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A dim red light glowed softly, gently, as not to disturb the perfect darkness. An ancient silence whispered in my ear, “nihil hic vivit, neque etiam te….”
As if painted on the tail of a lost memory, the words came from within. “Nothing lives here, not even you.”

   I had no recollection of being elsewhere, but a faint murmur, echoed songs from another world. A dense haze blanketed the bridges connecting this realm with others.  A million miles of blackness stretched from far below me to infinity. It seemed I looked down from space at a world long forgotten, and saw a much younger me. She returned my gaze, pleading urgently for something I couldn’t recall. It occurred to me as she stared at me with hopeful eyes that she hadn’t a clue that she was wishing upon a dead star.  

A steady “thump-thump” drummed through the atmosphere. That rhythm lived here in the shadows, sleeping with its red night light. A cozy warmth enveloped me.  I thought that perhaps I might just stay here forever, in blissful nothingness.

An unwelcomed light appeared, making its way through the fog, relentlessly pushing itself out of the dark.  From the empty came swarms of insects, beetles perhaps.  Magnetically drawn to the fluorescent beam, the insects terminated themselves.  One by one, obliterated like fallen soldiers on enemy turf.

The light forced its way through the empty until there was only brightness.  I floated on gentle waves of sparkling, blue water.  A slight scent of salt tinged the mild breeze.  For just a moment, things were perfect.

And just before I was about to slip into dumb complacency, a glistening wall of water appeared. A Trojan horse barreled towards me at a super-sonic speed. Death wrapped in a sparkling box, with white ribbon, engulfed me. It felt like I was tumbling around in a washing machine that I couldn’t turn off.  Lost in the infinity of an abyss, the dwindling remains of my conscience short circuited.

            A faint “thump-thump,” rolled through a familiar void.  It appeared a living entity, who came from within me and outside me; protected me perhaps. Steadily the drumming began to crescendo. No longer could I distinguish myself as a separate being.  The tempo remained steady, while a pressure grew around me, and became progressively more intense.  The red light dwindled and merged with a new white light.

The piercing rays glowed more intensely as I made my way through the cramped tunnel. People cooed at me and made funny faces at me. I let loose a reptilian cry. Eventually I escaped into daydreams.

  A still emptiness held me, begging my attention.  And from within, a film began-    a collage of memories.  “Make it stop,” I cried into the deaf ear of infinity. 

Remembering my childhood, the awkward tensions of early adulthood, and finally sometime near the present. I felt violated.

Through a veil of condensation, an inner reflection escaped into the night.   Everything was so hazy. 

Nightfall lurked nearby.  Although cloaked with trees and pine needles, a surreal realm of familiarity merged with an uncertain forever.  Not so far away, an outline twisted and turned into the present.  Someone was drowning in a small body of water that was otherwise stagnant.

In the murky night, I saw her submerge into the water. Darkness swallowed her and she was gone.  The sobering recollection pushed its way forward; my dear little sister.

Again, I was consumed to vacancy… loneliness concealed in a dense fog. 
Sadness resonated from the mist--- a wailing wall of grief, pain and isolation

A dark figure emerged. It appeared feminine, clad in long flowing black robes and a hood that hid its face. 

 The figure spoke. Its voice confirmed that it was undeniably female.

"I've been waiting for you." She said, in a soft almost melodic voice. 
I paused, baffled.
Only a soft, “why is that?” escaped my lips.

“I've come to collect you."


An anvil of dread dropped on me.

"come. Walk with me.”

The apparition woman remained calm. “There is only one way out,” she whispered.

She motioned me to follow her into the fog.


I followed her down a windy stairwell that never seemed to end. The fog seemed to be getting even thicker. Sorrow lived here.

After decades of descending steps, we finally reached the bottom. There was nothing there--- just a door. From it, darkness tinged with a reddish glow, seeped through its cracks.

Perspiration dripped down my face. I wanted to run but there was nowhere to run. I wanted to get out of there.

I forced myself to ask, “Where does this door go?” 

“I think you know the answer to that question,” she said. 

The concept of hell had always fascinated me, although I didn’t really believe it to be real.  I assumed that the idea of a “nether world,” was a scare tactic used to hinder people from doing pleasant things.

I pinched myself, half-believing I’d wake up. A foul taste filled my mouth and for a moment, I thought I might vomit. 

A dull state of awareness found me in an overflowing bathtub.  Unable to move, I felt a beast known as panic pounce on my submerged head.  Little waves of thought crashed undistinguishably.  I thought to myself, “this is what it’s like. This is what it feels like to die.  Fading screams, begging me to fight for survival reverberated through semi-consciousness.

            Without warning, my last recollections waltzed in.  The bottle of sedatives the running bath water.  I planned this. 

         The bathroom fogged from the bath’s evaporation. It blurred into misty grey. Breathing proved an impossible task. My survival instincts dulled.

       The condensation grew thicker.  And from it, the lady in black emerged.  She took my hand in hers, almost comforting me. A dim red light glowed through the crack in the bathroom door that was no longer the bathroom door. 

      I turned to take one last glimpse of my lifeless body. The over flowing water sparkled deceptively. Warm water splashed in my exhausted lungs.

I turned back to the woman in black.

“Come it is time,” she said.
  and I followed her into the immense nothingness.

The Mind, that broods o’er guilty woes,

Is like the Scorpion girt by fire;

In circle narrowing as it glows,

The flames around their captive close,

Till inly search’d by thousand throes,

And maddening in her ire,

One sad and sole relief she knows,

The sting she nourish’d for her foes,

Whose venom never yet was vain,

Gives but one pang and cures all pain,

And darts into her desperate brain:

So do the dark in soul expire,

Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;

So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,

Unfit for earth, undoom’d for heaven,

Darkness above, despair beneath,

Around it flame, within it death!

Honor, according to and as defined by the sinister-numen, is a specific code of personal behavior and conduct, and the practical means whereby we can live in an evolved way, consistent with the sinister perspective, and aims, of our Sinister Way. Thus, personal honor is how we can change, and control, ourselves…

This blog is a response to a friend who asked what the hell (pun intended) the very notion of personal or kindred honor has to do with the Devil. If one’s aim is to break the taboos imposed by the society, then shouldn’t one break one’s own rules? Go against one’s principles? Behind it there is a flawed belief that those who call themselves Satanists or Niners are somehow different from other people, that their minds work differently.

What Lord Byron describes in “Giaur” is nothing else than Hell in its purest form; the state of the mind tormented by perpetual guilt, the fires of remorse that can never be quenched. Is there the torment more painful than guilt? You can get over it but what if you cannot? It’s the matter of integrity. It’s not only having strong moral principles but also your self-image being whole, integrated, undivided. It’s easier to go against the morals imposed by the society, which you don’t agree with, because they don’t hurt your self-image. Going against your own principles, on the other hand, disintegrates your self-image, leading to the feelings of guilt and shame. It’s all relative and depends on how important your own principles are to you. Does it make sense to go against the self just to see how it feels? What if you can’t put together the broken mirror?

Now, moving on to this cloak-and-dagger troll club called the ONA, let’s pretend for a moment and for the sake of this blog that it is all for real, that there are some sinister tribes out there culling people and what not. The code of honor is something that binds people together. How can you have a well-functioning tribe if its members don’t share the same set of core values? How can you trust someone if they are not loyal to you? The focus is on self-control, putting the Tradition before giving vent to your compulsions. This is where guilt and shame kick in. If you act dishonorably, you can either be shamed by others or flog yourself for your own failure. Obeying the ethics is a way to avoid the pain of guilt.

The reason for the ethics behind “culling” is basically the same. Without the ethics, it would be plain murder. It’s easier to kill someone if they are first dehumanized and shown as worthless scum. If you are led to believe that you help the evolution of mankind by removing the undesirable elements, it’s even more comforting. The aim is to combat guilt that can prove to be destructive. It’s hard to be defiant if you are devoured by remorse.

That doesn’t sound very *Satanic*, I know. Anyway, the dirty work is not for Adepts, but it’s something reserved for the pawns. Is it really all about defiance and crossing one’s limits? Or is it rather about understanding how we are all emotionally wired, behind all the lies we tell ourselves? Empathy in its darkest sense is nothing else than understanding the human nature, manipulating and exploiting it to your own advantage. If the Devil is the accuser, then his job will be trying to awaken in you the creepy feelings of guilt and self-contempt. What’s the better way of paralyzing one’s enemy if not by the poisonous sting of remorse?

The system of Infernal Black Magick put forth within The Ebon Book Of Satan is of a raw, primal and Unholy nature ~ it merges the power of Demonic Conjuration with the Inversion of Abrahamic Religion, the darkest practices of Infernal Alchemy with what can best be described as Satantric Sex Magick, the powerful Rites of the creation of Magickal Beings with Destruction Magick to bring catastrophe to the Religions of the Light and their pale Servants. 

In short the Black Arts of The Ebon Book Of Satan are not for the weak willed, moralistic, individual ridden with guilt and doubt nor the person not willing to surpass recognized boundaries to attain the true of Satan’s Dark Mysteries. 

One point I shall make here and now is that some of the practices within this Grimoire do make use of the inversion of Christian/Catholic symbolism and blasphemy ~ some may well have stopped reading for those with a more open mind who have not let me explain why! 

Whether you believe in the God of Orthodox Religion or that these Religions have any truth to their foundations and history is of not matter, the point is that over centuries copious amounts of energy have been poured into such symbols/archetypes as the Crucifix, the Virgin Mary, the Eucharist etc … energy forged from total belief, ultimate faith and endless indoctrination, therefore the energy attached to such symbols and archetypes is very real. 

Anyone who has witnessed a Catholic Mass will have felt the power raised within it, you do not have to share the religious beliefs or even accept their validity for that … the Catholic Mass when attended generates a power which will be instantly recognizable to the Practitioner of Ritual Magick and this is because both are founded on belief and contact with supernatural forces beyond our immediate comprehension. 

When the Satanist or Devil Worshipper reverses the Cross of Christ or desecrates the wafer of the Eucharist representing the body of Christ they are not instigating knee jerk reactions against Christianity, they are tapping into intense channeled power which has been fed for centuries and reversing it to empower their own Workings. 

I have for a long time employed such practices and I say without doubt or hesitation that this form of practice works ~ it is founded on the same beliefs which prompt Image Magick or Sympathetic Magick where physical representations of people, symbols, animals or emotions are tapped into using the physical item as a conduit to direct the stored energy associated with it. 

For the Atheistic Satanist or Christian hater who cannot get passed their narrow minded viewpoint to assess, digest and harness this type of Magickal power I have no words other than their loss and that with such a narrow view their Occult aspirations shall diminish quickly. 

The main focus of the Workings of The Ebon Book Of Satan is the union and Communion with Demonic Beings … all practices within the Grimoire whether they are intended to aid the Practitioner in realizing personal goals or directed to aiding the Work of Our Lord Satan all carry the purpose of drawing the Initiate deeper and deeper into the realms of Hell which lie outside of the physical world and also within the depths of the subconscious mind as yet not explored fully or understood. 

Satan is the Subconscious mind of the Creative Abyss from which primal and carnal forces gestate and in turn the subconscious of all humans are a microcosmic reflection of that Abyss. 

Theistic Satanists and Diabolists who play host to a true Dark Soul (I use this term to describe a Soul/Spirit gestated by Satan rather than God) have a close connection to this unexplored region of the human subconscious and an instinctive - if sometimes dormant - understanding of it which enables them to delve deep into their own dark nature, the darkness of elemental nature and the Spiritual realms of Hell with ease. 

The reason why humans housing a Light Soul (a Soul/Spirit created by God) - in particular those indoctrinated by the teachings of conformist social structures and Orthodox Religion - often malfunction when coming into contact with their darker elements, the shadow side of their brain, the subconscious is that their Souls nor their conscious minds are not able to accept these elements of the self or the outer spheres that exist outside of them. 

They try to isolate them, alienate and quantify them as evil until this natural element of their own psyche becomes their own inner Demon, the dark feared side of the self which the brilliant Psychologist C G Jung called “The Shadow!” The core importance of Black Magick and the path of Satanism is to connect with that inner realm within our subconscious, that internal Hell where the truth of our Dark Soul is mirrored in that Shadow which is our Higher Dark Spirit self guiding us through the Gateway to Hell in our own mind and on into the external Hell of Our Lord Satan. 

Such connections and journeys tear the human housing the Light Soul apart resulting in split personality problems or their realized dark desires manifesting in murder, rape and other such deviation, this is often the core of the foul acts of sexual perversion carried out by those Priests of Orthodox Religion who have castrated the darkened side of their mind allowing it to fester and grow apart from themselves and manifest as something which they cannot accept, integrate or control. 

Through the practices of The Ebon Book Of Satan the Initiate shall undertake a journey that brings them union and a full merging with the Demonic both within and without themselves and through this the Satanic Practitioner shall grow in the mastery of their Arts as they come to embrace the Dark Soul within themselves and the Demons who are as Kindred to it!

johnellysmere©copyright2017 

I am a creature more Demon than human, the concepts of the social structure built upon numerical figures and conformity, fear and morality have no meaning to me other than imprisonment . . . I am feral, predatory and primal and yet I have an intellectual intellect that surpasses the common intellect of study and learning.

I walk between the veils, among humankind and yet only in body, the true self, the Infernal Soul always drifts between domains of existence, always drawn to the dark rapturous beauty of Hell.

I journey through the Gates of the Realm called Hell, walked through the Abyss like Doorway of the Inner Mind and faced the Shadow that is myself, I did not battle with it as many do, I embraced it, gained union with it, for this Shadow is the Demonic core within all of us . . . it is the heart of the Unholy, the sacred core of Evil in its most purest form.

I - as all of my kind - walk bearing the Mark of the Beast on our Soul and the Mark of Omega unseen upon our brows, for we the Children of the End Time and the Fire that vanquishes the Son of Alpha who issued forth from an abomination in creation.

I wear the cloak of night, I bear the Crown of the Infernal, I walk among the passive throng of the social herd and feel nothing, they are a different species to me, a different Breed - I gaze upon them with contempt and at best pity, but the pity always gives way to the instinct to strike them down where they stand.

I am the one who craves knowledge, experience and that which I find is never enough, there is always another boundary to cross, another doorway to open ~ always the journey draws me on guided by the Darkened Flame of Satan who summons me to become all that I am.

I have no fear of death for in death I escape the physical shell and become my true form, the pleasures of the flesh I shall miss but they shall be tasted again when once more Satan sends me forth to carry out His Work on the realm of mortality ~ for we of the Dark Fire have to enter into the world of flesh at given times weave our Infernal Magick and disturb the putrid balance of mediocrity that the forces  of Light would sew into the world . . . but this shall never occur for the True Master of this World is Our Lord Satan, and the presence of the Nazarene upon it was a cancerous scar that still needs to be fully vanquished.

I am the Keeper of Secrets, the bearer of the Hidden Keys . . . love to me is a cascade of raw emotion, hate a rapture of wrath, carnal pleasure a crescendo ~ the aesthetics of darkness in all its forms courts my Soul like a violating lover and I drink deep from its proffered veins . . . I am the Wolf who slays the Sheep, the one who sees beyond the veil, my eyes shine with what I am at times of emotive power . . . I am a Child of the Dark Fire, one of the Convocation of Hell . . . and I am a Classical Satanist!