of its coming, create the Church of the Eternal Orgasm. Then
> drop acid and paint renditions of the phallus, based on legend and
> lore and drug-addled speculation. That man will turn out to be the
> "Golden Dawn Guru of the Open Source", none other than Joseph Maxx
> himself as the beast whose number is 666 and the Messiah rolled up
> into one!
>
> Police will have no idea what to make of the transcontinental string
> of beatings and robberies that leave half-conscious victims smiling
> deliriously with mushroom-shaped bruises on their foreheads. And the
> cops won't understand why their wives are suddenly perky again,
> smiling, with that far-off look they haven't seen since high school...
>
> After touring secret bacchanals in New Orleans and being traded for
> weapons in the Middle East, others will snap up the phallus, where it
> will be held until stolen by a Mason, replaced by a replica, and
> secreted away to a Masonic Temple on the outskirts of Milwaukee.
>
> There, Masons will guard it against ambitious Knights of Columbus and
> Odd Fellows, the Roman Catholic Church that seeks to destroy it and
> end the sexual liberation it has wrought, and OSOGD that at any time
> might realize the switch and hunt down the original. The farther it
> goes underground, the more valuable my penis will become, until its
> very existence is speculated in the halls of academia by professors
> who would trade their tenure for a few naked minutes alone with the
> artifact...My penis will outlast anything I have ever written!!!
>
> The King of the Golden Dawn,
> L....V....X --but only unto me...unto me.
>
> C. Cicero
>
> --
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