treason

I knew there was a reason I felt compelled to pull Crowley's "Book of Lies" off the shelf and open it at random. I needed to hear this:
--------------------------------
THE STAG-BEETLE

Death implies change and individuality if thou be
THAT which hath no person, which is beyond the
changing, even beyond changelessness, what hast
thou to do with death?
The bird of individuality is ecstasy; so also is its
death.
In love the individuality is slain; who loves not love?
Love death therefore, and long eagerly for it.
Die Daily.
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I'm riding The Cyclone; I'll end up bruised and stiff-necked and gellified in the brain. I'm drunk on beers from the freak-show bar so I don't know what's fragile and elusive, and what's eternal and indestructible. The eternal part I can't damage but it will sleep and sleep WAKE THE FUCK UP it is so old what's it doing in this park, it needs to wake up and talk to me. It is definitely me. It is definitely here like great great great great great great great great grandad's armor suit that I klunk around in or or a bearded Sumerian's horrific DNA, its the present and everything from history, its inertia and personal.
Somebody help me drag myself out into the light and wake me the fuck up.