TIAMAT

by David Blank 2008

Originally published in Devoted by Scarlet Imprint, 2008.

© 2008 David Blank

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TIAMAT


Then The Lie is known.

There is no difference between any one thing and any other.

The eye, liken’d unto a multi-faceted diamond.

You look in one face(t) and see The Lie.

The Dragon’s eye moves, slight subtle.

Another face(t), similar, yet different, not.

You see The Lie.

Another, and another.

In All Eight Hundred face(t)s.

And that by Two.

Fractal unto Infinity.

And you see The Lie.


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On Weorthscipe and Devotion


Definition of terms:

WITHOUT and NOT, THAT With, Stands, and as such do we deny our responsibility when we do not define terms.

Worship derives, indeed is derived, and subject to THAT!

Anglo-Saxon: Weorthscipe—To ascribe worth to THAT which ONE is dedicated.

This does not necessitate, nor indeed imply, We supplicate Self.

Indeed: TIAMAT, Mother, Lover, whomsoever would supplicate their Self to Thee is a Fool. Nay an infidel!

‘Mother! I supplicate Self Not!’

Devotion is Love. Dedication.

‘Therefore whatever you eat or drink or whatever you do, do everything to God’s glory.’ 1 Corinthians 10.31

We would not strain such to include that whatever one is devoted to, do thus.

Further on the err of supplication: Did not Marduk create Humans from the Blood of Quingu (Kingu), the Blood of Kings, to serve the gods as slaves.

Become godless!

Awaken the Blood of Quingu that flows… Blood, which shall destroy and liberate.

Embrace both the Blood of Kings and the Magick of Marduk!

Combine and entwine.

Work thy Magicks , thy Sorcery, with Gnosis of Both/And.

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On Devotion and Her Due


TIAMAT is worshiped, Weorthsciped, Honoured - as Mother, as Lover - with rivers of blood.

The devotee’s own blood!

The devotee will weep tears of blood from every pore.

Each tear is begat of Love.

Love for Her. Her Sorrow! Her Loss!

Her rage a Typhoon will become thy own rage.

One takes Her rage unto thyself.

Therein the flesh, It Destroys!

This is the Blackest Black, the Nigredo. The Raven that has suckled at Her breast.

The Raven that has drank from Her Maw.

Drank deep of Her Blood!

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The Work


The sorcerer lay out and displayed for Her pleasure the objects ritual

Atop and Upon… a 1950’s Civil Service Utilitarian desk top…

Rubber, black.

Weekly and prepared, with oil of linseed.

Shining, glistening, as Her scales Octagonal.

From the left hand drawer he removes the Chinese puzzle box.

Placing it on the surface of the desk. Opening it to the refrains of ‘Joy Division’.

This is the room, the start of it all….

A deep, dark, low, growl. Murmured and soughed. Wailing! Whining! Grumbling as it keened. To Self.

The sorcerer removed the ritual tools from the box and placed them with precision obsessive on the table black.

A whinny of a thousand nightmares drawn and quartered exploded through the door.

The sorcerer took a needle and affixing it to the gun broke the vial… drew up the poisoned breathe of Her.

Her Poison, Eitr.

Placing his arm a-Cross his Breast Bare, gouged deep… tearing flesh; blood wept, onto his phallus.

Peripheries and borders indistinct were changing faster. Than could think. Alive!

Faster THAN could think!

IT is ALIVE, and IT is DEATH!

IT NEEDS TO FEED!

Flesh Scissioned!!

Allowed No Space to wed need to nurture and embrace ITS deed. Having no space to put the barrel of a gun to his gut and pull the trigger… having no space to grow and lither/slither across the tiled cold concrete floor.

‘TIAMAT, Glistening One, let me kiss Your scales Octagonal and suck deep of Thy Poison, That Wisdom; known by eight fold two. Let me kiss Thy Maw.’

The sorcerer pulled back on the plunger and smiled as the ruby red eye opened!

Pushing hard he injected Her pleasure, Her Love, into his flesh.

Nearby the Watcher records the Criature’s birth!

Bonded now through and inevitable! Born and begat! Of this time and unto this time! The pact has been made and the die cast. Blood has been paid and duty known to THAT which is WITHOUT.

‘Why?’ I ask, ‘Mother, did you take my flesh and eviscerate, that I might come to know The Lie.’

I do not deny IT. I do not turn back, nor side, to IT.

I embrace IT!

For, having taken Thee unto my own flesh and been consumed; that fleshly body putrefied, slain, hanging loose from bones skeletal; that mind also, torn and eviscerated, until all that remained was Thy rage; I have come in the end to that which is known, that witch is MUMMU!

MUMMU—One whom has awoken unto (their) Isolate Intelligence and Being.

That WITCH, which is MUMMU!

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Endnote


I saw my Self as a Wing’d Angel, The Lie known.
The Lie liken’d unto a Diamond.
Behind me!

Above!
My head!
The tips of my wings, Beauty, Black.
Blackest, Black and that Light.
Touch’d.

Wings unfurled, did eclipse The Lie!

The Serpent Crown
The Corona!

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The Lie is known and the troth of old. Ancient is Our troth to Her.
That troth is Our Heritage.
Thus, armed with Marduk’s Magick—for We have learn’d the ways that enslaved Our Blood Kin—armed also of old with the Dark Magicks taught us by Her, Our Mother,
TIAMAT, do We re-claim that which is Our Heritage.

Bound in Troth are We to NONE, To No One.
Not even, Not ever, to THAT.
Bound and thus NOT Bound.