The Trance Terrors by R.K. Galvez (pdf to ebook reader txt) 📕

The Ahistorical Preface by Regor Nocab

The materials of this foul tome are nothing unusual in the corrupted occultist cannon. They are not considered serious, as they are so badly corrupted and have been criticized by all major authorities. I will refer the matter to Frater Shiva. Even Mr Cornelius will not touch it. I do not blame him. I suppose it cannot be called a "story" in any shape or form.Sorry to disappoint your cosy Westernized resolution fantasies. There will never be a neat end for those who like tidy resolutions. There never was any end, you pathetically dumb human virus! I always have disliked history, particularly when the human scribes are so determined to clean it and box it up into convenient compartments. It should not be so tidy. We should probably condense all history into small words: Life of shit for the masses springs to mind. I have to admit it was so much easier explaining all this on Venus!

You should have got the formula to go there by now! Bloody humans – you’re all so lazy! I was human once and the thought of it still makes me feel nauseous!To conclude the "historical" aspect of this somewhat confused study -- which has been composed by those entities that feel they know something worth knowing -- about the secret practices of various secret societies. Personally I hate the term historical as history never gets everything in, does it? There was always some huge gaps; life before life and ever-lasting life death. It was the full cycle. Remember the V…These forces claim to never die, but to constantly live again.Not all of them are like Curwen or Kane, of course. Doctor Kraftlurrve was misguided by some unknown forces, so we can never be sure with his accounts. However, the brilliant Doctor Cockmoore was another kettle of fish, as was Doctor Dick. In my own time, resurrection was as normal as going through puberty. Love remains the eternal law, after all. The magickal focus of realm-play and the ridiculous amount of theories about time and space have distorted how the realm-world has operated.

These words are just a simplified account relayed to me by original tracers and alpha wave operatives of the Seventh Sign. All sigils are important. I should warn you to fear the vegetable people and do not trust any demonic dust-mites. The author(s) have expressed their gratitude at being allowed to publish these esoteric texts without the fear of being committed to mental asylums.

 Just remember that the Age of Fire started in 1966!

 Regor Nocab

New Old Amsterdam StarPortal, 2918...Trooluz 9.

 PART IV: Sapiens dominabitur astris

 Chapter 51: Realm-Shaft-Shutes […drip, drip, drip]...

The near future just started to evaporate in the mind of Les Barloy. Les was a strange kind of fellow. He had weird dreams, although he did not dream often. He hated sleeping and spent all night cleaning his bedsit with sugar-soap…

…I will not go on and on to you with the full history of how dull life was for Les. He lived in Kilburn. He has a photo-wall and various online profiles somewhere. Bore yourself in your own time if you choose to. I do not know who wants to know about Les going to school, getting molested by homosexual bullies and how Les got caught by his step-mother masturbating. All Les managed to say was, “Look, no hands!”

 “Oh Les, not again,” replied his step-mother.

Her name remains confidential as she does not want to be revealed to the world in this manner. She wants to remain respectable, like all decent hypocrites.

 …In addition to Les’ masturbatory experimentation, she also assisted Les to probe himself further and on a more regular basis (like most tabloid fanatics); it was a real education for Les. He had no idea that his step-mother had so many toys and tricks! Of course, Les found it fun at first, but it soon became slightly tiresome and Les re-invented himself as a drag queen called Poxie Loote. I had the impression Les always heard voices. Not one of those stereotypical "crazy" voices, but a familiar voice deep within his mind that said:

"Hello, Les, I am Johnny Quagga. I'm you in another world."

 Not this voice again, thought Les. He dreamed of his suicidal mother giving birth to little dust mite creatures. She was in a state of euphoria after popping out thousands of these gooey critters. Les wondered if she had ever dabbled with any strange portents…

 After a few weeks surrounded by his dust-mite kin, Les realized he needed to take something a bit more substantial than a visit to his local night time apothecary to see his other self. He experimented with some kind of new “herbal” Lemonade that can only be imbibed at midnight. It was usually when a midnight juggernaut turned into a midnight moth; I still wonder about the plight of this rare creature…Thankfully, the lemonade was uncut, of course. Totally pure and highly acidic; and those doors of perception provided him with good samples…

As you might know, Les decided to forgo his usual mixture of natural herbs. He decided to use this tincture that his associates described as “Lemonade”. He had heard his Life- Coach Guru, Tommy Tellman, tell him about this pastime. They went back to the 23rd August 1987 and saw Gaye Bykers on Acid; Les had a dream he saw Hawkwind too, but he was far too gone by then.

 After slipping back, Les had tried watching lots of pointless TV, ferociously masturbating over images of pop stars and movie stars; this killed a tiny part of him with every androgynous face he ejaculated over; he felt that he had blurred his mind with fattening foods and various medications. (At this point, Les told me to switch to class A…I do not quite get what he meant by that…). Either way, Les needed to feel stimulated again…

 However, Les never really got into vocal visualization; Les needed to find out if he was cursed. When you start hearing things, you think that you need many forms of evidence that you cannot possibly provide. Witchcraft played a big part in Les Barloy’s early years. His step-mother was a bewitching Wiccan, of course. A total slave of Phul; she really got about a fair bit. Les did not know what his factorization was. He was always going to be Factor X in the cosmic sense; his first sex toy was called Electrika Carmena.…Les had felt a connection with certain universal events; it was something in the aether. Les had a vague idea that he might be psychic. That was when he started talking to plants. He did not know how to verify his pzionik experiences properly. Visions appeared and suddenly vanished; and all these scientific tests get rigged, of course.

 …It was not like some kind of unreal reality TV show where you can test your telepathic abilities; this remained within the realm of light entertainment. Babestation was not recommended viewing… The Illuminati would not be amused by this folly… You would need to wait a long time to find out if the prediction came true, as in a valid truth…Though, Les was truly an awful psychic…

 As one of his friends had said to him many rainy moon(dances) ago: "It's tele-path-y maaaan!" Time must have been stretched. It was that stretchy-time again, I suppose? Les wished he had taken that correspondence course in churning out pulp thrillers, like his friend, Tommy Tellman. Oddly enough, it was Tellman who put him off.

“Writing’s mainly for academics, Les. Look at all the new authors nominated for awards, all the old ones too for that matter. All dull fuddy duddy academic bores. Except Mantell, of course, who remains ahead of the times and gets me a bit hot under the collar, actually!”

 “Who?” Les said. Tellman tutted; shaking his head in a sagely manner, he lit another cheroot. Les was not too sharp with words.

 Les remembered Tellman’s best bit of advice as he slowly faded back to 1959… Tellman said,

 “You want to live, write it down when you’re about to drop dead or go crazy. Don’t worry about the sales, or all these marketing tools they call awards. Look at all the dull geeks they stuff in these award things, who really buys them?”

 Les was trying to think. Johnny Quagga started thinking for him. Who really buys them then, Johnny? Les thought.

 …Exactly, just all those other dull geeks; greasy-pole climbers. It was an industry-cartel and they think if they give the same so-called “diverse” elitist faces the awards people will buy the “product”.

 Tellman nodded in agreement, just as he finally faded.

“What they have not told people was that they have already got some film waiting for them to stuff down the throats of people who really want something a bit more adventurous,” said Tellman.

Les nodded at this rant, not really understanding it. It was almost last orders in the Christchild and Vonderpump…2457AD was getting closer… Les felt all giddy again and hitched up his skirts…

 Callum Cheevers joined them again… “It’s…Erm, you know that E.S.P. thingummy, Les.”

 …Les was stunned into silence. Was Cheevers’ reading his mind? Tellman had faded for good; he left his homemade lysergic marmalade in Ladbroke Grove… Cheevers burped and said:

“The ultimate effect of shielding men from the effects of folly is to fill the world with fools.”

For Les that remark was the only intelligent thing he had heard Callum Cheevers attempt to communicate during the 10 hour ritual-rave. Les was sure his friend had plagiarized the comment, it somewhat reminded him of Herbert Spencer…

 …Les wished he had gone to Amsterdam with the young pop-pornographer beforehand; he couldn’t keep up. He would try to keep it up, though. He had always had a soft spot for Callum Cheevers…That dastardly Cheevers – oh, what a good time he must be having in Amsterdam!

 And, it has been known in esoteric circles, that Les preferred that kind of crazy; Callum and Les looked awkwardly at each other; they had just remembered penetrating each other in a crystalline frenzy last week. Their matching space suits were covered in fossilized semen. Les smiled; he knew he had tasted Callum before…

 AS IF THE WORLD HATES ME...

 …Les regained consciousness; he was blinking rather painfully…They were still travelling in some kind of time- shift surge. Les got a headache…Les did not want to go back on his other medication(s) again (for your information it was not Termaline, though it might have been Hexophenophrine hydrosulphate…)…His physician, Dr. P.M.W. Burrocock, referred him to Professor Norkgrub. All good things came through this queer Burrocock fellow, even if he’s getting on, he seems to live forever. Likes a good cut, too. Apparently, Burrocock had grown-up in Mexico and knew all the best sources. His esoteric practices have been known for years…Luckily, Les had managed to get his deep fixes sorted and adjust himself to the ways of more esoteric practices…

 …I did not really know what was going, of course. I was not really there, as I had been sublimated and was currently in a vapour-like state. It was not too bad, and there