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The Greatest Works of Aleister Crowley. Aleister Crowley
Читать онлайн.Название The Greatest Works of Aleister Crowley
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isbn 4064066499846
Автор произведения Aleister Crowley
Жанр Документальная литература
Издательство Bookwire
As the night went on, I found myself less and less disturbed by my own exquisite emotions. I felt myself dissolving deliciously into absence of interruption to the serenity of my soul....
I think writing this has reminded me of what I used to think was reality. It was time to go out and have lunch. The luxurious lethargy seems insuperable....
It isn't hunger ; it's habit. Some instinct, some obscure and obscene recollection of the lurking brute drives one to get up and go out. The dodge for doing this is to take three or four rather small sniffs in quick succession. C. would be much better, but we haven't got any.
September 1
What ages and ages have passed ! These filthy lodgings have been Eden without the snake. Our lives have been Innocence; no toil, no thought. We did not even eat, except the little food the woman brought in.
We scared her, by the way. She can't or won't get us any H. or C. The morphine girl has disappeared.
I'm not sure and it doesn't matter, but I think the landlady-I can never remember the woman's name, she reminds me of those dreadful days in Naples-told us that she stole some things from a shop and went to jail. It was a great nuisance, because I had to put my clothes on and call on Mabel. Luckily, she was in and had a whole lot of it.
We must have been increasing the dose very fast; but I can't be sure, because we don't keep track of it or of the days either. Counting things is so despicable. One feels so degraded. Surely that's the difference between spirit and matter. It's bestial to be bounded.
Cockie agrees with me about this. He thinks I'm writing rather wonderful things. But as soon as we come down to ordinary affairs, we quarrel all the time. We snap about nothing at all. The reason is evident.
Having to talk destroys the symphony of silence. It's hateful to be interrupted ; and it interrupts one to be asked to pass a cigarette.
I wasn't going to be bothered to go out again, so I made Mabel give me all she could spare. She promised to get some more and send it round next Sunday....
We're not very well, either of us. It must be this dark, dirty room and the bad atmosphere; and the street noises get on my nerves.
We could go to Barley Grange, but it's too much trouble. Besides, it might break the spell of our happiness. We're both a little afraid about that.
It happened once before, and we don't want to take any chances. It wants a lot of clever steering to keep the course. For instance, we took too much one night and made ourselves sick. It took three or four hours to get back, and that was absolute hell. My heart is a little fretful at times. It's certainly great, Peter Pan having medical knowledge. He went out and got some strychnine and put me right.
Champagne helps H. quite a lot. You mustn't drink it off. The thing to do is to sip it very slowly. It helps one to move one's hands.
We sent out a boy and got in three dozen small bottles.
September 5
The world is a pig. It keeps on putting its nose where it isn't wanted. We are overdrawn at the bank. Cockie had to write to Mr. Wolfe.
" It ought to be stopped," he cried, " it amounts to brawling in church ! "
A flash of the old Peter Pan !
September 8. The woman says it's Tuesday, and we're running awfully short. Why can't people keep their promises ? I'm sure Mabel said Sunday.
Chapter III.
The Grinding of the Brakes
September Peter and I have had a long, nasty quarrel, and I had to pull his hair for him. It broke one of my nails. I've let them go very long. I don't know when I was manicured last.
For some reason, they're dry and brittle. I must have them done. I'd send the boy out, but I don't like the idea of a strange girl coming here. One never knows what may go wrong. It doesn't really matter, either. The body is merely a nuisance, and it hurts.
" So blood wrenches its pain Sardonic through heart and brain."
I am beginning to hate that horrible poem. It haunts me. I don't know why I should remember it like I do.
Have I been reading it, I wonder ? Or perhaps it is the incredible access of intellectual power which heroin gives that has improved my memory. Anyhow, the fact is that odd bits of it come swimming into my mind like goldfish darting in and out among streaming seaweed.
Oh, yes, my quarrel with Cockie. He said we mustn't risk being absolutely short of the suit ; and I must go and get a new supply from Mabel before we ran clean out. I can't help seeing that Cockie is degenerating morally. He ought to be ashamed of himself. He ought to have made proper arrangements for a regular supply instead of relying on me.
He lies there all the time perfectly useless. He hasn't washed or shaved in a month, and be knows perfectly well that I detest dirt and untidiness. One of the things that attracted me most about him was his being so spruce and well-groomed and alert. He has changed altogether, since we came to London. I feel there is some bad influence at work on him....
This place is full of vermin. I found what had been annoying me. I think I shall bob my hair. I'm awfully proud of its length, but one must be practical....
I am lying down for a bit. It was a frightful nuisance getting ready to go out. Cockie nagged and bullied all the time.
I'm stiff all over, and it seems such waste of time to wash and dress, besides, the irritation of the interruption, and my clothes are impossible. I've been sleeping in them. I wish we'd brought some trunks from the Savoy. No, I don't, it would have been a lot of trouble, and interfered with our heroin honeymoon.
It's best the way it is. I wish I had Jacqueline here all the same. I need a maid, and she could have gone out and got things. But we both felt that any one at all would be a pill. The old woman doesn't bother us, thank goodness. I'm sure she still thinks we're spies. Bother, what's this ?...
Damn ! It's a letter from Basil !
(Note. The original of this letter was destroyed. It is now printed from the carbon copy in the files of Mr. King Lamus. Ed.)
Dear Unlimitted Lou, -Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. You will, I am sure, forgive me for boring you with a letter; but you know what a crank I am, and it is my mania just now to collect information about the psychology of people who are trying to advance spiritually in the way we spoke about when you so charmingly dawned on my studio the other morning.
" Do you find, in particular, that there is any difficulty in calling a halt ? If so, is it not perhaps because you hear on all sides-especially from people quite ignorant of the subject, such as journalists, doctors and parrots
-that it is in fact impossible to do so ? Of course, I don't doubt that you immediately killed any such 'pernicious suggestion' by a counter-suggestion based on my positive statement, from experience, that people of strong character and high intelligence like yourself and Sir Peter-to whom please give my most cordial Greetings !-were perfectly well able to use these things in moderation as one does soap. "
" But, apart from this, do you find that the life of a 'Heroine' makes you abnormally 'suggestible ?'
" As you know, I object to the methods of Coue' and Baudouin. They ask us deliberately to abandon free will and clear mentality for the semi-hypnotic state of the medival peasant ; to return like 'the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire' from which we have been extricated by evolution."
" Now, doesn't waltzing with the Hero's Bride or making Snow Men tend to put you into a state of mind which is too dreamy to resist the action of any strenuous idea which is presented to it strongly enough, is too dead to feeling to wish to resist, or so excitable that it is liable to be carried away by its admiration for any fascinatingly forceful personality