From Uncle Al Crowley

The Impotence of Thought to perceive Reality.

VI. The Curtain

Thy podex, like a rose, within
Thy buttocks, sprays of jessamine,

Buds to my kisses; then the wine
Sets this old head of mine aspin,

So that I push thee to thy knees --
A worship, darling, not a sin.

Deep as I plunge, I do not break
Within the velvet of thy skin.

Do what I will, thy Self is hid
From me by envy of the Jinn.

So, when I think, I cannot pierce
The truth of things; I cannot win

Unto the real; life's wheel is kept
From turning by its axle-pin. [049]

But swing thine hips and smile upon
The hideous world's malicious grin!

Then when we end, the task is light:
Bid El Qahar once more begin! [050]





The Wages of Sin.

XII. The Apples

In my garden are seven kinds of apples; [080]
and there are seven kinds of louse [081]
on the once velvet buttocks of my Habib.

The smooth whiteness is now become a red roughness;
he is spotted like a leper.

He is no more fit for the desire of a clean man;
even his seducers, the black-skinned swine! having
found a boy with tulip cheeks and coralline; and a
bosom of jessamine; and eyebrows like Karenian [082]
bows for beauty and line; and breath like wine;
and buttocks fair and firm and fine; and a podex
like a ruby mine; have cast him off. [083]

Until Shahrava return he will no more pass current. [084]
Let him buy a dildo, for his cry for members is
ceaseless as the jackal's!

Nay! But come to me, Habib! I will cherish thee
as my life; I will take thee in my garden and love
thee ever as of old. El Qahar will make new songs
for thee, till thy fame standeth for ever among men,
as the sun standeth in the sky, not to be denied. [085]
So sayeth El Qahar.

God's constant affection.

XXI. The Love-Potion

Whoso hath fair Habib to sing and play [136]
May scoff at all the jinseng of Cathay. [137]

That naked podex knows a sacred spell
To exorcise the Jinn that bring decay.

One glance, one touch, and acorn springs to oak --
God sees the daystar, and invokes the day.

If Suleiman with all his concubines [138]
From dusk to dawn consecutively lay,

Yet at thy buttock's velvet, O Habib,
That man would rise erect from mudded clay.

Bid thou the Qazi to thine house; I ween
That he would sprout a member on the way.

Or didst thou call upon him in the tomb
Isa would rise, as silly Christians say. [139]

Thy podex being his, thine El Qahar
Is always gold, and never rose and grey.


The kiss of consciousness, Human and Divine.

XIX. The Cherry Tree

I know a cherry-tree [sic] by Bendimir [125]
Whose blossom curves and sways upon the clear

Eddies of light; I have a cedar boat
Whose cushions are of dove's down; let us steer [126]

Under that tree and lie alone together
What time the West is grey, the stars appear.

Then you shall love me as a virgin would;
Shudder a little with a little fear,

But yield thy podex to my lotus-wand,
Giving some smile twin sister to a tear,

Just as the body shudders when the soul [127]
Gives up to Allah, in its hot career,

Identity; impales its sunless self
On to the splendour of that sunbright spear,

And laughs and weeps, not knowing what it does,
Entering the glowing rapture of the sphere

Where He is manifestly all; and all
He; where the I and Thou must disappear.

We shall not know if thee I sodomize,
Or if thou sodomizest me, my dear!

If beautiful Habib plays 'kir' or 'kun', [128]
And El Qahar the wise plays 'kun' or 'kir'.

Only we know that we in Him are dead,
And that the Far is buried in the Near.

Thus like a cherry-blossom [sic??] is our life
Floating unwetted on the moon-white mere. [129]

It is no time to sing; for from the house
Comes forth the bride Habib, sans prince or peer;

Unique Habib, who walketh like a cat,
Sitteth, a swan, and runneth like a deer.

His face is like the moon that shines upon
The labouring Hajj, its camel-throned Emir. [130] [131]

For like a column of innumerous men
Doth serpentine his body; he is here

With hugs to break this breath, and with his mouth
To stop the mouth of El Qahar the seer.

The Origin of Religion.

XXVIII. The Potter

The dew is on the rose; behold
The sun illume them with his gold!

My dew is on thy rose; what Light
Their love with rapture doth enfold?

They are immune from Life and Death;
From heat and hunger, thirst and cold.

The worn ascetics of the mosque [181]
Guess not what joy the ages hold.

Seek we the tavern and the stream,
The garden and the grassy wold!

No potter fashioned thee, o man!
'Tis thou that didst the Potter mould.

From Fear grew Hell, from Hope sprang Heaven;
From Love our Ecstasy untold. [182]

Those are delusions, slow to live,
This hath no death, the iron-souled.

[Therefore the podex of Habib
To pierce am I, thy lover, bold.] [183]

Only from weariness of love
Was death's unholy camel foaled. [184]

Be this the song of El Qahar
In gold on ivory enscrolled. [185]