Michael Aquino, a lieutenant-colonel in the U.S. Army, an intelligence officer with national security clearances, and the Ipsissimus of the Temple of Set, is a small-boned man of medium stature whose close-cropped night-black hair is kept shaved to small horn-shaped peaks above eyebrows that arch upwards such that the immediate image is of the Devil, or of a vampire at the least.
When I met him at a Setian conclave in
His wife, Lilith, in every way attempted to live up to her name; she seemed a more attractive, more intelligent, younger Vampira and did her utmost to look the part. The only thing missing were long sharp canines. I never experienced any chemistry between them, but then I was having to fight off Ayn Randian would-be Brown Shirts on all sides, Setians being a mostly monomaniacal, in some cases solipsistic bunch unabashedly fascinated (in all senses of the word) with fascist philosopies.
At one of the meetings, an ugly, chubby one with a control freak’s obsession with “My, Me, Mine” kept grabbing my canned Coca-Cola and swilling it down, and when I objected out loud, I was greeted with a chorus of chilling smiles, polite but deadly (I should imagine meetings of the Cardinals to select a Pope). I think I decided then and there I might best retreat to the Lions’ Club convention down the street. At least they were collecting for a charity.
How had I gotten myself into this din of iniquity? Perhaps it was the books I was reading, or their authors: Papus, Levi,
It’s that simple. Or is it?
Aquino dropped out of the LaVey’s
As I was at that time a practicing occultist and member of the lunatic fringe, I went to the California conclave as a member of TOS's Austin, Texas group, headed by a college teacher of German and his curious wife, a Jewish woman married to an authority on rune lore, the same sort of occultic notions that became the basis of the Nazi religion. (I am told that they later divorced. I wonder who woke up first.) I attended several of their coven-style meetings in the teacher's home; and I participated in at least one brilliant ritual of ceremonial magic (or "magick" if one is Crowleyan) featuring some special effects James Whale would be proud of. I contributed to the couple's publication; in fact, wrote poetry for it. And I was given overnight lodging.Next morning, I would wind up alone with the wife, who was attractive but had the disposition of Lotte Lenya in From Russia With Love. Had I wanted to be told what to do, I could have stayed home and listened to my mother. We did have good conversations about the arts, and we must have discussed Wagner considering that one TOS member had brought Karajan's Parsival. Yes, yes, I know, Hitler is said to have graduated to Bruckner by the time he hunkered in the bunker, and I even hear that he took his Kool-Aide to the strains of the 7th, but the ideologs around him were dedicated Wagnerites, so amusingly satirized in Ken Russell's Mahler.
I was told, "If you want to attain to any higher grade in the Temple of Set, you must go to the California conclave." I made my reservations.On the flight out, I probably gave some thought to another, related subject which preoccupied me at the time: gnosticism. It might be said that this was my dualist phase, since gnosticism not only presupposes diametrically opposed but almost equally powerful deities, it ventured, in its more antinomian sects, a cockeyed view of the real world. Not only is matter inherently evil, the bogus god worshipped by Judeo-Christians as Yahweh or Jehovah rules over the world of matter, and only Abraxas -- or Abrasax: numerically, they are the same -- the God of the Gnostics, was Good. It is not a mere coincidence that such a world view dovetails with Zoroastrianism, and it is not unexpected that many TOS members were fascinated (in all senses of the word) with the Iraqi Yezidis, who more or less openly worship "the Devil," although web sites claim that Yezidism is "anti-dualist."
Setian conclave attendees impressed me with their occult knowledge and interest in psychology, and literature. The latter was more or less dictated by Aquino's books, including a guide to the temple designed to acquaint newcomers with the rich literature not only of Satanism, Egyptology, and ritual magic, but works by Machiavelli, crypto-nazis, and spies and spying. (One cannot express surprise Aquino would want recruits to read the latter, since spying was, after all, presumably a part of his Army Intelligence work.) There was Setian regalia, mostly little pins with images of the Egyptian deity most know as Typhon.
But the interest in the Third Reich was there as well. Aquino loved pecking orders and regimentation, and I even myself succumbed to penning essays on things like how could anyone intelligent not be a Setian?
The conclave, however, was a buzzing hive of other topics, mostly having to do with rumor and, although I had not seen them, published reports dealing with possible involvement of Aquino in an investigation of child abuse at the Presidio. (I do not wish to give a full account of this incident, since I don't want law suits, nor am I seeking death threats from True Believers. I am just stating that this matter was a major subject of discussion.) When he addressed the group, Aquino commented briefly on the charges against him and expressed a wish that if any of us had anything that would embarrass TOS, we should come forward and, if necessary, resign.
Unfortunately, I did not resign then and there. I should have realized Aquino's request meant sacrifice by a member to save a leader's skin, something that I find common to fascist organizations and brainwashing. As it happened, I had been publishing in British occult periodicals my experiences in ceremonial magick, my interest in Ganymede as an archetype, my knowledge of ritual crossdressing for invocational attempts to become One with the Goddess, and so forth -- hardly controversial if we remember Hamlet's "Nothing's right or wrong but thinking makes it so." A short-lived British magazine devoted to an occult appreciation of children published one of my essays, and the next I knew, Aquino was putting an underling into broaching the sensitive question of whether I liked boys.
I said that I thought they were "aesthetically beautiful." (It was an opinion held by Caravagio, Saint Saens, and hundreds of other great painters and composers.) Before giving Aquino the pleasure of excommunicating me, I resigned. Briefly, Aquino disrespecting me in the TOS blogasphere, calling me a pedophile. How he extrapolated that from the answer I had given him, I cannot say. I have never answered his accusation I am a practicing pedophile. But then, after all, I was not the accused of that crime by the U. S. Army. Perhaps Aquino was "projecting" (in the Freudian sense of the word).
Also, although I am not militant about it -- and dislike the television "outing" of child molesters as counter-productive -- I find pedophilia morally repugnant. It is against my personal code of ethics. The law regards sexual abuse of children as a crime -- and a malum in se, at that: a thing condemned by all societies throughout history. To me, it is a violation of a child's True Will. Unable to give informed consent to the adult perp, children under, say, 12, are not willing participants in such acts. At least, that is the legal justification for criminal sanctions against pedophiles. It is one of the few crimes (murder and rape are others) whose prosecution I heartily support, although imprisonment of pedophiles is inhumane. We've found a cure for so many things, and the recidivism of child molesters is great; isn't it about time we started working toward some technique for helping them with their problem?
On the other hand, most mala prohibita should not even be criminal, and in my imaginary crusade to remove them from penal codes, I begin by concentration on the so-called victimless crimes. Whose business is it but my own what natural and even chemical substances I introduce into my body? My body is mine. The drug laws in particular are abhorrent to me.
I was far less angry at Aquino for throwing me under the bus than for (1) putting a subordinate -- a boy -- up to doing what he, supposedly a man, out of simple decency, should have done himself, and (2) libeling me via the internet. But I cannot hold grudges for long -- they're self-defeating, aren't they? I have all but forgotten the entire affair. I am certain they haven't. Let them stew in their own juices.