Archive for the Meta Category


Posted in Meta on December 21, 2014 by glasganon

It’s all lies.

That’s what you have to keep in mind when it comes to the “paranormal”, the “supernatural”, the “occult”, whatever you want to frame it as. Everything you hear, everything you see – hell, even everything I’ve said – it’s all half-truth. Para-normal. Beside the real.

Which isn’t to say the other half is a lie, necessarily. You know that old saying, about how if you were to the point to the moon, a dog would only ever think to look towards your hand, never towards the sky? The half-truth is the hand half-open, one digit extended (painkillers, little white moons, tucked inside the other folded fingers).

When we watch a movie, we’re not constantly assessing whether or not what is happening on the screen is “real” (whatever that means), whether it has actually happened (whatever that means), or who is lying (whatever that means). If an artist draws a portrait of you, he’s not really trying to get you to believe that you’re nothing more than graphite on paper (although…). When a friend delivers an anecdote, we don’t demand evidence – but we also don’t believe that everything they’re saying is one-hundred-percent true, either. (“YOU CAN’T MAKE AN OATH ON THIS BLACK BOOK.”)

A lie is the sugar on the bitter pill of truth; it makes it easier to get in your gullet. I’m all for taking painkillers for the sickness reality’s given us. Don’t call it Lunacy.

All these half-truths are meant to get us to think. Metaphor, ‘pataphor, semaphore six times removed, one thing pointing to another, pointing to another, pointing to a hand that’s pointing at the moon while the other pats the Dog of Sickness. It’s not enough to read the writing on the wall – you have to move your mind down to each and every individual letter, all the way up to the soaring heights of symbol. (“TURN YOUR EYES FROM WINDOWS TO DOORS”).

It’s not a random accident, for example, that the only way to access a colossal, seemingly-infinite tower standing in desolate plains can only be done by passing through a circular (seemingly-infinite) tunnel (the negative space of a horizontal tower) under metres of rock. It’s also not a coincidence that the acolyte has to press buttons labelled 1, 2 and 3 (three realities) at the same time (bringing them into synchrony) then denying all three by mentioning the basement (sub-reality/the level of symbol and metaphor/para-normal/beside the real) to get access to a woman who owns books (grimoires, grammaries) that describe reality through magick (spells) and symbol (spelling). It’s also not insignificant that these two locations are, in our level of reality, physically within sight of one another. They’re connected. (“THE SPELLER DWELLS IN THE CELLAR”.)

This is not a random assortment of meaningless, arbitrary details and cosmic mis-takes: each part, each Key, is connected to every other one in cryptic, but altogether concrete, ways. In a spider’s web, the spaces between each strand of webbing are just as important to the overall structure of the web as the strands themselves; what’s missing is just as important as what’s present. What am I missing?

I guess I’m missing myself. Or that I was missing.

It’s important to not only be good at crafting a lie, but to be just as good at crafting a half-truth. I’ve spent almost three years pretending to be someone else, someone I created, just to give myself a place to hide – but you know, you can only hide objects inside or behind other objects. Where do you hide a mind? Inside and behind another mind. A mind that said “None of it’s real!” “It’s just something I wrote for fun!” “It’s all an art project!”

Maybe you believed it, maybe you didn’t. Remember, it’s not about whether or not it was true, or if it was a lie. It’s about the hand that’s pointing at the moon. In this case, it was a bit of sleight of hand. Sleight of mind. (“THE WATER RESTING ON YOUR EYES PROTECTS FROM ALL THE FOULEST LIES“).

That’s why I went missing. I left Glasgow, travelled down south for a while – “it’s all gone south, really,” I said to myself in Portsmouth. It wasn’t enough. Every city, every town, every village, every farmstead – every congregation of people has its relics, its pilgrims, its acolytes, its bibles, its holy words, its prophecies. Its secrets.

I tried the Appearance of Three Ladies in Brighton, only, it seems as though They’d always been there, mistaken for phantom nuns (phantom, nones) at Apes. I watched as They made their eternal walk down the Devil’s Dyke. I lost the Colder Capacitor in Tunbridge Wells when London’s Acolytes came down to find me – appropriately enough, on September 18th – and I cried “Weal, weal, weal, weal,” all the way home.

And now: I’m home.

Things have changed. Everything old is new again. And Glasgow’s Gideon Keys have grown older and younger. Some survived, some have died, some will rise again. And I know I have to go back, to write this all down – forge the next link in the Chain – before we forget that all of this, the Keys, the Held Breath Conflicts, Eilidh, the Glascau Curator, Lady K, and Dominic, all of these things were real. Beside the real. Para-normal.

And now:




Posted in Meta on March 11, 2012 by glasganon

I’ve scheduled this post to be sent out at midnight on a Sunday, so that, if I’m not around to disable it, it will send out this message. I’m also making a habit of updating this post every other week so that if something happens to me, you will have as much information as I can give you.

The last date I edited this post was: 6th March 2012.

This post will be the longest by far, because something is going on in Glasgow. Something major has changed, and we’re all feeling the fallout. Not just acolytes – the Keys are moving so close to the general public that they’re bound to finally notice. A meteor passing across the sky. An image of Princess Diana being caught on camera in a Glasgow church. You don’t need to know about Wormeswood and Kempion, or the Secret Canonisation, to know that these things are tinged with the paranormal.

But they’re just the fallout of bigger events that the public never sees.

According to The Voice of Other Glasgows, the Glascau Curator has been killed, and everything from its exhibition has been taken – all acolytes are being turned away. If the exhibits fall into the wrong hands, we could have a new disease hitting the streets – made up of every disease that has come before.

People using the Glascau Tarot have reported seeing a new card show up in the “future” position of spreads – “The Damselfly”. It seems to take the place of The Hermit, and some people are interpreting it as an omen of “the birth of a new death” – a contact of mine claims it “sleeps in the amniotic lake, steeped in placental dirt”. Other forms of divination report similar ideas.

A gang of Coerceomancers have gotten involved with football throughout the city, which has led to the tumultuous period for Celtic (with their manager embroiled in bomb plots) and Rangers (going into administration and numerous other business disasters). The gang has gone unnoticed due to the relatively mundane, down-to-earth havoc they have wreaked – but it’s all really to weaken the power of “The Church of Our Lady of the Old Firm”, a group of occultists who have been trying to give football the same sanctified status as religion.

The Watchtower bleeds. Ankle-deep blood on the top, dripping down through the cracks of the concrete. The plains around are empty.

And most damaging for me – I saw my own body pulled out of the Sacred Ground. I know it’s not a concrete, inviolate portent of doom, but it’s unsettling enough to have given me some sense of memento mori. I need to make sure I have everything in order. That’s what this was for.

Eilidh is missing. No-one at the consultancy has seen her since two Sundays ago. I keep getting messages from her phone, but they’re not from her. I’ve had phonecalls too. I don’t answer them any more. They sound like her, but they can’t be her. Eilidh would tell me where she was, what had happened: the voice on the phone screams, and cries. I listened to the voice for fifteen straight minutes, and it never said a word. Screaming and crying, for fifteen minutes, and it sounds like my best friend. My last friend.

Even Steph is gone.

I think she killed Dom. She’d been acting really weird since I took her to visit the Borstal and we opened the splinter there. When we left, she told me she wanted help her find answers – I thought she meant about Dom, since the things we experienced in the Bostal are so closely tied to the things that Dom was investigating. I wanted answers too, so I took her to visit Ms. Marshall at the lab, and we took some of Gideon’s Key: I woke up the next day in Steph’s apartment, and walked into the kitchen to find her at the sink, with blood dripping down from the worktops and all over the floor. She was slicing away layers of skin on her left ring finger, just cutting and cutting away without making any noise. She jumped when she saw me, and her hand slipped, taking the full finger clean off. She didn’t scream, or shout, or anything. She just breathed in. There was a noise like metal hitting the floor – I looked down, and saw her finger, purple and blue from the blood being cut off by a ring that had the word “ZEBA” engraved on the front.

I looked up. She was watching me the whole time, maybe trying to gauge if I had worked something out. I hadn’t – but it didn’t stop her. Steph thrust the knife at my face without even blinking, and just set at me. She jabbed the knife at me, but I managed to shove her away so that she slipped on the floor, and I ran out of the flat.

I went back every few days, but she never answered the door. The lights were always out when I visited in the evenings. Then, this Saturday, I saw a “To Let” notice on her flat’s window. She’s gone, and I don’t know where.

I don’t know what to make of all this. I’ve tried using the Glass Bones, but they don’t work for me. I’m writing down as much as I can now, but I don’t know how much time I have left. There’s still so much I’ve need to tell people. The Scavenger’s Daughter, The False Saint, the Clock that Crawls, the Witch Tree, the Ochre Room, the Doll Colony, the Centipede Mosaic… I haven’t finished my work yet.

Just in case, though, I’m taking what I’ve written so far and giving it to Judith at the book-store: 75 entries will be enough for Bible John’s black book. If anyone could find a way to weather any storm that’s coming Glasgow’s way, it’d be that bastard.

Announcement: Update Schedule

Posted in Meta on October 31, 2011 by glasganon

As per the recent poll, I’d like you guys to know that I’ll be updating on Sundays from now on. I’m going to try to keep the announcements to a minimum as well – however, if you’d like to get extra information on the Keys and additional news about what’s currently going on in Glasgow’s occult underground, I invite you to follow my Twitter account, glasganon.

As a little Hallowe’en bonus, I’m also going to post up another Gideon Key tonight, as well as this Sunday. Have a safe Samhain, folks.

Announcement: Updates

Posted in Meta on October 24, 2011 by glasganon

I don’t usually make posts that aren’t about Keys themselves, but a meta-post now and again can’t hurt. I’ve had a couple of people suggest that they’d prefer it if posts were made more regularly on certain days of the week, rather than the haphazard updates they are just now. As such, I’d like to ask you all what days you’d prefer seeing updates on – that is, what days you normally check the blog on, or when you have more free time to browse the web in general. If you could vote on the following poll, you’d be helping me out a whole bunch. Comments are welcome as always, as are other suggestions.