smug cotton woolly consciousness, in and out of sleep like a dream warrior, i bend the fabric of time with space and deep imagination, filtering layers of light into dense abstracts, you can't touch me for i am smoke and dream kind. my brothers and sisters are etheric beings, angels and alien, mystery and occult, like shadows within shadows the penumbra territory.

they came in the night, four of them, they dragged me from my bed, it was cold and i was wearing my boxer shorts. the threw me on my lounge and i could make out four large bodies, dressed in black, quite possibly uniforms of some kind, they were big, huge, each one standing 7ft tall and they were strong, lifting me and carrying me easily and without effort.

i could see no detail in their faces, i assumed they wore masks but they smelt slightly sulphurous and bitter and there were the occasional flashes of red around their aura which i could not quite penetrate.

options spin through my mind, words, statements, it's an old film, black and white where the kidnapped is testy and feisty, black humour, fear, defiance, all the options are there paralysing me into silence.

i figure i will find out soon enough. 

soon it's just my breathing in the night. 

when they spoke they all had the same voice, it was neutral neither male nor female, it was music but a deep rich ancient tone.

'you, captain mission have been summoned to the order of the black sun.'

they began to tear at their shirts, ripping them away i was engulfed by the paradox of black light that burst from their bodies.

black light is the enemy of any good magickian, it is the magickians path to embody the nature of the sun and it's qualities, not the opposite value, off which the black sun embraces. 

i had given up on my magickal practice, in between missions, playing with words, watching the dissolving of structures, placing myself for the global shift when out of the blue or in this case black, came the black sun.

i knew a little about them, not enough but enough for me to know these guys were heavy hitters, in the same way the nazis were, they were not cool, not in my book, with their racial supremacy and strange adherence to the master race. i remembered when i lived in berlin i found an old pair of boots that belonged to an ss officer, i wore them around with a degree of irony, a nice jewish boy stomping through west berlin in an old nazi's pair of boots, it was somewhat kinda poetic justice. my flatmate martin von donaldson had an deep interest in nazism, he told me about the thule gesesellshaft but i never really paid any notice. in an strange twist martin who always took the piss out of my jewish roots, discovered a few years ago that he to was jewish and now he is a rabbi, or at least learning to be one, we seemed to have lost contact.

i always remember marty as being an amazing guitar player, a cross between mick ronson and keef richards, with his orange ziggy hair and chelsea boots, his rock and roll stance and his attitude, seems strange now he must be all kosher and talmudic.

anyways here i was engulfed in black light.

i'm not sure if it was hypnosis or they slipped me some drug, maybe it was a dream, sometimes i have vivid dreams hard to know what's real or not. but in the morning i was on my couch, in my shorts cold and groggy.

quite prepared to dispel the whole event as a fiction i reached for my tarot cards which were laying upon the coffee table and chose one, and there was the sun. upside down.

the order of the black sun left an impression upon me, i wandered down to the beach, it was only 6am, pan and i watched the surf, it was wild and getting wilder, a certain unease with the whole sequence, i grabbed a coffee and read the papers as i normally do, running home as the clouds burst open. they would be back, i could feel it in my bones.