The Oriflamme, Vol. I, No. I

There is no doubt as to the identity of the tyrant, the aggressor, nor as to the identity of his friends, his dupes, his tools. The Order has suffered defeat in Madrid, Shanghai, Lidice, Athens, War- saw, Paris. It has won with Britain, Stalingrad and Bataan. We fight in Russia, the Pacific, the Aleutians, and in every place where tyranny and oppression exist, unto the end of tyranny and oppression. Whoso is loyal to the Axis is a traitor to the Order. Whoso is indifferent, or in compromise, is a slacker of the Order. Whoso is not in battle, or forging our weapons, or encouraging his fellows against the Axis, is not a Thelemite. A Thelemite who does these things will do them exceedingly well, for he knows the principles for which he fights. And whosoever does these things is welcome in our Camp, for he fights in a good cause. I height Don Quixote, I live on peyote, marihuana, morphine and cocaine. I never knew sadness but only a madness that burns at the heart and the brain. I see each charwoman ecstatic, inhuman, angelic, demonic, divine, Each wagon a dragon, each beer mug a flagon that brims with ambrosial wine. I went to the city and found it a pity the devil was playing at hell, And ten million mortals had entered hell's portals and thought they were all doing well. I said: "See, dear people, on every church steeple an imp of the devil at play, See ghouls cut their capers in daily newspapers and fiends in police courts hold sway; The mountains are palaces, women are chalices meant to be supped and not sold, The desert a banquet hall set for a festival, ripe for the free and the bold; The wind and the sky are ours, heaven and all its stars, waken, and do what you will; Break with this demon spawn'd hell-inspired nightmare Bond—Magick lies over the hill." * * * They said I was crazy, ambiguous, lazy, disgusting, fantastic, obscene; So I hied for my sagebrush and cactus and corn mush, to see if the air was still clean. Oh, I height Don Quixote, I live on peyote, marihuana, morphine and cocaine, And may I be twice damned for a bank-clerk or store hand if I visit the city again. —John W. Parsons