Who Killed Mister Moonlight? : Bauhaus, Black Magick, and Benediction (9781908279675) by Haskins David J

Author:Haskins, David J.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hal Leonard Corp
Published: 2014-10-22T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Juju Shit

It started out as a spontaneous, surrealistic art project. I was throwing random images together using a new video camera. I did this very quickly, trying not to think about what I was doing, so that the subconscious would come into play. Snatching pictures, scenes from TV, stop-motion dinosaurs, Mexican Day of the Dead figures, an antique skeleton puppet, pornography, images of Pan, and so on. As I was doing this, it started to feel powerful, in a magickal sense. Something was happening!

A few days before, I had woken from my sleep with the words ‘Magick gets what magick wants’ going through my head. I scribbled this down on a scrap of paper, and then continued to write out permutations: ‘Magick wants what magick gets’, ‘What gets magick wants magick’, and so on. Later on, I heard a song on the radio, and grabbing the nearest sheet of paper I wrote down the name of the band: Spell. Turning it over, I discovered that it was the same sheet on which I had written the ‘Magick gets …’ transcript. I decided to overdub the transcript onto the film that I had made.

Watching this back, I was struck by the realisation that it was about resurrection: specifically that of Bauhaus. It ignited a fire in me, and I decided to contact Peter, Daniel, and Kevin about the possibility of reforming the band. The general consensus was hesitant and noncommittal. Further action would be called for.

* * *

The ram’s skull was placed on the altar. It was studded with various semi-precious stones, pearls, and a RAM chip. Painted feathers were tied to the horns, and inscriptions in the ‘witches’ alphabet’ were etched into the crown.1 It was to be the centrepiece for a magickal working to bring about the reformation of Bauhaus. The presiding warrior gods were Mars and Athena.

I lit the candles and meditated on this intention, before pressing play on my tape machine: Mystic Sufi Music, a tape that Peter had given to me. I lit a cigarette, and as the music built in intensity, I brought the glowing end of it up to my eyes. I suddenly realised that I was looking at a face: the face of a god. Two glowing sulphuric eyes and a cruel, sardonic mouth. Mars!2

The more I looked, the more this strange perception grew in intensity. I took a deep drag and inhaled the god. It felt extraordinary. Communion! Once again, I stared at the face, and it stared back, glowing with renewed ferocity. I took another drag and felt the tendrils of smoke uncoiling and entering my lungs. I inserted the lit end into my mouth, held it there; took it out and reinserted it, deeper this time; held it, took it out; in, further still, and held … and out.

The face of Mars was burning crimson as I flicked ash into a pearlised shell. I started to rock back and forth, entering into a semi-trance-like state. The cigarette was still burning in my fingers.

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