Drug me with drugs
Slow acting, sensuous, sweet,
Co-mingle gin and musk,
Hashish and amber,
Let me drink and breathe
And hear slow, devious music

Until aroused
To subtle, languorous moods,
Until I see
Ochre and mazarine and purple
Emit lascivious sounds

Then I shall do
Through dark and gothic ruins,
Dray and golden mists
Down to a forest, green
With an old dream

I shall go naked
And magnolia and oleander
Datura and jasmine,
Whose blossoms will open and vaginally flower
In infinite time, for a relative hour,

Whose white, subminimal flowers
Will caress my breasts
And I shall perform stately,
Phallic arabesques
In the moonlight,
Pale and white

Under the Hill

Under the Hill

Now while the sky is apple green
And the wind is still and the moon is ripe,
Come to the hollow under the hill
While the night is young and the evening thrills
To the thump of drums and the strum of strings
And the shrill cry of the pipe.

A girl and a goat are dancing there
In the hollow under the hill.
The goat is black and the girl is fair,
But his eyes are gold as her flying hair,
With the thump of drums and the strum of strings
And the shrill cry of the pipe.

His eyes are yellow and patient and wise
As a snake is patient, a sage is wise,
But the golden girl has demon’s eyes
To the thump of drums and strum of strings
And the shrill cry of the pipe.

29 Nov 1944 – Aleister Crowley to Karl Germer

The Bell Inn,
Aston Clinton, Bucks.
November 29th, 1944

Dear Karl,
I have your letters of October 22nd, October 31st and November 7th. I am glad to hear that you are on something new and I hope that this time it will turn up trumps. I have told Miss Taylor what you say about your address.
I will look at Mrs Lowthorpt’s figure, and when this letter comes back from being typed may be able to make a few comments. I note what you say about McMurtry.
I am asking the binder to send you invoices for the copies that he is sending out to you. In the meanwhile the quarto bound cost 17/6d. per copy, and the half-bound, 27/6d. I have already written you about the blocks, but you could perfectly well get out an edition without them — in fact you had much better do so if your are hoping to sell the book at any reasonable sort of price. Roughly speaking, the cost of a set of blocks for one card is from £10 to £15.
I am very glad that you are having copies made of “Liber Aleph”. I certainly hope you can get it printed, and I am sure that I can trust you to see that the style is as good as that of the Tarot. It was my intention to have one chapter on one page. I also regard it as number One of what I may call classic publications, although the book I am now working on, “Aleister Explains Everything” is likely to come first, because that can be got out in a large edition cheaply, and I think will do a great deal to sell the other books.
I am not sure whether I sent a copy to Frederick. I certainly did to Jack and Georgia. I did not send one to Jane’s sister. I thought she was dead.
I feel that I am treating you very badly, but you must realise that I am working in the most impossible conditions. I can only afford one day a week for dictation. My secretary comes out here and takes back the shorthand, sends me the typescript for revision and signature. She has filed everything very neatly and nicely, but as you know from experience it is from my point of view almost like throwing them into the ashcan. I tremble when I think of trying to find everything. Nor can I grasp any business matters at all with my mind. I do my best to answer your letters, but I never feel sure that I have done so satisfactorily. The result is that you ask me to do some perfectly simple thing which any idiot could do in five minutes, and it is completely beyond my understanding, far more-so beyond my ability to execute. Things will never go right until I have a full-time secretary who will have all the business details in her head, and that means doubling the monthly transfer at the least.
I am sending you six prospectuses. But you must send by return of post 60 cents in payment for them. This is to keep on the right side of the ‘paper control’ people, who have been making trouble for me. They have no standing in the matter because the Equinox Vol. 3, no.5, of which “The Book of Thoth” is a part, is a periodical and not subject to their jurisdiction.
Wonders will never cease about that material. I went to a local woman in Aston Clinton, and she made me perfectly good shirts. I suspect that the London man was simply making an excuse for not doing the work. You have no idea how strangely people act these days.
What you say about Jack appears very complicated. I had an extremely nice letter from him, and then I had a letter from Helen to say that Smith had started his retirement on satisfactory lines, but of course for all I know this may be a pack of lies. Honestly, I don’t know where I am.
You suddenly shoot off from the question of Jack to your health. Of course what you say is very obscure to me. I can only hope that everything will go well.
I have not a Book 4 Part II. I managed to borrow a copy for a month about three weeks ago, but have to return it. I have a copy of Part I. If this is any good to you I will send it along.
I am very glad to hear that Sascha is better, and that her proposed visit to California will be an outstanding success.
It would be perfectly senseless for me to go back to London. I am thinking of winter quarters somewhere on the borders of Kent and Sussex, but the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know, and there are so many advantages in remaining here that I shall take quite a lot of shifting.
Georgia’s letter is very interesting, but I must say that I don’t get very much out of it. All this business about auras gets on my nerves. I don’t know what she means by this taint which she mentions in her penultimate paragraph.
I am probably rather peevish this afternoon. I appreciate Georgia immensely in every way, and realise how wonderful her support has been; but I do not want to know about various misadventures and calamities unless there is something I can do about them. I don’t know why she has to write a letter like that.
Now for yours of October 31st. I don’t remember receiving any letter from Jack to you. He cabled me 80 dollars about the same time as your 300 dollar transfer. This has put me all right with the binders. I have not had anything else from Jack since the contribution in the early summer when the Tarot was in question. I think that he owes me a letter; but I don’t like to swear to that till I am almost sure. I certainly think that he ought to contribute much more largely than he does. Your original idea of a quarter of a century ago that we should never do any good until we had a proper headquarters and a proper staff, is still the right idea. I don’t think that you should spend large sums of money on getting out reprints while this business of headquarters awaits attention, and also these books which exist only in manuscript, and some of which are in duplicate. I am living in a state of constant terror lest some more of my most important work should be destroyed without remedy.
You returned in this last letter to the question of Jack, in alternate paragraphs. It is very confusing — still more so since every paragraph seems to contradict the one which has gone before! I rather doubt Frederick’s judgement.1 If I remember correctly in my last letter to Jack I was able to congratulate him on a very fine piece of poetry, and certainly his last letter appeared to show the right spirit. But as you imply there may be some kind of plot with Smith in the foreground. The idea is2 so senseless that I can hardly imagine any human being holding out. But you know people are like that.
I will send a Tarot to Lt. Crombie through Georgia.
Max’s letter to you: there may be a spare copy of the Equinox of the Gods in storage. Until there is a proper headquarters it is no use trying to look for one.
Yours of November 7th. Thanks for the Artemis Iota. My mind is now at ease on that subject. The whole of your letter confuses me terrible. I think perhaps that you are yourself confused. Success is your proof does not seem to me to have anything to do with love.
Of course I understand very well, from the first minute that I met you, your difficulties in this outlook of yours. I have written again and again about it, and I don’t know that I can add anything useful. Your real trouble it seems to me is that you take everything so seriously, that you feel compelled to analyse in season and out of season, when there is no real occasion.
I am very glad to hear that there are hopes of a good transfer in December. If I decide to shift over, it is going to cost a lot.
You must apologise to Handel about the book. I sent that copy because I had not one of the other kind available. You can have no conception how muddled it has been. At the present moment I am having to find out from the binder how many copies have been bound, how many need binding and so on, and as to the numbering that has got all mixed up. The difficulty has been mostly that of transporting the books from London here and so on. You have got your twenty copies on the way. I cannot understand your figures at all. The actual cost of producing a copy was approximately £5, but that is allowing nothing whatever for overhead, stationery, typing, journeys and heaven knows what else, occasional secretarial assistance. I say nothing of the author, but the idea that Jack appears to have that 80 dollars should secure him ten copies is contemptible. Two copies are much more like the value. I think you must have misunderstood his cable. It is really too ridiculous.
I will try and get you a copy of the printer’s account, but it is mixed up with the costs of other books, and honestly I don’t know where I am about it. You might be able to make something.
I shall now retire from the unequal contest. It is really no good turning me upside down over all these business calculations. It simply spoils my temper.
Love is the law, love under will.

Yours with great love, but not feeling well; digestion all wrong these last 3 days

P.S. I am sending you a set of six of the Letters of which there are now about 70, chosen at random so as to give you a sort of idea of the scope of the book. It is a little difficult to arrange, about the order in which they should appear, and at the moment I think the best way out of it is to classify them under various headings such as The Universe, Man, the Order, Yoga, Ethics. You might be able to get a contract with an occult periodical to issue them serially. Such people as I have honoured with the privilege of reading them are all very enthusiastic. I find that they want copies for themselves, and every one is agreed that for the first time I have been able to put things in such a way as can be understood by the ordinary intelligent person. For this and other reasons I think that you ought to be able to make a good thing out of it commercially. If you want a complete set of Letters it means that I shall have to have the whole series retyped. I want to impress upon you that people are pestering me from every quarter to supply them with various stuff published or unpublished. This means that I have to send my copies out to a firm to be typed, and this comes out rather expensive. For instance, Jean Phillips appears to be in close touch with Orson Welles and is anxious to interest him in my work. I am therefore sending here various things which might take his fancy. (You realise of course that his acceptation of one story of mine would make us for good and all). It has occurred to me that “The Three Wishes” would suit O.W. very well, not having any spare copies I had to have it retyped, 60 pages cost with two carbons, £3.13.9d. Now I have got to get Liber Aleph recopied and also the secret Documents of the 7th-9th Degress.3 A.C.

P.S. Long letter just in from Jack. Will write again on Sunday when I have had time to read and consider it. A.C.

13 Nov 1944 – Aleister Crowley to Grady McMurty

The Bell Inn.
Ashton Clinton, Bucks
November 13th, 1944

Dear Louis,

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.

Thanks a thousand times for sending Artemis Iota. It took a great weight off my mind. I have been terrified lest, like so many other important things of mine, it had somehow got irrevocably lost.
It is very extraordinary the way things happen. I have just heard from a new disciple that he copied with his own hand three bound volumes of typescript which I had written on Astrology in 1915. It was 1930 when he got them! I believe there was a fourth volume. How they were stolen, and by whom, I cannot imagine.
As I expected, my judgment about your poems is probably the exact opposite of yours. The one into which you put so much hard work I just don’t like. The hard work is apparent. The “Normandy in June” is not so bad; but it is not really a poem. There is no ecstasy in it, or coming out of it. It seems to me to be just a straightforward description of things observed. In other words, you did not do any magical work on it. But for “The Cynic” I have nothing but unqualified praise. As you say, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and I am absolutely convinced that all first class poetry is just exactly that. I said so in the Preface to the “City of God”.
I think that I have told you that I got the £80 from Jack. While on the question of finance, I have what should be very good news for you. It is now quite clear that the new book will run into two volumes, one quite elementary and one a little more advanced. That will automatically and incidentally double the value of your interest in it.
I am very glad to hear of your Education course. It certainly ought to give you a sound and broad idea of northern France. Don’t forget, though, that the central district, the mountain districts, the Bordeaux section, and finally the Mediterranean coast, are all very different from the North, and from each other.
I am very glad to hear of your deal in “La Gauloise”. When your second letter arrived this morning, I had hoped for news of that. Thanks, however, for sending “The Three Schools of Magick.” I don’t think I ever sent one to Jack, so you might as well pass it on. As, a matter of fact, I have cut it into three sections, with some emendations; and it will go into the beginning of the new book. I must say this book does manage to keep me busy. Almost every day I get an idea for a further letter. It seems strange that in all my writings I cannot find any really clear, simple, practical instructions for making talismans and such things; so that will make a letter. Then I have written nothing at all about Astrology; and here is an excellent opportunity to explain my system, which as I think you know, is totally different from any of the orthodox. (Have done this: Two letters — one theory, one how to learn to do it.)
I got a very nice letter from Jack, who seems to have snapped out of his Smith trouble. He talked about the Uriah Heep side of his character, which strikes me as a very good description; but the astonishing thing is I got this letter from Helen, who tells me that Smith has started the retirement on absolutely correct lines! I never believed for a moment that he would do it, so you can imagine how delighted I am to have such news. I hope that he succeeds with his mantra “to go mad and run about naked”, as they say in North Africa. What we have always lacked has been the real fanatic. I could never be anything of the sort myself. At the back of me is an extraordinarily powerful strain of conventional behaviour. I have done a few mad things in my time; but it has always been based upon calculation, and (as in the case of poetry) this business depends entirely on the spontaneous outflow of the spirit. That is why I always feel that even people who, from one point of view are notorious crooks like Billy Sunday and Aimee Macpherson, must have a deeply seated sincerity tucked away unknown to them, which gives them the magical force necessary for their success.
I think that is all for the moment.
Love is the law, love under will.

Yours, A.C.

20 Jun 1944 – Grady McMurty to Aleister Crowley

Originally published in Thelema Lodge Calendar, July 2001.

1475th Ord MM Co (Avn) (Q)
APO 149, U.S. Army
{Undated, probably c. June 20 – 28, 1944}

Dear A. C.,

By the heading you will note that my tour of the world at the Army’s expense is progressing apace. Unfortunately I know no one {in} France to whom I can go for a good game of chess or who can improve my way of thinking like I did when I came to England. Perhaps you can help me out with names and addresses of people who may or may not be around when we have taken over the rest of this fair country.

Did you receive my money order as of the 3rd June? I sent it to your present address. If not let me know as soon as possible. Incidentaly {sic} how many $80 payments have you received on the fifty letters anyway? I’ve lost all count although I retain the stubs of a number of payments. Also there is a question that I asked some time ago about what proof there was that you were the author of the V sign. I am very interested in this as it has such widespread practical implications. Please try to answer these two questions in your next letter.

I sent Sutherland’s Lasker to him while I was still in England. Hope he received it in good condition. Would still like to have one. Maybe he could pick me up a copy of “The Pleasure Palace of Kubla Khan” – something I would very much like to have. I don’t suppose my copy of the Tarot is ready yet but you can send it along as soon as it is as we are getting our mail regularly over here. Have the finance difficulties in the Tarot resolved themselves yet? I hope so.

Received a letter from Jack just before I left. He is unhappy about the Lodge – says that “I am a little sour on the O.T.O. inasmuch as by experience I doubt the value of membership coming in except via previous experience and individual training of the A A sort. It seems to me the early grades (which are all we have here) are too free in admitting non-descripts and too lax in that they do not provide a definite program of training and qualifications. The better people I have met always seem to come via an interest in A A aspects. I think we need some A.B.C.’s of organization, a handbook for prospects, and new members and above all for poor benighted lodge -heads like myself.” I told him about the fifty letters as a handbook for prospects. Unfortunately he also went into some terrible drivel about – should I visit Brittany – to “watch by moonlight for Dahut, the Shadow Queen, that Malgven called the Star of Death, listen for the bells of Ya, and the Druid whispering Mananann! O Mananann!” At least it looks like drivel to me. I know that witchcraft is all very interesting and has its place etc but to go into it to the detriment of the work as a whole seems such a waste of time and talent. After all it is only a small part of the task. Perhaps when Jack receives his Tarot he will find its proper relation.

Well night is coming on and I must crawl back into my hole in the ground. Wish I could tell you what is going on over here but until I see you will have to let you rely on the papers.

Au revoir!



I see him tread a craggy path
Over dark hills, outlined against the sky,
In a flapping cloak, and his sardonic eye
Gleams with a joyous wrath

And he lifts his arms and behold
A flight of birds all gold
In the sunset carrying dreams,
Strange dreams from out of Africa and Spain,

Then in a harsh voice he spells the sun
And leaps and dances on its crimson touch
Casting distorted shadows on the moon
New risen.

I see him flinging out his cloak,
That swells and swirls like thick smoke,
That rushes outwards and expands
To engulf the houses in all lands.

Now, naked on the highest peak,
He pauses with both hands above his head,
He laughs and flings them outward with all his might
And above a million stars upon the night.



The night, a huge black panther flecked with stars,
Uneasily allows the warm west wind’s caress.
The moon, disastrous golden banner, slightly smiles.

Off-stage, an orchestra complains of Love.
Center, a sad-faced page in clown costume
Danses slow, stately circles.
A werewolf, left, sings raucously,
A horrible small song.
While right, a vampire, fondling a skull,
Is also smiling.

Alto saxophone in the orchestra (sings),
“My love, my love, my love.”
Werewolf (sings)
“Oh moon, oblique and smiling sinister,
Oh, bloody promise in the sky,
Oh, beautiful dancer mine,
Betrothed, beloved –“
(He howls)

(Saxophone) “My love, my love, my love – “
(Werewolf) “Rot flesh and go down Kingdom
To a sunken, jellied sea
Where black stars and wicked women
Reel in infamy.”

The vampire, smiling still, regards the skull,
Which vocalizes in a rich, deep baritone.
(Skull) “Believe me if all those endearing young charms, etc.”
The ape continues dancing
(Werewolf) “O, night of stars that coruscate like semen spated in the womb of night –
O serpent women smiling sinister –
O, lovely dancer at the feast to be –“
(Saxophone) “my love, my love, my love”.

The Garden

The Garden

There is a garden where Death has gone to sleep…
Dark Death like a pale tired boy nods dreamily,
For he is enamored of her and doth keep
Her luminous blossoms forever from decay.

There in the dusky day, in the dim air
Dreams, like the disturbing notes from a secret song
Shimmer and float between beauty and despair
In an ecstasy no hear endured for long.
And to this golden garden all lovers come.
Young lovers, happening on eternity
Where dark Death sleeps and dreams, there venturing some
Are briefly raised beyond desire or pity.

Raised to a pitch of beauty unendured
By faint mortality, where sobbing shakes the
Garden’s subtle silence, that immured
Sleep, from which inhuman labyrinth
Death awakes.




The summer thunder chatters in the west
As though
The ghost of Caesar’s iron legions go
Behind the hills.

The ancient oaks are shadowy and still,
The mistletoe
Subservient in the argent of the glow
Of moonlight, waits the golden sickle’s will.

The woods await the thaumaturgic tune
That called the old gods beneath a younger moon,
And will await until the gods come back.
I know
They will return, who, going, left the slow
Still circle broken and the altar black.