_A Satanist Doctrine_

	PRELUDE (a clever hatred of Milton)
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	Discretions blemish with attempted resolution
	An obsession with linear time and space.

	Imagining a finitude excluded from erstwhile monolatry,
	The origins of the Dark Lord and Hir Hellish Contingent
	Are dressed in fabrics both dependent and astral,
	While, being beyond the bounds of human conception,
	They demonstrate their terran multiplicity
	Through poly- and therio-morphism.

	Aye, Gaia Hirself, dissected and distended
	Into forms comprehensible to Anthropos
	Showers forth a parade of Cthonos and Telluria.

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_Lost in Paradise_

	Low in a corner of admirable aesthetic,
	Far outweighing in value
	Those chairs decorous and ostentatious,
	Constructed by elite kings and arrogant sky gods,
	Satan lounged relaxedly,
	Enjoying the company of the Lord of Dung and Flies

	A child of Uranus, Beelzeboul was the best
	Of the New Brood,
	His unique excretial and symbiotic qualities
	Affirming a dedication and honor
	Unsurpassed amidst the Infernal Horde.

	Of late, the god of this world had lamented
	A distinct lack of excitement,
	Less challenges arising
	With the encrustation and cooling,
	The lovely luminal oscillation and revolution
	About a blossoming eruption of heat and light
	Into nothingness.

	Attentively observing an abundant animation,
	Even the development of Anthropos
	Had become a commonplace,
	Grindingly-slow parasite,
	Strewn with a latent capacity
	For technik and reflection.

	Scratching behind a hoof,
	Old Hairy expressed amusement at news
	That an extra-terrestrial interloper
	Was said to be rallying the host of the heavens
	And some named him "the High God" and "Our Father".

	"How delightful!  A means to thin the herd!"
	And yet the demondim were agitated,
	Their amusements and extravagances
	Disrupted by the infiltrations of vascillating celestials.

	Forever during the Consolidation had they been untroubled
	By such interference; the host of the heavens
	Respectful in its grand obsession with the Vacuum
	And the colorful stellae arranged on its brink.

	The Dunglord explained that this rebel was a
	Tribal tyrant from the furthest reaches,
	Given authority on account of his previous remove.

	Not only this, but it appeared the newcomer
	Was fond of status, deception and enslavement,
	Accusing others likewise and absorbing latent power
	By yoking together what they called a 'Council'
	Where he used his magic to charm and dominate.

	"This I must *see*!" exclaimed Mastema.
	So an entourage formed and the great distances
	Between the Underworld
	(Which all know to be as far from the heavenly host as possible)
	And the Sky Council (sod) were traversed.

	Disguised as messengers from the Seventh Heaven,
	The Prince of the Aerial Powers
	Arrived during an auspicious moment.

	The Council Chieftain, being aglow
	In the exaltation of his first born,
	Didst have in mind a Grand Hierarchy.

	"This day I take great pride in declaring
	 My only son, and in this holy hall
	 Have annointed him, whom ye now behold
	 At my right hand; as your Head I appoint;
	 And by my self have sworn to him that all knees
	 Shall bow, and all shall confess him Lord."

	As the Council commenced the kow tow,
	It became apparent that there was a faction
	Composed of timbre and power
	Whose likeness measured the equal of,
	Or indeed surpassed, the one called "Most High".

	The blustery Michael, seized by a fit of rage,
	Demanded acquiescence and explanation.

	Then didst the Great Accuser,
	Favoring the impetuous stellae with kindly attentions,
	Smile and perforce deliver
	A speech most eloquent and disturbing:

	"What manner of godliness this?
	 To demand submission without condition,
	 To subordinate power to an half-pint upstart,
	 To dictate on high a slavery complete,
	 Without knowing and testing the authority thereof?
	 Wherefore is the sense in you celestial invaders,
	 That you submit your necks
	 And choose to bend the supple knee?"

	At this of course there was a great commotion,
	The spell of the Tetragrammaton
	Partially unwoven, unravelled.

	The luminous herd now divided,
	Cleaving High and Low, and that Between.
	
	A mad scramble indicated preparations for battle,
	Michael beating his breast brutishly,
	With shining, ferocious eyes.

	Yet the Most High, his face purplish with outrage,
	Quieted them somewhat
	With a demonstration of temperance.

	"You are mine to command!" he shouted,
	Apparently mistaking Belial for his lackey.

	"Thou wilt obey the Throne Supreme,
	 Lest Our Anger be unleashed,
	 Your insubordination squelched!"

	With horror and envy at the
	Potent resistance to his domination,
	The Chieftain stood aghast
	As this renegade mal'ak,
	Semyaza, again addressed the Council:

	"Know you not your true heritage?
	 Be ye instructed therefore.
	 We were self-begot, self-raised,
	 Our puissance is our own,
	 Our own right hand
	 Shall teach us of the best deeds.
	 By proof try who is our equal!"

	At this the warfare ensued,
	Ho Satanas joining the rebels
	Who were intent upon a complete victory.

	Yet Old Nick took leave,
	Providing directions and guides to
	Those who subsequently sought refuge,
	The venture deemed a complete success,

	The heavenly host soon discovered the ruse,
	Yet that day nearly half the celestial ranks
	Abandoned the tyrannical Chieftain god
	In favor of the Subterranean rebels.

	Still the precious Gates of Death
	Held aloof the astral adversaries,
	Their aperturic abyss an every-lengthening entry
	For any not invited to the Lower World
	Or winning through in transformative ordeal.

	The Father god, stupendously upstaged
	And jealous at the power of the Evil One,
	Brooded with his archon-angelos,
	Each suggesting grandiose schemes
	Of deception or counter-assault.

	Until the tyrant's son,
	Incited by the Father to salvage his reputation,
	Volunteered to attempt a breach of the Gates
	With a method heretofore untried and dangerous.

	Mustering his courage and securing the aid
	Of his Father's most charming archon,
	He selected a human woman on Earth
	And, using his godly power,
	Raped her, seeding himself inside her womb.

	The archon's charm effecting her willing contrition,
	Mary was disposed to the care of the god.

	A "miraculous" pregnancy,
	The birth was presaged by stellar phenomena
	And accompanied by wondrous signs
	Made possible by the son's accomplices.

	To news of all this, Mephisto expressed delight.
	"Let us play along, this travesty undoes the tyrant!"

	With the Devil making offerings to Yeheshua
	By which neither the Gates be breached
	Nor the impending tragedy avoided,
	The common tale (much exaggerated!) unfolded.

	The people, disturbed by the troublesome godson,
	Made an example and seized the actuality and symbol
	Of the dying god as salvation.

	Yeheshua being what he was, proceeded through the Gates,
	Both unaware of the immense joke played at his expense
	And content to have won his way into the Underworld.

	Here he was met by several of his former associates,
	Welcomed as a hero for turning humans toward atheism,
	And finally converted from the harsh ways of his Father
	Toward something more Pastoral,
	Simultaneously protecting the Earth
	From the Chieftain's dominion
	And setting the stage for the maturation of Anthropos.

	The Hordes of Hell rejoiced,
	The Father of Lies congratulated him,
	And the petty tyrant departed for other worlds.

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NOTE: I have never read through Milton, being content to admire the
	umbra of Dore' and be repulsed by reflections of the travesty
	done by the poet.

	(c) nocTifer 1997; version 9707
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