Kayla + Chloe
Sapphistry: Dark Daughters of Chaos
Sister Bronwyn
For too long we have been silent and hidden.
We waited, while an imitation and inverted Wicca was peddled, its male dominance a contradiction of the feminine principle of the Old Religion.
We waited, while Chaos Magic was born, but nothing except the old lies. So here at last we speak, for ourselves.
To Nature we Daughters of Chaos are nearest.
Our magick is not a hobby we play in a city or a town – it is a return to the often tiresome hard reality of the land which nourishes and alone brings the vitality of life.
Sorcery is a fetish of the pale, male city dweller.
We are soft and yielding to each other to capture thus an aspect forgotten
and our Sapphic love a silent force which we send to awaken those who sleep.
We draw down upon ourselves through our way of loving a special power
and through our will send it forth – perchance to cover for an instant a city night,
bringing strange dreams to some…
There is laughter in us: no hard hatred of that which destroys.
Our spells, suckled by streams, spread perchance a little delight to a world too serious and nearly insane.
And yet we are Dark because we cross the currents of our time: even ‘liberation’ has become a chain that binds…
Sapphic love is the greatest magick of this time because it flows but does not ebb.
Sleep on then, and dream.
All that is strange exists in our soul. You cannot define us nor capture the exquisite fire that is our love, and our Rites return, silent unless at night outside and alone upon a hill you strain to hear, that subtle consciousness of Earth which our societies have lost.
Like the Sphinx – we come, bringing wonder and much that is strange.
And sometimes, like her, we devour to bring the darker death.
Saught – we are seldom to be found.
Though unsaught we might create your dream.
Beware then, you who talk so glib and practice with your wiles the submission of your woman: your Nemesis by us awaits.
Order of Nine Angles
Thank you Anton Long!
Sticky-Icky Sapphistry, by Chloe 352
Oowie, goowie, sticky icky, Messy Love
That gets all over your legs, Drip…Drip
Like two slimy molluscs, Snail Trails
Black bed sheets, all Pearly White
Two fingers in here, and two more Up There
Sticky chins and wet noses, Salt Lick
Stalina & Lenina, spreading the iron Beef Curtains
Secert under cover love agent, OctoPussy
Go down town for some bacon flaps and clam chowder, toss My Salad
Spread the Peace Sign and unhood her, Tickle Button
Panting chests, fluffy hair and, Sweaty Bodies
Excess gives way to a soft, Silent Recess
My fingers worshiping the curves of, Her Lips
To hear her breath, and lose myself in, Her Eyes
Somewhere in the silence and the cosmos of her pupils,
Pulsates the yearning of Plato’s Supernal God: Truth & Beauty.
For Kayla 
