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The land of the dead…

Our goddess, lady-queen, was stalled at each gate. Inanna was slippery dark, the stand, ravishing, adorned in…the gates were sevenfold. After the seventh, she

shape-shift in the throne-room of barbed human skulls.

The Anuanki turn from her grief, with a start, as a sonic, auratic vibration echo cacophonous through the dark Hadic depths of the dark city of Erishkigal.

The herald announces, “The lady Inanna, queen of heathen and earth is at the first gate, adorned in cloak of stars.” Pulsating in unholy gyration at the death of her consort and in another fatal world our lady’s husband stranded, “and in trust and in faith by Inanna’s side,” her handmaid Ninshubur. The dark queen in howling chaldean rage addresses her council and wishes to end all, returning the nine worlds to the oblivion from whence it came.

A quest for spiritual unity, the prescience of our lady is a day of reckoning in the land before time. Our great mother, nomadic, venutian sister and creative feminine principle, high priestess-I’ll live for you…

Let me set the scene of the witch-queen:

And so our lady,



Wired with rattlesnake hide on the raft of the ferryman.

Inanna sped forth to the dark city and the hell of innocence that was to become the stasis of her petrified soul.


Hot on her heels, to know myself not.

Sun and moon, day and night, widdershins and slay the holy catholic empire.

Thus I beckon and it cometh forth, ’tis cosmic, venutian, nomadic warrior, cut you to the core.

An eternal quest for both knowledge and understanding cannot be altered and is constant, a deep longing for a vision through the shards of a broken mirror.

Verily we journey through these deadly-dark waters, a feeling of great e-motion, and a vodon re-remembrance of the kindling fire of our true nature. Her very prescience shall unleash an almighty ragnarok that shall bind the countenance of this divine sisterhood.

And suddenly thou shalt see, mirrored in thought, the high priestess stand righteously, thyself the living truth, that outshine, wyrding trails gathered together as Arachnean web-weave…

“How shall she pass”?


Initiation into nothingness, such pleasure what unearthly delight. From the great above whence she came, the Sumerian way, a haze for she who cannot be summoned…To the great below whence she fell and penetrated, that which we felt was forgotten is now yours and mine…

I humbly present the queen of the night; she-djinn of heathen and earth, her countenance exalt me, crossed with silvers, the transcendental centre, and crossroads betwixt the worlds.

Queen Erishkigal looks up from her mourning, radiation of mountain-shaking floods of tears, still we voyage…

“Strip her of all her divine me-ic properties, all her arraignments of divine understanding, here we look through the shards of that which know true suffering,” this is my will, so mote it be…


Priestess fell righteously and inquisitively to war and love, illustrious goddess of the blessed realm, rise and fall to the denizen of the witch-queen, Erishkigal-Now!

She, alone in fits of grief, tumultuously suspended in the deep waters of our hearts, a

“sacred vision” and companion, sometimes screaming in deic fury.

Cascading throne room, deep within, awash with that unearthly delight, made for the love of that which cannot be summoned, naked and shivering, this upstart can still utilize the call…


Hanging like rotting meat, abyssic coma, borne-confidante, that which was fashioned, whilst all that remains falls below, the oroboros, cosmic, communal consciousness-convocation at the crux-nebula of the dark city throne of (al-legis),the underworld.

An initiation which beckon our goddess, everything and nothing but knowing that death is unflinching, our true self hung on an umbilical hang-wire-for these are the fears on which we dangle our lives…

Unapologetic and unrelenting in her divine temporality, silently observing from the shade of the dark catacomb-what is above is also below. If destined to rule the nine worlds, a notion of self-worth is placated in unrelenting malefic rage. This heathenly risen formation, tried out the qualm or smooth out the edges of the force-fed, oracular human skulls of Queen Erishkigal

Our goddess, remain chaospheric and her sisterhood qlipothically”fixed upon her” grief and all devouring wraithful fury. Shattered, dark, echoic, shadow-time, hung by a hook on the wall, smoothes the qualms of Queen Erishkigal, goddess of the underworld.


We voyage within and encounter this spark of creation and fall beyond, past consciousness as we know it, lingering in the perpetual dream state of the un-dead…

The lady Inanna’s handmaiden Ninshubur, in fear and fixation escaping the clutches of the dark queen and in grief, perfect loyalty and re-remembrance of this malefic mantra “has had the eye of death put upon her.” She transcend, surfacing on winged feet, out of the depths of the great abyss…

Meanwhile…the witch-queen in floods of grief, as if is seeking some kind of blind deic empathy, “but what of that of which we seek, this rotting meat, this corporeal wall hanging?

Ninshubur, flower of understanding having witnessed her matriarch’s ordeal, reaching the utopian reality of the legends of heaven, spoke of the descent of the divine orchid that is our lady.

In the dark city, Queen Erishkigal reaches out with the bony finger of her left-hand, and poking inquisitively say,


“still warm”…

Father Enki concerned with his grand-daughter’s plight, sent two uni-cellular organisms to the realm of this endymion-coma to bargain for the life-force of our lady. Nestling deep down in the deep waters of our hearts, neither this nor that, the gods enter the void and into the realm of the land of the dead…


Nestled deep within the heart of the dark city, the witch-queen’ s ear-drums softened as if, just for one moment a brace of rare purity had flown into the cacophonous darkness. The nature of this conversation was one she had not entertained before and somewhat telepathically yet blissfully real was a brace of fair and enchanting voices placating and empathising with her uncontainable sorrow.

How could this be?

For she was that which she sat beneath, on throne of human skulls, shrouded malefically betwixt the hand of time, fate and faith, hiding like the unicorn?

Erishkigal drying her tears, thanked the voices, asking, “what can I do for you, whom have given so much?”

The voice answered, “If it please m’lady, we would greatly appreciate the lifeless corpse hung by a hook on the wall?”

In some way it felt as if the room had been set a-light, not unlike the blazing dark queen who answered with a sputtering mouthful of incantation…

Quick as a flash-the legends of heaven caught the butterfly and Father Enki, lord of magick and sorcery spirited away the corporeal remains of our lady Inanna…


Up, up-to the surface, toward the realm of our becoming,

Truth outshines the knowledge of the holy conversation of the guardian angel, blessed heathen denizen, jus’ flowers and wine. A joyous restoration of whose end cannot be…

She had both unleashed and sublimated this malefic initiation, both dark and light partly formed the aoratic of her prescience. She was nothing but self and set about re-acquainting herself with that which is divine through her own eyes, including her consort, the shepherd God Dammuzi.

Inanna was wraithful and maleficent to find the goat-lord slumbering, nestled against the arboreal splendour of the world tree, not at all concerned at the reason for Inanna’s absence. In fury and rage our lady summoned all her energy and in blind fury banished with a flick of her wrist, her husband Dammuzi from whence she came-to the dark city deep within the valley that cloak the abyss.

After a time Inanna became melancholy and woeful of her actions and counselled all who would listen to her divinity, that she regretted her actions and longed to be in the embrace of fortitude that was her husband.

Once again her loyal and trustworthy handmaid Ninshubur heard of her predicament and took counsel with our lady.

A thought?

The lady Inanna, fully realizing the perils of entering that terrible realm and searching furtively for a possible solution sent Ninshubur forth to the underworld “as-if” a message and with the sincere intention of placation to the witch-queen Erishkigal to bargain and return her husband to the legends of the heathen.

On Ninshubur’s swift and straight return, for time here is long, the handmaid spoke of how on finding the Witch-Queen in repose on throne of human skulls she had sought an audience with Inanna’s dark sister and placated her conscience with the queen of heathen and earth’s sincerest wishes, a hand-fasting betwixt the great above and the great below was settled in order that her husband may be set free.

It was therefore decided that Dammuzi would spend half the year of her existence, (for darkness is but an aspect of light) in Amenta, whilst her handmaid Ninshubur would aid her in the manifestation of her astral elementals. Which through her incarnation her amoral past lives and the void, black, ever-rolling abyss of the land of the dead…

Thus day and night, the thirteen moonths of the cycle shall endure forever, the sublime colours of the message and the most sincere apologies. Restless and uneasy she regretted that which had occurred below and that she was hasty in her banishing and longed for the warm embrace of there consort.

Our lady longed for her beloved Dammuzi’s faithful return and the matter was jointly decided with his permission and wise council.

The sweet summer months would be spent with Inanna-our lady and her beloved Sumerian pantheon-a stairway to heathen, unchained in the dark city. In winter, dead once more to surrealistic divine beauty, elementally resurging through the realm of the elder gods.

And she, although it was nothing new, found herself alone, all by herself in the dominion of the gods. At first that which became a quest now became a holy suspiration for the fate of the thirteen moonths of the 12/60 system.

For now is the fate of the Pan-Daemon-Aeon…Dammuzi, whose end cannot be, arboreal luminescence of the world tree, calling serpentine eternal…

Io Babalon! untitled (31)

~ by EMPTY SUN on November 13, 2015.

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