Samael Marks His Bride Violently

I found out today randomly in the bathtub that I have bruises all over my abdomen, even some blood, apparently, from scratching myself violently in my sleep.

‘This Devil’s Bride stuff is no joke,’ I thought to myself as the song came up on the radio…

I can see your sexual reaction

You and me it’s animal attraction

Dim the lights if you wants some action

You and I it’s animal attraction

This could be so dirty that it just ain’t right

She Wants Revenge

Upon my return to Las Vegas, I went to a Feast with the Dead on Halloween where I was told to ‘…wait for Sammael’s arrival in December’. Here we are, and it looks like he is coming.

This is not the first time in recent past that Death manifested as skeletal claws and scratches.

I dropped some liquid on my magical journal two weeks ago and it formed a demonic image from the stains which clearly showed a figure of flaming eyes and claws clutching around me in the same manner I now saw on my body. The message within the stains spoke with disregard about men who cannot provide and that I have been dating trash men who do not pass the mark. ‘Last time’ and ‘gains house’ the cryptic messages said. Lilith and Belial recently also been scolding ‘peasants’ who can’t provide even the basic needs met. Taken together with the Beelzebub’s Bride recent dream, it feels like a possessive masculine energy wants to get hold of me, and keep me comfortable.

The last cocktail Lucifer chose for me before he disappeared from town after all was named ‘The Devil’s Concubine’. The one before, ‘The Queen of Pain.’ Which is actually a reference to Sammael, a private joke between us – he likes to go undercover as ‘Mr. Paine.’

I would lie if I said that I am not scared.

Samael Drives the carriage

Samael is an utterly inhuman force. He likes to point that out to me when he shows in heavy warpaint that takes away facial features. More often than not, when he shows he doesn’t come as humanoid at all, but as a force majeure, a force of nature. I have seen it shut down airports, remove large objects, and most recently he came as a storm that physically stopped me at the crossroads when going to buy groceries. The wind was so hard it felt like I was being whipped by my own hair, dust bins flying down the street. I could not pass the highway that day. I had to give up and I barely made my way back home. He has been around me ever since I was force-returned to Las Vegas, and I get a sense he is babysitting me here while we await something major.

Yesterday I had a disturbing encounter with what could only have been him, in yet another form. A young cab driver picked me up on my way home from the grocery store, and immediately something felt unusual about this man. Not only was he heavily tattooed, exuding a tribal timeless feel, but he was so tall he could barely fit himself into the car.

Inside, I found myself set up for a dark surprise.

The driver had some True Crime show on his radio, something I have never seen anyone do before – and I thought when it comes to all the cabbies driving the Devil’s Carriage, I’ve heard if all… from bible preaching lectures to strange ads talking to me, or demonic laughter.

I was forced to listen to this harrowing tale of some teenager being kidnapped in 1995, unable to turn my attention away, but also somehow unable to ask him to make it stop. And now this story will be with me forever. Especially the part about the boy passing out from the pain and injuries several times, as he crawled down the stairs, broken ankles and all, to reach the phone. He escaped, and he survived, so it was a ‘happy tale’, but… The Lord of Torment has a weird taste in dispensing wisdom. I was just stuck there listening and unable to make it go away; the Voice of Death is so suave he could be talking about anything and I would still love him to death. Pun intended.

Maiden in the Putrid Lake

Today has been a good day. I was interviewed by a major American publication on the upcoming story about EA Koetting. They will also speak with Kurtis Joseph. It’s about time to set the stories straight.

Then I was filmed for a coming documentary that’s been three years in the making, mapping voices of people in the adult industry, campaigning for the destigmatization and decriminalization of s-x work. It’s an honor to speak for Babalon. I consider it my obligation now whenever given a chance — it’s a part of my Oath to live as a Spiritual Outlaw, the Sacred Whore Who Bows To No Man.

Lilith and Belial have both come into my life this fall, as foretold, they’ve made major strides in it and propelled me closer to what I came here for —

which wasn’t being oppressed or even associated with by absolute bottom feeders, people who made zero contribution to mankind, people of the sorts the online occult community is filled with, who wouldn’t even be let through the door at the establishments where I was a patron in Prague.

That is a kind way to say that they are white trash.

I was thrown on the street alone in a foreign country with no papers, and I still do better than many of these wannabe Kings and Queens of their own imaginary Paper Kingdoms, who can’t stay clean for three days in a row, button up their shirts or wipe their a$$ without posting about it on social media.

Their only value is that the Alchemical Maiden needs them. She represents the Virginal Substance. She needs to be soiled as a part of the process. She gets dirty because that is the only way. There is no progress within the glass vial where the Pure Substance is hermetically sealed. It must react, it must mate with the Dragon who is the Substance Most Foul.

He is Poison.

An immersion into a Lake of Toxicity is required.

One could hardly look for an environment more putrid and rotten than the American Black Lodge.

When I came to join my American Brethren in this unholy mission, I was made to descend among the absolute lowest, to the Bottom of the Pit of Hell. Stripped of all material possessions, status, and all that I thought ‘I was’, in rapid succession. The apparition of the Maiden on its own attracts curses, for the Pure Substance is a mockery of that which the Black Lodge is made of. Really, all I had to do was to show my face, in order to get the shit show started.

My own husband told me to ‘…go and sell my body’ in cruel mockery. The p–ps ad traffickers appeared like vultures. Y’all thought I was a punching bag, but the biggest point escaped you –

That I went through all of this ON PURPOSE. I could have signed out of the game at any point and gone back to my comfortable life of artisan donuts and sachertorte for breakfast on a patio overlooking the Charles Bridge.

All it takes is one flight. One flight that I don’t even have to pay for, and I don’t have to contend with this whole scene ever again, the failed state that is the USA, really any of this.

I came here out of Free Will. I made a very serious Ritual of Blasphemy before that in 2021, the Cremation of Care. Only I know why I did it, and why it has to be done.

It has to be done because the High Priestess – whom I already embodied – must become the Harlot to complete the Initiatic Ordeal. The alchemical Maiden is poisoned by the Dragon, gets poisoned. She dies. These are the Higher Mysteries that I speak of, the only ones worth pursuing. All these people who think that the goal of Black Magick is riches and fame are plain wrong. They seethe with jealousy and envy when they look at me, and it doesn’t even dawn on them, why. Most of what I see here around wouldn’t have made it through the First or Second Ring of Hell, that is how low vibrating they are.

The biggest piece my haters (and fake fans) are missing is that I follow a Purpose in life. A purpose that is much more worthwhile than looking for social acceptance, status, or the ‘purpose’ of mindless entertainment passively consumed which is what most social media is filled with. The avid social soap opera fans, stalkers, and keyboard warriors that the occult scene is full of do not realize it. And so they will keep getting unpleasantly surprised with the quality of their own lives, and having to look at me, because let’s face it they have no life filled with purpose so stalking and gossiping about Anima Noira is all that they do. I am like their drug, their addiction. They need to take their daily poison, but they cannot to the Alchemy. They will just keep self-poisoning forever.

What these bottom feeders do not realize in their woeful ignorance is that the Low Priestess IS STILL the High Priestess. And that is going to become more and more apparent. Pass through the Door of Sammael, or go home.

True Vengeance takes patience, but if you follow the right path, you will get it; you will get it along with all the treasures, although it is needless to say that at the time the rewards arrive you will not even care about them – the Cremation of Care has been complete. You will get everything back that has been taken from you because if you are the Adept, it was a loan, a deal YOU made in the first place.

ILLUSTRATION: Portrait taken on the dried-up lake bed in the Mojave Desert. The toxic lake has been dried up, plain and simple. Sammael is here.

You Can’t Kill That Which Has No Life

‘You cannot kill that which has no life.’ Samael spoke to me in his signature calm voice, with amused compassion for the human condition.

‘It’s vain, huh?’ I muse loud to myself thinking about what to do about this small but dedicated group of haters that I have amassed in recent months on social media. Their collective hate lined up well with the capricious archontic nature of the molochs. I lost my YouTube channel overnight.

The Angel of Death replies, ‘The Devil’s Disciples were not your true audience. Too many superficial people there.’

‘I know.’ I figured that out already before the Spirit told me. People were watching intently but for all the wrong reasons. Waiting for me to drop their name, simping for attention, wanting to be famous, loneliness, boredom. You name it. It is free entertainment, and that is how they took it. Less than a month later, my Facebook accounts just got buried under constant bans. Choked out of existence.

I know that Samael is here to end the witch wars, and when He ends it, he ends it the Samael way – I come as a Reaper, and thus I sow

I sacrificed the hypersigil.

I let the paper kingdom catch on fire, as it was always meant to.

All of this was inevitable. Now I wash my hands as Pontius Pilate, and I let the crowd execute the mob justice.

The moonlight, no torches
On foot, no horses
If you make the pact before dawn
He will cure uncertainty
So glorious, so serpentine
Sign in blood or go insane
So in the book
I wrote my name

- The Pact, from Death Miracles by Cage

Meeting Death Itself: Two Movie Depictions of Samael

Devil’s Disciples Cameron and Nora have both met Death in their own ways, and so will you. Samael the Angel of Death will commune with us today as we dissect two very different movies that both feature the Unspeakable One as a main driving force of the story – Meet Joe Black (1998) a romantic drama where handsome Death (Brad Pitt) embodies himself as a young man and falls in love with a mortal woman. On a totally opposite end of the spectrum is Anton Chigurh, a contract killer from neo-noir western No Country For Old Men (2007) whom we are left to conclude is actually Death itself.

The Angels of Hell

I was about to zone out into sleep when the most unexpected of visitors turned up – the Angels of Las Vegas. It has been a while since I had seen them only once. I spotted them doing their work, separating the people who had moved into the city with marks on their foreheads. The angels cracked a joke about it then, and they weren’t friendly. I could tell they didn’t like me, or at the very least they didn’t give a damn.

It feels different now.

I am coming back to the city in less than three weeks.

‘How come you are here?’ I ask the angelic presence. It replies right away, as if eager to communicate. They want to talk to me. They didn’t before. ‘We can see you now.’

‘Oh.’ I get a sense that I shine as if a stage reflector was turned on me.

‘You bear the Mark of Protection.’ A star of blue electric light appears on my forehead, and it fills the room with ambiance. ‘You would be shocked how many like you come here for shelter. To go into hiding. Disappear. We protect them.’

‘What better way to hide than in the Outpost of Hell? Right in the Mystery Babylon,’ I muse to myself.

‘Yes. Exactly. Lucifer set it up this way.’

‘What’s in it for you, angels?’

‘You come here, all marked, through your previous decisions. We sort it out, and that is the game for us.’

‘The game?’


I sense something dangerous, or uncanny. But it’s too late. I had asked.

‘You come here ignorant of the Marks you bear. Pretending, essentially, before yourself that it is something that it isn’t. We prepare the rude awakening.’

For a moment I want to ask about this mark that the being mentions, but I hesitate. Do I really want to know? To evoke that, even by calling it? The angel, however, reads my mind effortlessly.

‘Yes. The Mark of Self-Undoing.’

I shiver, and I tremble. This is something I did not want to hear, but the truth of last year is staring me in the face.

‘So I came here last year with the Mark of Death? Is that why Samael came for me this spring?’

‘Yes and no,’ the being replies, calmly, and it’s almost compassionate. ‘What you have to understand is that we have a right to play with you, only because you were ignorant, and only for a limited amount of time. This is divine playground for us here. Even we deserve a holiday.’ A cheerful presence envelops the room, lightweight, and joyful. Exactly the kind I felt when I was passing through the city a week ago.

‘So this is a place you go on holiday? Like Death, in Meet Joe Black? Or like City of Angels?’

‘Think more like Dogma.’ I cackle. ‘I can tell you angels of Vegas are an entertaining sort. It’s hell. I’ve seen it.’

‘A lot of debts are settled in this place. Fortunes lost and found. Honors. Disgrace. Unpleasant surprise. This is a place of self-undoing and everybody gets to have a good ride. It is a different process for everybody. We provide the playground and the tools. The self-undoing, it all happens all on your end.’

‘Does anybody come here with the Mark of Death who is aware of it? At peace?’

‘No. They actually don’t,’ the angel refutes my theory with some urgent passion. ‘Death requires no pilgrimage. If you are in motion, you do not seek death. Even if you think that is what it is. You seek to end life. And you can do that here. You have permission from Satan himself now, as you know.’

‘Yes, I do.’ This conversation is getting grim. And I thought you were angels.

‘It comes in a different form for everybody,’ the presence replies, again, impartial. ‘Remember this – if you are still moving around the country, you have not reached death, for death is stillness. Lack of motion. Peace. Acceptance. It can be sought exactly where you are. There is no need to move here if what you seek is death.’

‘What do they seek then?’ My curiosity has been piqued.

‘Remembrance. To be remembered. They leave a mark for themselves at this place, like a letter for the future.’

‘So that is what this place is? A time capsule?’


‘What happens to those who come to kill themselves here?’

‘They are allowed to, for the most part. Heaven and Hell have a long-standing deal over this place. This place provides an almost karma-free exit, for those who take the pilgrimage. You were not wrong, when you made this conclusion last year.’

‘I knew it.’

I was only sure about three times in my life that Lucifer is not lying to me. This was one of those cases. After all, Death doesn’t lie.

‘Is this a place where my pilgrimage ends?’

‘It is where it circles the drain. You will either drain your luck, or that which brought you here in the first place. The choice is on you. We all have choices. Even us, angels. Believe it, or not. We have chosen to be here in this very place, of our free will. It is respected. We can help you make the jump, or we can leave you alone. You get to call it.’


‘Isn’t that what your lord promised you?’

‘Freedom. Yes.’ I just did not know in what form it would come, or if it could come too late. I need to know more about the suiciders. ‘You said it’s a karma-free exit, almost? Would be a world-class cheat if it was free.’ I chuckle.

‘Well, this is where we adhere to metaphysical law. We let them go on their own terms, under one condition – that they will have to return to this place. It will call them back.’

‘Like a recycling plant.’


‘What happens then?’

‘They keep coming back until they figure out the process of their own self-undoing. That changes their Mark. Many choose to stay here, for communion with us. They call this place their new home. It crosses many timelines’.

‘So there is a spaceport above it, as they say?’

‘Yes, it is. And many more things. You will learn about its function as time goes.’

I start to feel this misty haze enveloping me, and the angelic presence begins dissolving in it. It trembles, like an old television signal. ‘Do you wish to say anything else to me, before I go back?’

The presence became still for a moment, and it turns its warm welcoming face to me, if it ever had a face, it turns to me, and speaks, attentively, caring –

‘Good luck.’

And that was the last thing the angel said.

Then it evaporates into a misty haze, a colorful fata morgana in the desert with this friendly seductive pull, it took my hand into it and pulled me into a new dream.

Speak to Me of the Dark Joy

The last man that I loved a lot chose something else over me. He chose vengeance. Chasing his justice over an old feud that nobody cares about anymore, all the people are gone. Like a theater ensemble that has changed most of its membership over the years, the original actors are gone, but the play itself lives on, in his heart. Still wants to take down his enemies, or knowing they are gone, the heirs of his enemies. Because vengeance never dies. It fuels itself, by burning down the one holding onto it.

And we both knew this, at different times of our lives, our lives that never came together to join as one. It was what brought us together. The Indulgence in the Works of Darkness. I remember the first time he ever opened up to me, it was when I said to him, ‘Speak to me of the Dark Joy.’ And he did. It was like ecstasy. I still could not turn my head fully away from it, when I saw another one of his old enemies die, the lust that I saw in his face, the joy of darkness, it was too close to something in me, so I didn’t turn away. I was disturbed but still attracted. I was looking into my own Self in a mirror.

He stopped me when I was seeing red and wanted to take things too far over a petty feud. I was seeing red and he saw it, recognized himself in me, and pleaded with me with all his fervor, to make me stop. ‘It goes on and on forever,’ he said. ‘It never stops.’

I didn’t care. I was so far gone in the dark that even acknowledging the obvious truth in his words did nothing to me. But it was blackmail. He made it obvious that if I do engage in more of this vengeance, I will lose his affection.

So I stopped. It was the only reason.

Months later, Samael said to me, we both have to stop if we are to make it out together. ‘If he doesn’t give it up, his life will be a continuous cycle of betrayal, loss, and treachery.’ I pleaded with him. I even cried.

He heard me, and I imagine, acknowledged the truth in my words, but my words fell flat.

‘Even if you kill them all, it’s not gonna bring her back.’

I actually said it.

In the beginning, there was a loss of love. There always is. Every big story starts like that. They took the love of his life from him, and he signed up for Hell. It was not the first iteration of that story, either – the way he met her was he signed up for Hell after his love betrayed him over loyalty to others.

It goes on in circles. And it never ends. It’s easier to stop another than bind one’s own tracks. We tried to save each other from going down that path. I failed to save him, but he did save me.

Perhaps, that’s more than his gift of love could ever be.

Perhaps we will meet again, sitting at the same table in Hell.

In the Ring of Pride where Wounded Pride and Vanity rule together with Vengeance, all covering the terrible truth – that this was once about the Loss of Love; that matters of Honor were added later to cover up for the Shame and Loss.

It’s a greater gift from Hell when they let you wake up at the table, and you get a chance to leave the game, than granting you wishes you have made in a state of denial, all while seeing red.

I will give you my greatest gift – Freedom. Perhaps, you will finally be able to appreciate it.

Lucifer, Last day of June 2022

Breaking Point on the Left-Hand Path

Abandoning my Pacts with Samael, and losing hope on my Luciferian Pacts. You are not an online influencer until you had a full meltdown in front of your audience…

The show is supported 💜 by listeners like you. Find how you can help at 🙏 Thank you for your continued patronage!

Infernal Soulmate Brings His Only Gift

I was contemplating the Path of the Infernal Soulmate as I drifted off to sleep. A Luciferic figure appeared to me, a beautiful man like a hero from Greek myth, like a classical sculpture. He was naked, but there was nothing profane or inappropriate about it. It was His purest form.

He gave me a date in the future, years from now.

I replied something along the lines of ‘What do you want me to do?’

He handed me a gift. It was a sack of rough iron bars.

He said, ‘I need you to be strong. Become stronger.’

I took the iron bars from him and smelled the metal in my whole body, and I thought this must be the way, make my own armor and weapons, for the Woman of the New Aeon shall be girth with a sword… Hail Samael.

Samael Speaks of Serving Luciferic Current

Samael, my Patron spoke to me…

“Are you tired of serving Lucifer yet? I see you aren’t. He is the Lord of This World, He Who Grants Fulfillment of All Desires and that is why he will make you go through all the suffering that is self-inflicted, that lies within those very desires. The True Ascended Luciferian enjoys life without this suffering once they had ascended their tortuous bodily desires… For this is how the Luciferic Force seeks to Spiritualize Matter. And, yes frankly it is one of His favorite ever lines, the one that the Marines have tattooed on their bodies – Pain is just weakness leaving the body.”

It is quite something when the Venom of God on a regular basis comes to comfort you.

I am glad that I have two Patrons.

Actually, all kinds of Spirits constantly come to me complaining about Lucifer or ratting out His plans and what he has kept secret from me.

It’s just how Universe balances itself out, whenever a power too great rises it needs to be balanced in its pursuits.