Lonelygirl15, Crowley, Bush and more

Hope you had a fine feast. I scraped up enough lucre for Home Town Buffet, where I gorged on pizza and spinach quiche.

I usually relegate the non-political posts to the weekend. But this is a long holiday weekend, so what the hell.



YouTube embeds tend to slow down the loading of this page, so I'll keep 'em to a minimum from now on. But this particular clip is required viewing -- indeed, you could even say that Cannonfire has, with this video, made it big.

Not for the first time, someone has glommed onto one of my memes and achieved the fame and fortune which the fates have denied to yours truly. I have learned to be philosophical about such occurrences.

When I first watched this clip, I was ignorant of the Lonelygirl15 phenomenon, so my natural first question was: "Who's the babe?" The answer is here.

In this episode, we learn not only that Aleister Crowley was the father of Barbara Bush, but that GWB himself might well be the true father of Bree, a.k.a. Lonelygirl, the heroine of these "vlogs" (short for videologs). Apparently, the AC-Bush linkage is a key factor within the ongoing mythos.

The video achieves conspiragasm in a montage which tosses the Bohemian Grove, 9/11, Crowley, Bush, the Eye of Horus, Judy Garland, Bigfoot, the JFK assassination and Michael Jackson's moonwalk into one epic paranoid pot roast. The background music is "Orff's Ode to Fish" -- or so I used to call it, because it begins with the words "Oh, for tuna...!"

I should note that nothing Bree says betrays any actual knowledge of Thelema -- she doesn't open and close with a hearty "93, y'all!" Her room's decor does not resemble that of an actual Crowley aficionado. Where's the replica of the Stele of Revealing? Where's the cool-ass sword with the half-moon thingies...?

If the lovely Ms. Rose really wants to pass as an actual female Thelemite, she should hit the Doritos and put on another 50-75 pounds. She also needs a certain tattoo. I can say no more about that.

Here is the semi-official Loneleygirl wiki page on Aleister Crowley. Much of the data is hilariously wrong. Crowley did not translate the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Although he had picked up smatterings of many languages, the only foreign tongue he understood well enough to translate was French. Crowley did not know Anton LaVey, and he knew Hubbard only by his reputation -- which was, even then, odious. Cakes of Light were baked not with "the blood of a child" (except in a very metaphorical sense); they were baked with -- well, spunk. The age of AIDS has forced a recipe change, to the consternation of some purists.

Crowley had nothing to do with the Necronomicon, a non-existent book mentioned in the works of Lovecraft. A book of magic called The Necronomicon appeared in the 1970s, but this is a hoax cobbled together by Peter Lavenda out of bits of Babylonian lore and certain well-known medieval grimoires. The common belief that AC wrote or translated this book has caused Crowley's body to spin in its grave so rapidly that the British government is studying the feasibility of harnessing the resultant turbine power for electrification purposes.

Were these bits of false data intentional? Two possibilities (not mutually exclusive) exist:

1. Members of the Lonelygirl audience are young, and thus have yet to discover the existence of those strange objects called books, found in eldritch repositories called libraries.

2. The powers behind the videos are postmodern humorists concerned not with fact but with an appeal to superstition. They have intentionally played to the darkest fears held by the rubes of Jesusland, in the hope that guys like David Icke and Alex Jones will fall for the BS. In this, they have simply borrowed a tactic already perfected by the more brilliant April Fools' Day artistes.

At any rate, although the Lonelygirl storyline hinges on sex magick, the makers of these short films betray no knowledge of the subject. I, of course, know all about the Big Damn Secret of Sex Magick which is disclosed only to the highest initiates of the O.T.O. If I were a younger man, I would gallantly offer to, er, explain that secret to the comely Ms. Rose. Although, truth be told, Crowley's idea of haute cuisine differed from mine.