Biblioteca

Solo per chi ha fatto una lettura veloce

This work purports to be the diary (though it functions more as an autobiography) of Montgomery Crompton, a British soldier and artist. Its first few pages recount his life as member of the landed gentry in Northern England up until he is dispatched in 1801 to Egypt under General Sir Ralph Abercrombie. Seriously wounded in battle, he recovered after several weeks of a high fever and a series of what he claims were occult visions. Remaining in Egypt to recuperate, he was inducted into a secretive cult. Claiming to have survived from ancient times, the cult worshiped a mythical figure known as the “Black Pharaoh”, a forgotten ruler of ancient Egypt said to have possessed magical, possibly divine, powers. As a cult member, Crompton witnessed and participated in acts of torture, murder, and rape, as well as weird magical ceremonies all in praise of this Black Pharaoh (sometimes called “Nivrin Ka”). In 1805 he returned to Great Britain where, settling near Liverpool, he and a group of other British converts attempted to replicate the cult and its depraved rites before being thwarted by unnamed, but mockingly condemned, local authorities. Crompton
apparently composed this work whilst incarcerated in an asylum. Even from a quick skim, it is obvious that the author was a murderously sadistic lunatic prone to megalomaniacal delusions, foremost of which is that he would achieve god-hood through his occult practices.

Solo per chi ha letto tutto il libro

This work records the insane words of Montgomery Crompton, an English soldier, artist, and devoted member of the so-called Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh. Crompton briefly details his life before he went to Egypt as part of General Abercrombie’s army. The
youngest son of a minor member of the nobility and part of an extended, but well regarded Lancashire family, Crompton was a poor
student, sent down from the University of Edinburgh for his habitual drinking and gambling, as well as violent outbursts in public. Against his family’s wishes Crompton elected to pursue a career as a painter but instead squandered his small allowance on liquor and gambling.
Rather than disown him, Crompton’s mother persuaded his father to purchase a commission in the army for their son in the hope that he would see it as an opportunity to make something of himself. Crompton took up the commission begrudgingly and, except for the fact that it eventually brought him into contact with his new master, the author heaps boundless scorn upon his time in the army. Sent to Egypt along with his regiment, the 28th Gloucestershire, Crompton was struck in the head by a French cavalry saber at the battle of Alexandria. For several weeks Crompton languished near death, a time during which he
claims he first had visions of the being he would come to know as the Black Pharaoh. It spoke to him and told Crompton that he was the only
true God and that all other gods were false gods or reflections of his glory. Upon his recuperation, Crompton journeyed to Cairo where he indulged in copious amounts of opium in an attempt to reconnect with this new god. Instead, he somehow (Crompton credits dream visions) came into contact with a group of like-minded British and European
expatriates (and some Egyptians) who initiated him into the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh via a series of orgies and murderous rituals. Crompton expounds at great length about the wonder, beauty, and truth of his new faith —though mostly what he recounts are rites and rituals that shock and turn the stomach of even the most hardened reader. Specific details of the group’s rituals are recounted (such as the sacral nature of the new moon, which Crompton likens to, “the face of the Pharaoh of Darkness watching over the world”), as well as regular orgiastic rites and monthly rites of human sacrifice. Fearful beasts(including sulfurous bat-horse things, sinuous winged serpents, and even more loathsome amorphous and indescribable flautists) are also discussed as bearing witness to and, shockingly, taking part in both types of rite. The symbols of the cult, including the inverted ankh and the spiked club are also described. (Readers of the work will immediately recognize said club when it is first encountered.) No record is made of the group’s specific prayers or invocation, but the
text is littered with rhapsodic paeans giving praise to the greatness of the Black Pharaoh, including many honorific titles as well as
apparently his Egyptian name Nevrin Ka (alternately Nefrin or Nephrin Ka, Crompton’s spelling is irregular). While Crompton acknowledges that he and a number of his fellow members of the Brotherhood returned to England some time in 1805 for the purpose of expanding the worship
of their dark god, he refuses to give much detail on this topic, stating cryptically, “the night air knows best those rites
and praises that were voiced by our lips, and the ever waxing crimson flow knows our offerings, but no cunning art will compel me to betray my Brothers still free to reap harvest of Britain’s uncleared fields.” On several occasions Crompton is granted visions of the time of the Dark Pharaoh’s reign, including a personal audience with the god himself in his throne-room. Crompton proclaims passionately and often that he is both sane and yet destined for immortal godhood, for
example in a short space a paragraph stating that he is “more right of mind than any man” and “will walk with his Lord as a god over the
ashes of the Empires of Men when even the Sky is brought to heel and the Moon made void.” Crompton is unquestionably mad.

Solo per chi ha letto tutto il libro

The man standing before me was of swarthy complexion, but with a haughty bearing befitting
an Emperor. He reached out a hand to touch my cheek, my wound shrieking in agony until he
brushed it, washing away my pains. He spoke to me, in low tones, with a voice like a mother to
an infant babe. He spoke to me of his grand design which would unseat the rule of Man for the
rule of the true Gods, and how I might serve him. I knew in my truest heart that this was the
purpose I had so long sought, that in His service, I would be made whole and pure and that
those who had wronged me so greatly would be brought low. I wept in joy and promised I would
serve him gladly.
– – – – –
The beggar was held fast by my brothers and I, eyes tearing with joy, struck him mightily
with the sacred club again and again, until he was rendered insensate by the pain and his limbs
were useless. Filled with wordless praise for Him who Dwells in the Shadow before light comes,
I turned it in my hands then pierced the wretch’s heart with the cunning bronze spike. His
scream of agony washed over me and I was reborn as a full Brother and servant of the Pharaoh
of Shadows.
– – – – –
Its angles were magnificent, and most strange; by their hideous beauty I was enraptured
and enthralled, and I thought myself of the daylight fools who adjudged the housing of this room
as mistaken. I laughed for the glory they missed. When the six lights lit and the great words
said, then He came, in all the grace and splendour of the Higher Planes, and I longed to sever
my veins so that my life might flow into his being, and make part of me a god!

Solo per chi ha fatto una lettura veloce

This book collects the papers of Nigel Blackwell,
a minor self-funded African explorer. No
attempt seems to have been made to organize
Blackwell’s work (there is no index for example)
and the topics vary widely. The focus of the
work is on African cults and esoteric religious
practices - the more gruesome or vile the better.
Cannibalism and bestiality are some of the more
comparatively tame practices discussed. The
author treats the blasphemous religious claims
of the various African tribesmen he discusses
with an undue and unexpected degree of
credence. Regions discussed include East Africa
(the Kenya Crown colony and German East
Africa in particular), the Belgian Congo, and
West Africa (especially the Niger River basin).

Solo per chi ha letto tutto il libro

Africa’s Dark Sects is a collection of the writings
of the late Nigel Blackwell (1872-1919?), an
erstwhile African explorer and an epicure of the
bizarre. The contents are primarily drawn from
a series of safaris that Blackwell undertook
between 1902 and 1916, visiting French West
Africa, the Congo, and the Kenya crown colony,
as well as shorter forays into other regions.
Blackwell’s interests focus on marginal or
secretive tribal religions, particularly those
involved in blood sacrifice and other outré rites.
Generally clinical in its presentation and style,
the work outlines the rites and practices
(sometimes from pre-colonial days but more
often focused on the modern era) of numerous
African groups and traces links between these
African religions and cults in the Americas.
Blackwell’s writing style is dense and
frequently refers to other authors’ works
without clarifying commentary or explanatory
discussion of the cited work’s connection to his
topic. These cryptic references reduce the clarity
of the book and reinforce the impression that
this is a raw and unfinished work that would
have been well served by an editor. Blackwell’s
frequently stated fixation was the notion that
Africa, being relatively untouched by
Christianity and Islam, held the keys to the
“truth” about human religion and history grates
on the educated reader as well. The text is
gruesome, unwholesome, and deeply shocking.
A short segment talks about the “Bloody Tongue”
cult based in Kenya. A Mountain of the
Black Wind is discussed, though no location is
given. A marginal note mocks Blackwell’s
limited knowledge of the group.
The book’s spine has been broken open
to a section about a Niger River delta cult’s grisly
necromantic rites designed to raise the dead and
make them into slaves called “zambi.”

Solo per chi ha letto tutto il libro

Beyond the reach of the great Abrahamic
faiths, Africa retains the primal truths of
human society and religion; society is as raw
and unformed as the landscape. The Gods are
known by their old names and not prettied up
by hymns and incense. It is here in this great
continent of the Id that Man may truly know
himself. That Man, as a whole, is so brutal and
untamed at his heart, only shocks the
unlettered or those blinded by the false
trapping of the prison we have built for
ourselves in our so-called civilization.
– – – – –
The cult, named in whispers by the natives
‘The Bloody Tongue,’ is supposedly based far
in the interior, but has followers in Mombassa,
Nairobi, and even Muslim Zanzibar. Their
idols are human shaped though surmounted
with a long red trunk instead of a head, and it
is rumoured that more than one missionary has
discovered that when the whites leave, the
natives swap a head topped by a crown of
thorns for one with a bloody ‘tongue’.
– – – – –
As the priestess whirled around the fire-lit circle,
chanting dim words from an ancient spell, the cult
executioners busied themselves with their screaming
sacrifices. As the blood flowed, a chill wind sprang
up, and I felt a flash of fear: the wind had become
visible, a black vapour against the gibbous, leering
Moon, and slowly my terror grew as I comprehended
the monstrous thing taking form. The corrosive stench
of it hinted at vileness beyond evil. When I saw the
great red appendage which alone constituted the face
of the thing, my courage died, and I fled unseeing into
the night.

– – – – –
The sorcerer would then rend flesh from
his own body, usually the arm, and spit the
bloody offering into the mouth of the body
supposed to be raised. A great chanting would
be then undertaken by both sorcerer and his
audience. The words are not in the native
Yoruban. I have attempted to capture them
phonetically: “Hu ning lui mugluwal naf
wugah nagal atzu tuti yok sog tok foo takun.
Atzu tuti fu takun! Hu ning lui. (Compare viz.
Waite and Zimmerman)”

Solo per chi ha fatto una lettura veloce

This work is a collection of poetry by one Justin
Geoffrey. The poems are in a modern style,
generally without fixed meter or structure, but
with a clear thematic link—menace, horror, and
a (sometimes romantic) nihilism. Titles include
“Out of the Old Lands,” “Strutter in Darkness,”
and the titular poem “People of the Monolith”.
The work is disturbing and shocking, at least to
a more sheltered reader. The stark horror of the
poet’s words are not tempered by the beauty of
his writing.

Solo per chi ha letto tutto il libro

It is clear why the author of this collection has a
poor reputation; these poems are not the work
of a healthy mind. The constant refrain is that
humanity is a temporary master of the Earth, at
best and that, lurking on the edges of our
perception, is the great truth of the world.
Humanity, the poems suggest, is inexorably
doomed, either from our own vices, or our
weakness vis-à-vis the true masters of the world great
sleeping gods who will arise and destroy
all. In certain places, fragments or signs of these
once mighty beings can be found (cf. the
monolith of the title). Despite the subject
matter and the obvious derangement of the
author, some of the poems here are arresting,
even moving.

Solo per chi ha letto tutto il libro

They say foul beings of Old Times still lurk
In dark forgotten corners of the
world,
And Gates still gape to loose, on
certain nights,
Shapes pent in Hell.
– “People of the Monolith”
– – – – –
They lumber through the night
With their elephantine tread;
I shudder in affright
As I cower in my bed.
They lift colossal wings
On the high gable roofs
Which tremble to the trample
Of their mastodonic hoofs.
– “Out of the Old Land”

Solo per chi ha fatto una lettura veloce

This work claims to be a translation of an
otherwise unknown series of documents (The
Pnakotic Manuscripts) brought to the West after
the fall of Constantinople in 1453. These are said
to be Greek translations of even older
documents chronicling an otherwise unknown
epoch of the pre-human history of Earth. The
unidentified translator claims to have obtained
this work, also called The Pnakotik Scrolls and
The Scrolls of Pnakotus, from an unnamed
refugee from the Byzantine Empire. This
translation was made in conjunction with the
help of another (also unnamed) Greek scholar.
The body of the text is a haphazard jumble
of myths outlining the history of various
fabulous kingdoms and civilizations of Earth
before the rise of Man (as well as other places
specifically said to be not of this world).
Discussions include a catalogue of various races
in residence on the Earth during the ages before
man, the actions of various legendary figures,
and the myriad inhuman deities worshiped by
both. A final section traces the mythic history
of the book itself, from fragments uncovered in
some vast non-human library (the so-called “city
of Pnakotus”) to the scribes of vast pre-historic
human empires who consulted with improbable
“others” (some sort of flying, barrel-shaped
beings) in their efforts to understand the work.
It seems likely that this work is a compilation of
a host of mystical texts, many of which are
preserved only in fragmentary form.

Solo per chi ha fatto lettura veloce

The book purports to be a commentary on the
Liber Ivonis (Book of Eibon), a work supposedly
written by Eibon, a sorcerer in distant antiquity.
The author of the commentary is one Gaspar du
Nord, a self-proclaimed sorcerer from Averoigne,
a region in south central France. The discussion
within, written in an elliptical and didactic
manner, is a wide-ranging commentary on
ancient and contemporary theology, magical
ritual, and fantastic history. The author focuses
upon the lives and magical discoveries of several
antediluvian sorcerers in a kingdom called
“Hyperborea,” with a particular emphasis on
“Eibon,” the supposed author of the original
work. Eibon apparently entered into some sort
of pact with a powerful being (perhaps a god?)
known as Sathojuè, granting him both greater
magical abilities and access to arcane secrets.
Other powerful beings and species are
mentioned in only passing detail, but include a
race of ophidian magicians and a malevolent and
immense white worm that brought Hyperborea
low in some icy apocalypse.
The author also boasts not only of his own
magical studies under the wizard Nathaire, but
also of his defeat of his former master. Though
du Nord claims that his purpose is to give
instruction to the novice magician, he often
obscures his meaning in allegory or oblique
references. A reader lacking either a copy of the
Livre d’Ivon or a familiarity with the conventions
and philosophy of the various medieval magical
traditions will find Selections from the Livre
d’Ivon a daunting and frustrating work