Diary of a
Travelling Man

Amos Keppler 1961 - 2001

The years 1994 - 1997

The Nomad... Today it’s treated as an ancient concept. A concept exactly, not a reality, but something mankind has laid to rest long ago. A reality the mindset of modern society, civilization, conveniently encourage to stay dormant. Dormant it may be, but not gone, as they like to tell themselves, those who most of all represents one set of mind. This is a story of the nomad, one life or many, a story, an example, to show, to witness that the human spirit is not dead, that it is alive and kicking. It may be that it is dormant, that it is sleeping. When one take a good look at the so called civilized Man, one may be tempted, fooled, into believing just that. But you may be certain of one thing, you obedient sheep out there, you who have sacrificed freedom for safety, thrown away so easily your precious humanity: Whenever long any creature sleeps, it’s destined one day or one night, to awaken. The dream has not ended. A manchild may attempt to close open eyes tight. Our dreams floats to the surface. Steam is leaking from under the pushed down lid of the heavy kettle.
This is of course just the beginning. This page will grow in detail and quantity in the months to come. It will expand till it covers months, years, lives... There are journeys within journeys, both in the literal sense and within the mind and the soul. One man within many, many within one.


stretch the bow stretch the bow stretch the bow

London - October 1994.

It’s a hot autumn afternoon, so hot that it feels like summer.
It’s one day before the official start of «10 Days That Shook The World», The anarchist - gathering. this year. Today is October 19th. Ten days after a big demonstration in Hyde Park it explodes again.
I am quite simply put, pulled towards Parliament Square that day. Not by anything physical, nothing I could easily explain, but by a pull, a feeling I couldn’t deny.
The Square is already almost filled to the brim when I arrive and new people, single or in groups, arrive all the time. Somebody comes here to protest against one single law that will be passed inside the «impressive» building during the evening. Many comes to protest, to fight, against the system itself. To them (and I) The Criminal Justice Bill was just another law in a set of every single one, who should be cast on the garbage heap of history. Modern society contains many symptoms of the decease, but the real decease is Society itself.
It was a strange experience, everything that happened, everything i felt. Even if I did have participated in some rebellion and some («violent») demonstrations in my life up to that point, I never had experienced it quite like that before. Time seemed in fact, to slow to a crawl. I never looked at my watch. Not once! After the... trouble started and it started quite immediate and almost... imperceptible, I felt I was just wandering around, but I ran and everything happened very fast. I ran and ducked and howled in anger. The police mob sporting their full contending uniform with shields and the works, rolled towards and into us as a swarm of robotic, mechanical locusts. They started knocking us down with their huge clubs. In slow motion I saw blood flow from brows, heads and bodies, I saw people lying on the ground and cry in pain and I wondered when the same would happen to me. The noise, the single sounds of the calamity, I heard it all frighteningly clear. I was hardly more than a meter away when a policeman’s club hit an arm... I heard the bone break.
Somebody claim to this day that what happened in Hyde Park was worse. It’s hard to imagine, but so I’m told. Of course there are always something worse happening somewhere. It doesn’t change the profound anger or cool the liberating boiling blood in our veins.
We ran away. We were many, but (as usual) the police, the eager servants, had armament and better equipment on their side. We learned once more the bitter truth, that this was not, generally speaking, the right way of doing things in highly civilized communities like our own. I jumped, with several others, in panic, in exhilaration, off the pavement somewhere and down to the Embankment a considerable height below. I felt a slight pain in my ankle when I hit the ground, that was all. I pushed on.
Words... becomes even more insufficient. You believe you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, an abyss, on the brink of a precipice. The «natural» inclination is to take a step backwards, towards safety. Then you discover that you’ve already jumped and are covered by air from all directions. It’s impossible to know whether or not you’ll land on the opposite side, the other side of the big gorge.
I had never experienced anything remotely like it before, but the joy was equaled and even surpassed when I a few seconds, an eternity, later, discovered that I indeed had landed in relative safety «on the other side». It was a wild, almost delirious feeling. One I wanted and want to experience again and again and again.
Later I heard on the radio that the police gave the few remaining, more peaceful, less angry demonstrators an ultimatum. They ordered people to vacate the premises and so they did. Ten o’clock no one except the «anti - terror» troops remained. What a turndown.
At least it could have. To me at the time it didn’t really matter that much. I was more natural «high» that evening and night than I ever had been on the more obvious controlled substances.
I try to sleep, it ain’t easy. I’m sitting in a dark, unfamiliar apartment somewhere in London, together with many others strangers. I, and I suspect that’s the case with most of the others also, haven’t the foggiest idea where I am. I don’t care. None of us do. There are many others here, other strangers. Their eyes glow, like mine, their blood boil, like mine. The important thing is this evening, this night, how excited I am, we are. The activity in the small apartment is slowly fading. I feel sleep come, but I like the others, too, am more awake than ever before. We laugh together and compare ourselves with sardines, but the way we really feel are like eagles.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep, but was more awake than ever before. And I dreamt about Yggdrasil, The Tree of Life.

bownot bownot bownot

Early December 1994:

Did two seances/ masses with all in all 5 potential firechildren. Every part, preparation, execution and what came thereafter was an unqualified success.

I experienced visions and depth and a power that slumber in me. The iceberg rice to the surface, slowly, inevitably. I stood at the center of the silverstar/firestar and felt the power flow through me. Those who stood outside the ring experienced cold and frost for days thereafter. And I? I felt a vitality and an energy I had rarely experienced.

Robert asked me some days later: «Is there something to it»?

«Yes», I told him, «there is something to it»!

I bade both him and the others the next week to step inside the ring, the ring of fire and life. They refused.

They believed.

If this realization just made them scared or awakened their curiosity, remains to be seen.

January 31st - 1995

I had fasted and meditated for almost three days and nights when I full of Hunger, stumbled over my half year old, half written texts about Aleister Crowley. I completed the masterpiece in 36 hours without any break whatsoever. Neither food nor sleep nor interruptions gave me pause.

And after a 14 hours sleep and two delicious meals, there was even more to gain.

I tell you straight out. I suffered no ill - effects at all because of this week of indulgence and power. Rather I felt better, more alive than very few times before.

Time and space flow around me. I’m in one of my transitionary states now. Og not just because I’m between typewriters again, on my way to gain the (up till now) ultimate typewriter. I’m between states of being, of being and not - being. Dead and alive, if you wish.

What I in my earlier life, only have felt like ghosts and shadows, is now about to become visible and almost... solid before me. It’s a strange and ever frightening and wonderful feeling.

I gained insight in which words will always be inadequate.

Magic is only the power of the mind. Nothing more, nothing less. And the mind, like the whole human, is comparable to an iceberg. We see only a small part of it, but we sense a whole lot more.

We must move beyond even Magic, beyond concepts and labels. Reality does not fit into our limited perception of it.

The stated goal for most religions is for humanity to join/rejoin the universe. As if we’re not already a part of it.

Occultists also believe there are «a higher order», that (can) steer and guide humanity. As if there’s a need for such nannies and crannies.

I don’t believe in the existence of any higher order. The word «higher» in itself, used in this context, suggests the inferiority of the uninitiated and is one way of confirming the pyramid - like society. What are demons other than convenient ways to describe the heretic, the wild one, who has/develops the inner strength to stick to his/hers convictions... and to always question them.

Yes, I am the son of and the father of demons. To me humanity is quite easily explained. We’re made up of contradictions. We are the ant contemplating the universe and we are the universe contemplating the ant.

Vladimir Svareff
«current end - product»
50. night 12050
In one interim year of the abyss

  • Rule 1: Of course there are no contradictions...
  • Rule 2: If a contradiction should show up, refer to rule number 1...
  • Rule 3: There are no rules, only viewpoints.
  • March 1st 1996

    The Champagne washed the roof and our throats and veins. The chamber was lit by the soft darkness of the candles...

    "Travels and Revels, Life and Magic -
    Tales from Hell and Beyond -
    Aleister Crowley..."


    March 5th 1996.
    On the train to London, I philosophized over the pleasant fact that the fare had only been raised from 56 to 57 pounds. It’s several years since the price was raised last time and still just 1 pound. Life can be grand sometimes. A book I bought in Newcastle is there in my lap. Not a very good book, really, but I’m enjoying it still. I feel the old reckless feeling awake inside, outside, come to the fore, come to Life.
    I’ve missed it, without being fully aware the fact that I did. Before this moment now. I swear an oath to myself that I will forget nevermore. I feel I’m alive. I’m fully aware that I’ve said, thought and written this and its look alike many times before, repeated myself. It doesn’t matter. In this instance I honestly don’t give it a second thought, don’t give a damn. It feels... great to be alive. Again and again and again. I forget, but when I arrive here I remember.
    Life is without meaning, without purpose. This well developed philosophy has always held and will always hold, a special, positive meaning to me. It reminds me of life’s tiny irritating itches, of their tiny, tiny importance.
    During the whole day I’ve itched to write this down. It doesn’t disappear. It will never disappear. It never disappeared. It’s always here, in the hour of The Midnight Fire...

    London march 1996:
    People are sitting in their coffins and are just waiting for the lid to close. This is society, this is civilization. Never me, never again.
    «People» of today accepts what’s done to them with a shrug and a bowed head. And if they once in a seldom while should protest and think that they finally has endured too much, then they’re still content with just bits and pieces of the huge, tasty loaf that is their birthright. We. all of us, has both a right and a duty to live the life we’re born to live. They who hasn’t seen it yet, must realize that they’re breathing living beings and act on it. Is there a value any measurement what so ever beyond this? No, hell if it does! This is the sole and all compassing seemingly fantasy that makes life worth living. What pisses me off the most is when you tell people, with words and deeds, that the human spirit is still alive they spit on you and curse you. They know what they’ve lost and fear they’ll never be able to get it back.
    I must (in shame) admit that I, in the days and weeks before departure from «home», often thought the thought that there was nothing more to be gained, no more joy for me, at this place.

    I was wrong. Joyfully wrong.


    One Sherwood Forest
    48. night 12052
    The Second Year
    In the time of
    The Crimson Tide

    I did partake in an usual successful seance last night. It was one of those times when we could say convincingly and honestly to ourselves that it really worked. It happened on a hill, In One Sherwood Forest close to the rocks covered by grass. It made me bursting with magic and it made me remember...
    T he «first» time...
    I went down the stairs, into the dark and lucid cellar, because I wanted to find out who I am.
    T here were many other reasons of course, perceived at the time as conflicting, confusing, really one united and separate One. But this was the most important. I can say that now, in hindsight. Is it not what everyone wants, to know who they are?
    I t happened not in one single moment of «revelation» or such bullshit, but in those two days and two nights, something «started» that would grow and expand in the coming months and years. The danger and mystery embraced me, but it wasn’t anything I didn’t wanted. I embraced «it» with my whole being. It became a part of me. We are One.
    I n hindsight of course, I’ve realized that this is not entirely true... I never embraced anything that I did not already embrace long ago. It’s not the discovery that matters, though it’s not without its moments. It has been said many times in different ways, in different eras, here it comes once more, with feeling: The seeking and searching, the experience, is what is important. The finding (read: discovery) is just the icing of the cake. The start of another long run, a new mountain to climb.

    I ’ve always known me!
    Confessions of Amos Keppler
    Signed February 7, 1997
    (Western, christian time)



    Phoenix rising

    Children of The Midnight Fire