Archive for December, 2011

122: The Saffron Room

Posted in Gideon Keys with tags on December 18, 2011 by glasganon

Astral projection and remote viewing are two skills that are frequently denounced by many acolytes as being anything from unscientific down to outright fake. These acolytes, however, tend to be the types to extoll pet theories and discuss matters with which they have little to no first-hand knowledge. Studying the Gideon Keys of Glasgow requires an open mind, and any method that provides some insight, some understanding of the living mythology, should be regarded as useful. Besides, what with the rules applied to the where, when and how of some of the Gideon Key rituals, we must guard against “armchair acolytes” advising us to take up new sets of “laws” that do nothing but prevent exploration.

Astral projection is not unlike dreaming, especially lucid dreaming; the acolyte must lead themselves into a state of relaxed focus, releasing their dependence of their mundane senses and trying to experience the world around them using only their imagination, their “mind’s eye”, which is non-local and can travel across rooms, streets, cities, countries, worlds, and dimensions. In the city of Glasgow, there are many locations where employing this technique will allow the acolyte to venture into zones that are halfway between reality and whatever other worlds they choose to acknowledge. One such example is the Saffron Room.

While sitting outside, the acolyte must will themselves into an altered state of consciousness, to prepare their ascent to the Saffron Room. It is rumoured that taking a hit of the “Gideon’s Key” drug, available from a lab in Possilpark, will make the trip easier, as will meditating on the flame of a certain brass candle that only appears in the city on the solstices and equinoxes.

Meditate on the colour saffron. Imagine a single point of pure, compressed colour that slowly undulates up and down, and up, and down… watch as the point becomes a line, that twists into a staircase. Feel the vertigo of the staircase that rises up and down, and up, and down, the mental motion-sickness that grows as you peer down endless corridors, walls that stretch up to the upper atmosphere and down to the ground, up, and down, and up, and down…

It will take a while, but the architecture of the Saffron Room will glow visibly in the darkness of your mind’s eye, bringing with it a hazy, yellow-tinted image of the city of Glasgow beneath it. The Saffron Room is actually a colossal, semi-transparent structure that spans the entire length of the city, visible from any point in Glasgow, and connected to several of its buildings and streets – in particular, a row of houses in Maryhill, the north of Buchanan Street, and a park in the south of the city. Depending on how long you can bear to watch, and the time of year, you may even see a number of figures walking the yellow halls, although They never seem to notice you.

It is usually just as you notice one of the Saffron Room’s inhabitants that a sense of nausea will infiltrate your meditation, a wave of sick shuddering that grips your bowels and throat; perhaps, as the scientificly-predisposed acolytes believe, your mind’s eye is incapable of fully realising the things you are perceiving with it, your mind becoming overwhelmed by bizarre geometry that violates physical science, laws of proportion that are so impossible for your brain to comprehend that it tries to prevent you looking. Or perhaps, as the more religious acolytes believe, the Saffron Room is simply purging your body of everything material so that you can ascend physically into the iridescent rooms of Heaven above it. Most acolytes simply believe the most obvious answer – that it is a defense mechanism of the Saffron Room’s inhabitants so that They can move about in their transcendent, sickening architecture; They seem to enjoy walking the hallways of the Room that lead into people’s homes; it is impossible to tell what They do while there, but there is always an aura of deep disequilibrium in those places that They have visited, a threatening feeling of intense intrustion and deep violation that hints at something approaching.

050: The Rippling Eyes

Posted in Gideon Keys with tags , on December 11, 2011 by glasganon

If you are walking through the western part of the city center on a day where it is raining, you may catch sight of a figure standing in the center of a small alley, locked in between two tenement blocks. It’s hard to see him in the rain, but the distinguishing traits are easy to make out – black suit, white shirt, no umbrella. There is something wrong with his head: the murky, light-brown flesh seems to ripple and quake with the rain, like the dark surface of a pool disturbed by splashes of water, throwing bizarre shapes and stranger waves across his features that endlessly reflect his surroundings.

Stand at the threshold between the road you are on and the lane, and listen. The man will speak slowly, in a series of distorted voices that fade in and out of one another, like several children shouting underwater. The man speaks one verse of an unknown, unknowable poem that trembles and quivers in your ears, like the crashing waves of a radio signal being transmitted through water. When he finishes, he performs a small gesture – clasping his hands together like in prayer – before he trickles away, disappearing from sight as rain lashes across in your eyes.

From that moment on, whenever you stare into the surface of any body of water, you will see the reflection of another Glasgow, with perpetually twilit streets swept by rain from bruise-purple thunderclouds, tenements dominating the murderous skyline with windows filled with flickering candlelight. This city is our cosmic mirror image, and, as a reflection of us, our life, and our city, the image of the other Glasgow can act as a barometer for the supernatural activity in Glasgow.

But when They fill the rainswept streets, staring out through the darkening water surface with their pallid, empty eyes, wearing the faces of your mother and father, you must find shelter; you will find that the water surfaces can be more than just windows – they can be doors to those who seek to come through and take your transcendant eyes.

088: The Glass Bones

Posted in Gideon Keys with tags on December 4, 2011 by glasganon

Of the two divinatory systems closely linked to the city of Glasgow, the Glass Bones is the lesser known; its association with “working-class magick” makes it seem uncivilised to those who prefer the much more dangerous – and much more sought-after – Glascau Tarot. Nonetheless, to those acolytes who would seek answers only the spirit of the city can give, the Glass Bones are an indispensable tool.

First, the acolyte must take a glass bottle of alcohol, and draw a perimeter around his turf with the alcohol – if the acolyte runs out, they can continue using another bottle of the same drink. It is important that the line of alcohol remain as unbroken as possible, and that the bottle is empty before the next step is undertaken.

The acolyte must then break the bottle. It is said that the higher the bottle is thrown from – and it must be thrown, not meekly dropped – the more of the city the bottle can “see”. This can be played to the acolyte’s advantage – those who seek secrets throughout all the city may find it best to throw it from the roof of a block of flats, but those who seek to become the New Provost or Royal for their street, neighbourhood or burgh may opt to throw the bottle from a first or second storey window. The bottle must hit a surface within the perimeter of the alcohol, but it does not matter if that surface is a street, roof, or wall. When the bottle breaks, the ground inside the alcohol perimeter becomes sacred ground to the acolyte.

The acolyte must then collect every piece of glass from the broken bottle, collect them together, and cut each piece on their flesh, so that every shard can “drink” its owner – agony results, but results can only come through agony. Finally, the acolyte must make themselves drunk on the same alcohol as the type used in the rites; during the drunken haze which follows, the acolyte will be granted inspiration in vino veritas, whereupon they will be able to accurately describe every single shard of glass as having a different particular meaning, set of associations, zodiacal (or other) correspondences, and so on. It is pivotal that the acolyte record these as best they can during their drunken state; afterwards, it will be impossible to tell accurately which shard describes what.

The acolyte, after having performed these steps, has gained his own set of Glass Bones, a set of glass shards which can be collected together and used in fortune-telling and divination like a set of rune stones. When asked questions and thrown, the acolyte will be able to divine meaning in the Glass Bones provided they are under the effects of the same alcohol as the type held in the bottle that made the oracle.

A warning about the Glass Bones. The acolyte must avoid throwing them for divination under the influence of another kind of alcohol – doing so results in the acolyte puking up a new set of ready-made Glass Bones. Similarly, there is always one shard that goes unmarked by any acolyte – and any acolyte that claims to have named theirs is lying. When this shard appears in a reading, the acolyte must immediately cease reading, take the Bones, and find a safe place to hide: the unmarked Bone will cut through the safe consensus reality that the acolyte so often takes for granted and rip a splinter through their lifeline, inviting in sharp, cruel angels that herald the end of flesh, their voices echoing and reverbating through dimensions impossible to acknowledge such that skin becomes water, water becomes glass, and the acolyte is rent asunder, his life torn from reality so that he goes unremembered and unmourned by all who knew him, except during certain melancholic drunken nights where the alcohol calls up hazy, incongruent memories of splintered spirits.