Better Call Sol

Florida Bar photo

Augustus Sol Invictus (born Austin Mitchell Gillespie, 1983), is a Florida lawyer and political candidate who drew attention some years ago when he ran for the U.S. Senate to represent Florida on the Libertarian ticket.  When word got out that he'd once gone to the Mojave Desert and ritually sacrificed a goat, then drank it's blood, he didn't deny it.  No indeed.  He'd been a Thelemite, a loud and proud pagan, and made no bones (nor gristle) about it..

 

But the O.T.O. gave him the (jack?) boot.

Maybe it was the goat.  Maybe it was his hard-right politics.  As a lawyer, he's represented white supremacists, terrorists, and other hard-to-like defendants.  He also was a speaker at the infamous Unite the Right rally, had previously praised eugenics, and promoted white supremacy.  Not to mention he wants to see the world set on fire.  Going through online references to Invictus, he doesn't seem to last very long in any group with which he affiliates.  I don't think a guy like him takes orders very well.  When you read the letter transcribed below, you'll see what I mean.

If it was a clean kill, I have no quarrel with a goat sacrifice; ridiculing it, well, is simply hypocritical.  Muslims and Orthodox Christians do it, Jews did it; heck, some passages in the Talmud depict priests at Solomon's Temple wading up to their knees in blood, and others describe 1.2 million animals being slaughtered on one day.  Certainly hyperbole, but I've read enough to know the courtyard of the Temple was a scene of constant smoke, fire, sizzling fat, and puddles of blood. 

In recent news, Invictus was acquitted in a domestic abuse case (apparently the accuser didn't show).  Charges of stalking, harassment, and domestic violence have been reported to police against him about 10 times.  But in April this year, all charges against him in his latest trial ended up with a "not guilty" verdict.  Read about his legal issues here.

There are already some good articles about Invictus online; this one is especially good at situating Invictus within the current fascist spectrum and is much defter than my attempts in recent posts.  It focuses on the idea of "Imperium" articulated by Francis Yockey.  I was really struck by this passage:

Fascism’s key....is syncretic, mixing in aspects of the left to create a shifting, yet totalizing, political system. Libertarianism....has the unique ability to mainstream far-right positions, and really to be the only crossover point that organizations with hard-right politics would normally have. Invictus himself seems to maintain very common talking points from the Libertarian Party, but mixes them with a sort of social commentary about the need for dominant leaders, a “cult of violence,” and the need to return to the idea of Imperium....he seems to portray a frenetic and confused political menu that focuses on strength and power and keeps a great deal of open fascist ideals just under the surface.

A second article by the same author is also instructive.  The writer, Shane Burley, is clearly not sympathetic to Invictus' views, but he manages to keep it fair; in fact, this second article is a response to a letter Invictus wrote to Burley, thanking him for the first article, which focuses on his ideas, rather than the sensational "Goat-blood drinking Florida Man" angle of most other articles about him.

From that second article, I'd also like to quote a paragraph that goes into something my previous posts have addressed:  the meeting of left and right:

One thing that did stick from Yockey, and we are seeing today in many sides of the New Right, is a call for unity between the Right and Left. Yockey called for a "red-brown alliance," which would be the association between fascists and anti-Zionist communists (since he saw the Jews as essentially the primary problem), and this has been much of the discussion of a Third Positionism that sees both capitalism and communism as problematic. Today, we see this incredibly present in National Anarchism, National Revolution, and National Bolshevism, as well as various strains of racialist Asatru/Odinism and parts of the Alt Right. It should be noted that they do not borrow from the Left in terms of underlining ideas, but just in tactical notions like opposition to capitalism and support of deep environmentalism.

National Bolshevism.  Asatru/Odinism.  Deep environmentalism.  Left/right unity.  Almost like a list of keywords for my recent posts....I've addressed each and every one of these topics in the last 12 months.  

 

The letter I reproduce below has been widely discussed online. I only post it now because I got a call last week from a friend I hadn't seen in 30 years.  "I'm in Marseilles!"  Next day we're in Toulouse eating Camembert and I tell her about my recent forays into occultism and fascism.  And she asks, "Have you ever heard of Augustus Sol Invictus?  Cuz I went to school with him."  

 

Coincidence much?  I'm writing posts about the occult and avant-garde roots of fascism, and a woman I haven't seen in 30 years pops in from across the Atlantic to tell me she went to grad school with the contemporary personification of the occultist/artist/fascist idea I've been recently manhandling.  Oh yeah, Invictus writes poetry with titles like All is burning: it is the end and Set the World on Fire.

From the time of his religious renunciation and departure to the wilderness to the time of the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville and its aftermath, Invictus discusses his first-hand experience of the brutal world of radical politics, including the public betrayals and catastrophes and the private heartbreaks and changes in course.

 

This friend of mine was in a class with Invictus as a grad student and describes him as a friend (at the time, anyway) and a decent guy.  But he hadn't yet revealed his fascist beliefs, and domestic violence wasn't probably something they yukked about over sandwiches.  My friend is quite a feminist, she wouldn't truck with no violent misogynists.  

She describes him as seeming "lost" and "in search of an identity."  She emphasizes that Gillespie made sure to legally change his name before getting his diplomas, so that they carried his new name. Becoming Invictus was becoming a new person.  She feels that the person before and after were truly like different people.

Some time later, in 2013, my friend received Invictus' famous "renunciation" letter, which I present here.  It was originally sent to his colleagues at DePaul University College of Law  (a Catholic school, BTW) and he sent to my friend as well.

(Update 13/07: Hey.  I just re-read the article about Augustus.  The letter that I shared with you was originally sent to our cohort & the professors at Rollins College Crummer School of Business....He sent a different letter to DePaul....When my Rollins cohort received our letter, the other people on our team dug around and found that letter that he wrote to DePaul on a DePaul message board.)

 

When that email arrived 2 days before finals, the school was so fearful of a mass shooting episode that students were allowed to do their finals from home.  The grad program was effectively shut down for three days.  Young Invictus even received a visit from the FBI.

 

The first page of the scan is blurry but you can read the transcript below.  I don't feel this is a violation of Invictus' privacy.  He sent it to his entire cohort and every professor in the program; and it's reproduced online already.  He clearly meant it to be a public declaration.  And the guy may run for office again one day.  Domestic violence?  Shit.  The GOP will excuse sex offenders.  Sacrificed goats?  No worries.   

 

Remember a few years back, "I am not a witch...."  

 

As NPR said of Christine O'Donnell's ad in 2010:  "It should go without saying that if in your first TV ad as a candidate for the U.S. Senate you feel compelled to announce: "I am not a witch," you're in deep trouble."

Whoooo-ooo-ooo!  (That's a ghost noise BTW).  Cue rattling chains!

 

According to a recent video (2022) Invictus posted on YouTube, he's once again Catholic. Tridentine (Pre-Vatican II), naturally.

So, here's that letter.  It must be intended to be ironic to a certain degree, no?  A "winning handshake"?  What?  No discussion of the paper stock of his business cards?  Is this Sol Invictus, or Patrick Bateman?  (Bateman: "This Confession Has Meant Nothing.")

---------        --------        --------        -------

Sent: Sat, Apr 20, 2013 1:01 pm

Subject: FW: On My Renunciation & Departure from Civilization

To the Grey World of Man:

 

They say that only failures become revolutionaries; that those who perpetrate violence in the name of a great cause only do so because they have failed at everything else in life. In other words, they only become revolutionaries because they have achieved nothing of value in the “real” world.

Witness ye the glory of my life at 29 years of age: I have four children, each of whom should be the envy of every parent in the world; I have attained a Baccalaureate Degree in Philosophy with honors; I have attained a Doctorate in Law, cum laude; I have acquired licenses in the profession of law in the States of New York, Illinois, and Florida; I am scheduled to acquire two more such licenses in North Carolina & Massachusetts; I am Editor-in-Chief of a poetry journal; I run an independent publishing company; I have opened my own law office in downtown Orlando; I am an MBA candidate; and I have accomplished a few other things that will remain off the record for now.

 

I am of genius intellect & cultured, well-educated & creative, well-mannered & refined. I am God’s gift to humankind where the English language is concerned, and I also happen to have a basic knowledge of Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, and Italian. I am musical & artistic; I am athletic & possessed of militant self-discipline; and I am many other things. I have a Cadillac & a poodle, multiple computers & a personal library; I live in an apartment downtown, right across the street from the courthouse; I have been to Paris & Vancouver, to Cairo & Dubrovnik, to Mexico City & Siracusa. I dress better than all of you, pronounce my words perfectly, and have a winning, professional handshake. I am everything you ever wanted to be.

 

I challenge any of you, then, to accuse me of being a failure in this artificial civilization of yours. For it is beyond dispute that I have played your petty game, and I have won.

 

But your game no longer holds any interest for me. Your architecture is vapid & worthless, as is your decadent culture, the mindless drivel you call music, the filth you call democracy. You waste your lives watching pure excrement on television, shopping at the strip malls, planning your vacations to resorts & theme parks. The Internet, with its infinitude of information, is used for reading celebrity gossip & watching sitcoms. You have begun to reduce argument to memes & human communication to trite sound bites. Life has become trivial – and if you cannot feel the human spirit decaying, you are already dead.

 

As for those in the profession of law: The vast majority of you are nothing more than parasites. The only reason you eat, the only reason you can afford to have roofs over your heads, is that the lives of others have been ruined by the very laws & social order you claim to be legitimate. You feed off others like worms, and were this world & their lives just & in order, you would be out of work. Look upon your lives, and repent.

 

This modern civilization of which you are all so fond deserves naught from me but the violence of my contempt; and if you were strong enough, you would hold the same contempt & turn your torches upon the world as I shall.

 

WITNESS YE MY RENUNCIATION:

 

I hereby renounce my licenses to practice law, my diplomas, my affiliation with Rollins, DePaul, and the University of South Florida, my United States citizenship, my membership in the Roman Catholic Church, my law firm, my publishing company & poetry journal, and all of my material possessions.

 

To those who believe that this great renunciation is evidence of mental illness rather than the initiation of a spiritual journey: If my example stirs nothing in you, if you can see no further than the confines of what your secular humanism & its hallowed psychiatry allow, then there is nothing I can say to you that would wake you from your slumber. You are less than the beast in man. You are fungi. Would to God that you pass quickly from this Earth.

 

HEAR YE MY FINAL WORDS IN PEACETIME:

 

I have prophesied for years that I was born for a Great War; that if I did not witness the coming of the Second American Civil War I would begin it myself. Mark well: That day is fast coming upon you. On the New Moon of May, I shall disappear into the Wilderness. I will return bearing Revolution, or I will not return at all.

 

War Be unto the Ends of the Earth.

Augustus Sol Invictus

Orlando, Florida, USA

XX Aprilis MMXIII Satvrnvs

 

 

 

Fnord.  Hail Eris.

The Living Tarot in Bangladesh

Recent parliamentary elections in Bangladesh have resulted in violence, as these things are wont to do, claiming at least 21 lives as of January 6th. (Bharat Press).  This photo was snapped on January 5th in Rajshahi by a Reuters photog:

I know nothing about Bangladeshi politics and am not sure if that violence is being played out today.  No lack of respect intended but this shot seems so archetypal, kind of familiar.  To the point, it reminded me of the following Tarot card, the 5 of Wands from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck:

The Rider-Waite deck was first published in 1909, illustrated by Pamela Colman (1878-1951) under instructions from mystic A.E. Waite (1857-1942), himself influenced by master occultist Eliphas Levi (1810-1875) and the Sola-Busca Tarot (ca. 1491).

Colman Smith, ca. 1912

Colman had been initiated in the Golden Dawn in 1901, putting her into contact with Waite.  This commission is certainly her most widely known work; the deck itself is arguably the most widely-recognized.  I think they're beautiful and after almost thirty years I'm still struck with a sense of wonder as I remove the cards from their hand-carved box with inlaid flower on the lid I bought for them. It's Indian, I believe (wouldn't it be more full-circlish if it had been made in Bangladesh).  This box is a perfect size, as if it had been made to the deck's dimensions.  This was an inexpensive item from Pier 1 Imports.  My high school style relied upon Pier 1, my blue Mao cap (no red star) and Chinese slipper-type shoes were part of my daily attire.  New Waver, dude.  Strangely, these shoes were known among other people I knew as Jap Flats or even Pol Pots.  Something along the line of the "they all look the same" branch of genetic research.

Those shoes cost about three bucks and at the beginning had woven cloth soles.  Basically, they were a kind of espadrille; you could see them a lot in Kung Fu films, another 80's staple hungover from the 70's.  Those Mao caps were also de riguer for the budding young bohemian back in the day.

Back when I was a pup, this was the only deck easily found...I think I bought mine in a B. Dalton's or Waldenbooks down the road from my parents' place--for 8 dollars even--in a strip mall near the entrance to Northdale, one of the way-too-numerous unincorporated collections of subdivisions in North Tampa with the usual insipid names, evoking rural tranquility and the genteel life.  I often heard a snippet from Penelope Spheeris's Suburbia in my mind, a "sample" from the film found on the soundtrack:  "Slums of the future...."  Mainstream bookstores were much more limited in those days but you could still pick out some spine-tingling titles.  How many times did I look at those glossy black paperbacks until my meagre allowance or hoarded lunch money accumulated into enough coin to acquire them?  The Necronomicon, The Satanic Bible, or The Magic Power of Witchcraft.  I not only had to collect my money, but gather up my courage.  I was a D&D kid and these books were powerful for me, exuding a kind of danger.  I kept them discretely placed on my bookshelf behind such innocuous tomes as Singing Wheels or Little House in the Big Woods.  Not because I'd get in parent trouble or have them confiscated, but I wanted to avoid a concerned talking to; plus, these were my private interests.  A book of shadows should stay in the shadows.

The bookstore where I bought the cards might have even been the same place I plunked down a few dollars for Eden Grey's (Priscilla Pardridge, 1901-1999) influential A Complete Guide to the Tarot, published by Bantam in 1970.  I still refer to it from time to time on those rare occasions when I pull out the deck and have a go.  When I read, I don't usually have the book meanings in my head, but I do like to sometimes take a peek in order to stimulate my thoughts.  It was written with the Waite-Rider in mind and these cards illustrate Grey's text.

For a while in High School I ran with a group of self-styled Wiccans and that influenced my readings.  Why not, I suppose, but I would have been much-better served if I'd dug more into the Bible, the Kabbalah and the Golden Dawn, which spawned both Wicca and the O.T.O.  Wicca founder Gerald Gardner (1884-1964) and O.T.O. founder Aleister Crowley (1875-1947) had cut their teeth on its teachings and rituals.  Crowley even designed his own Thoth Tarot deck, but in my opinion they compare poorly to Colman's graceful lines and the deceptive simplicity of their composition and symbolic content.  Waite and Colman do less with more and her work has aged more gracefully; Crowley's additions just seem kitschy, crowded and contrived to be menacing.

Tarot for me is not about fortune telling, but it is a useful way to place some random data into a structure and contemplate the correlations:  numbers, suits, reoccurring images, Major vs. Minor arcana.  Hell, if we can use Rorschach inkblots to measure the psyche, why not Tarot cards?  I run loose with the cards and stick to the so-called "Keltic" cross layout or sometimes (rarely) a simpler three card technique for a quicker way to inquire about relatively simple concerns; I think less about traditional meanings than I do at developing my own series of impressions based upon the internal correspondences and little details that might catch my eye.  The meaning of a card, none of it inherent, changes anyway in terms of where it appears and in the relationship each card has with those around it.

I rarely look at the cards unless my wife mentions it and someone presses for a reading.  Sometimes I'm half-lit by this point, which is not the best state to be in when working with systems more complex than a bottle opener.  But some of these readings have turned out really well.  I elicit commentary from the querent:  "What do you see?  What does this bring to mind?"  I'm still excited when I begin to formulate a narrative while the querent is still throwing darts blindfolded (not literally!)  The querent's wide-eyed recognition can be delightful.  Not so much if the brow over the wide eyes is darkened.

Anyway, apart from the fact that I have a strange tendency to sleep in a position like the Hanged Man (XII in the Major Arcana), I have nothing here to add.

This was not intended to be a reminiscence or a "Tarot" post, merely a juxtaposition of two images.  In the first we see men fighting in a field using staves over the results of a disputed election.  In the second, we don't know the cause, but the strife and weaponry are the same.  The sky is blue and the day seems lovely.

The Waite-Rider deck is simple, yet not devoid of complex symbolism derived from Waite's extensive mystical knowledge; in addition to the Golden Dawn he was a Freemason and Rosicrucian who'd later write extensively on ceremonial magick, the Kabbalah, alchemy and other Western esoteric traditions.  I still refer to his New Encyclopedia of Freemasonry (1921) whenever I write about Freemasonry or related topics.

All that knowledge is distilled into a series of 78 clean-lined and finely composed images of a Goldilocks just-rightness.

I love coming back to an old flame from something so (superficially) unrelated.  Time folds and the threads that keep the past and future bound together become visible.  Tie up the fraying ends or tear through them, let it all drift apart.  Apparently the ghost of someone, I can feel it overlooking my shoulder, is urging me on.  But that could be something else entirely.