Reflecting Upon The Dandy Lion

Sitting stoned staring blankly at yet another shrine I have put together for dead friends. This one is dedicated to Sebastian Horsley. He wasn't everybody's cup of tea, nor would he have wanted to be. Even at his very worst he was far more refreshing to behold than a bag of dried leaves in hot water. One afternoon he crept up the stairs in Meard Street Soho, knocked on my door and gave me this lion's skull as it did not interest him.


He prefered humans


Aleister Crowley vs Sebastian Horsley

I wilt as Horsley berates the followers of Crowley, amongst other flotsom. Shot on a crapcorder by writer Christiana Spens.

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The Dawn of a New Error?

Greetings people of the planet digitalis. Here on this afternoon begins a blog amongst the trillions of others gasping for bandwidth. I have hopes that it will reach you in fair condition. It endeavours not to dull your senses in future postings.


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