Full transparency, I got into magick because I wanted Lambos. That's it. Lambos and to be on the cover of Hit Parader with a band, looking like a guy who pumps gas for a living but also happens to play drums. So naturally, like any rational human being, I dove headfirst into devil worship.
Now. I found a guy. Haunting a thrift store. Which, in retrospect, should have been the first sign. He said he could show me the ropes, black candles, a butter knife that had to be buried under a blood moon, and apparently, somewhere in the curriculum was desecrating headstones, which even by devil worship standards seems like kind of a dick move. Two nights of hanging out in this dudes garage, not doing a single thing involving devil worship, listening to music so bad it was almost impressive, and drinking beer that tasted like it was filtered through a dumpster, and I thought, you know what, I don't think the devil is getting these Lambos delivered anytime soon. So I bailed.
OK, none of that is actually true.
The real story is this, Catholic guilt, which as a delivery system for spiritual curiosity, is remarkably efficient. Then the Satanic Bible, which is a hell of a costume but fits like someone else's shoes. Then Demonolatry, which was the first time ceremonial magick looked me dead in the eye and said pay attention, kid. Closer. Still not home. Then years of wandering shelves. Then Lon Milo DuQuette. Then Crowley. Then Thelema.
And what actually brought me here? I just kept asking questions that polite society pretended it didn't hear. Some people want to summon demons. Some want power, forbidden knowledge, cosmic revenge on an ex. Me? I'm just trying to summon a version of myself that doesn't suck. One Resh, one LBRP, and one Qabalistic Cross at a time.