Marvel John Whiteside Parsons, who no one outside of a small handful of weirdos had ever even heard of until very recently, is the subject of a new prestige series based on the biography written by George Pendle.
The series, airing on CBS All-Access this summer, is produced by the living legend, Sir Ridley Scott.
Aside from Alien:Covenant, Sir Ridley most recently got mixed up in the Secret Sun-o-Sphere with his movie on the JP Getty III kidnapping (All the Money in the World), the one starring Braintree's favorite stepson Mark Wahlberg, Heath Ledger's widow and a hastily-recast Kevin "Little" Spacey. Because it's 2018 and needs must.
I'm sure many of you are familiar with Parsons and his Babalon Working, as well as his relationship with Scientology founder L.Ron Hubbard, not to mention the Great Beast 666 himself.
Less well-known is that Parsons was also friendly with Kenneth Anger of Lucifer Rising fame, a detail of history recounted to yours truly by none other than Anger himself.
In case you haven't heard a million times already, Parsons was born the very day that Charles Taze Russell, founder of the Jehovah's Witnesses, predicted the Apocalypse would come.
Given that Parsons pioneered the use of the fuels that propel rockets-- and by extension, nuclear missiles-- maybe ol' Chuckie T. just got a bit ahead of the timeline. Very excitable chap, I've heard tell. Mrs. Taze referred to him as the "minute-man." Or so I've been told.
And so the Babalon Working, which was essentially several days of fapping, chanting and waving swords around, was intended to summon Mystery Babylon the Great of Revelation 17 fame, and bring on the Apocalypse. As one does.
Maybe our Jack got a little ahead of the timeline himself.
Beyonce Knowles (no relation) was born on September 4, the date the last Roman Emperor fell as well as the day of the Great London Fire of 1666. Fallen, fallen is Babalon the Great.
Mystery Beyoncebalon also headlined Coachella 13 (thirteen) years after Our Lady and her Unmercenary Musicians were slated to play the festival, only the Sibyl sensed the demonic energies infesting those California foothills and demurred. Either that or couldn't stand to be in the same room with her ex-partner anymore. I tend to vacillate on the matter.
Following the Babylon Working, Jack Parsons returned to Pasadena only to encounter one Marjorie "Candy" Cameron, whom Parsons called his "elemental."
And of course, Marjorie means "Pearl" and Cameron is a Scottish name. A name shared by mad MKULTRA scientist Ewen Cameron, Greater Stirlingshire neighbor of a certain angelic thrush you may have a heard a thing or two about around these parts time and again.
Following Parsons' gruesome death in 1952, Cameron took to painting and occasional acting, appearing in occult-themed productions like Anger's Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome and Curtis Harrington's Night Tides, in which she played an evil mermaid. Or Siren, if you prefer.
Night Tides starred Dennis Hopper, who shocked audiences as psychotic Frank Booth in David Lynch's 1986 opus Blue Velvet. No, seriously. People were walking out in literal shock halfway through the picture when I first saw it. A lot of people. In New York City, FFS.
Incidentally, Lynch had intended to use This Mortal Coil's cover of Tim Buckley's "Song to the Siren" as the centerpiece of the film.
In fact Lynch planned to cast a certain Scottish belle and her beastly beau (that you may or may not be familiar with) in the film as well. As a kind of dry run for the Bang-Bang Bar performances on Twin Peaks. Sadly, plans fell through. Blame Dune.
Anyhow, Cameron's work became highly prized among collectors, particularly those of an occultic bent. Through utter happenstance, her ballpoint pen sketch of a Siren v1.0 is in the permanent collection of the Getty Museum in Los Angeles.
The Gettys again. Why, those filthy rich rascals and their occult monkeyshines!
As Lady Fate would demand, David Lynch finally got to use the Sibyl's rendition of "Song to the Siren" in 1997's Lost Highway.
The song was featured in a stylish sex scene between Patricia Arquette and-- wait for it-- Balthazar Getty, son of the Getty scion around whom Sir Ridley's recent film hinges.
Not long after the film's release, the son of "Song to the Siren's" composer--and onetime lover of the woman who made it famous-- died by drowning beneath the large black pyramid in Memphis, Tennessee.
Y'know, it's almost like there's a cult out there, a secretive cult of powerful businessmen and entertainment figures.
A cult who may or may not sense that all of these stories they fixate on and/or make films and TV shows about-- stories of disincarnate beings from other realities, if not the stars-- somehow manifested themselves in these strange, tragic figures whose lives to seem to act out very, very ancient dramas indeed.
Well, almost. Weirder things have happened, I suppose.
Speaking of elementals, there's a new TV series based on Swamp Thing in the works.
Ol' Swampy actually has a couple TV series, one live-action and one short-lived cartoon, as well as a couple cheapie features on his CV. Ol' Mucko never made much of an impact on the screen but hey, there are only so many truly-viable comic book franchises to exploit. And there are dollars to count.
Bonus factoid: Swamp Thing was originally a scientist who got blown up, like that Parsons fellow.
Swampy's true claim-to-fame is in his OG comic book series, the original run in the early 70s and the 80s reboot that brought one Alan Moore of Northampton, UK to our shores.
It was on this title that Moore first blew American comic fans away and lifted a title I think literally no one actually read but me to the top of the charts.
Bonus factoid: Moore started his run the same month Head Over Heels hit the shops.
I'm happy to say I got in on the ground floor with the Great Mage since as I said, I think I was literally the only person on Earth who was actually reading this title before he signed on. And so it was that Moore kicked my fucking face in with his initial arc on this title, as he would later do with the community at large.
Mother of Eff, I feel so sorry for young people these days.
So it's possible- if not likely-- that I was re-reading "The Anatomy Lesson" that fateful Sunday night when the Voice hijacked the broadcast of Nocturnal Emissions with Bradley J on WBCN 104.1 FM and called to me from across Infinity and from after Eternity.
The Voice told me that she had been watching me-- me, can you believe it? I mean, honestly!-- from the orial, from the balustrade and From The Flagstones. I felt so special.
The Voice added-- quite cryptically, I might add-- that I may cajole, I may cajole, but my very soul was hers from that moment on, and we both knew it.
I went to her and I went to her broke. Without a doubt. Straight out of a Philip K Dick novel, after a fashion. Only slightly less psychotic. Just slightly, mind you.
Oh fuck, "Swamped." Cut my heart out already. Just do it now.
Here, with this broken Heineken bottle.
Yeah, I was doing some very heavy dreaming (plus smoking so much weed I almost turned into a bush) at the time and this shit? God, it fucks me up but good just thinking about it. I can't really go into it right now so just take my word for it.
"Alec, Alec, come back..." Gah. Fuck.
Shit....
Talk amongst yourselves for a moment, OK?
No, I just got something in my eye. I was just, uh, cutting onions.
And then "Another Green World," which I didn't realize at the time was named after a Brent Mini Brian Eno solo album. I didn't need to really. I was all over this shit. Did I mention all the weed? What a time.
So after that thermonuclear revelation I have to confess that Watchmen was a bit of a damp fart. At least at first.
A lot of it had to do with the sheer tedium the art instilled in me (mind you, Dave Gibbons is a very fine artist but still..) and the fact that I was letting Frank Miller curb-stomp my soul with Dark Knight Returns. Plus, that those first dozen issues of Moore's Swamp Thing was a dragon I was still very much chasing. OCD.
Actually, I am one of a handful of people who prefers the Zack Snyder film to the comics. But hey, I'm used to being in the extreme minority. Saga of the Swamp Thing from the jump, baby. You don't get more extreme than that.
And this TV series? Meh. Meh, I tell you. What, Damon Lindelof? Does he have to write everything? Moving on...
Hah, funny corporate propaganda. Funny trademark ass-coverers. Funny convoluted bullshit.
Convoluted bullshit is funny.
Secret Sun readers know that THIS is what inspired the name and logo of Starbucks.
Many are called but few are chosen. The gate is narrow.
Secret Sun readers, particularly readers from back in the day, aren't surprised by the success of the Siren TV series either, or the hype that's kicked up in its wake.
Or by the beyond-ubiquitous mermaid-this and mermaid-that and the mermaid-the other thing that you see everywhere your rest your gaze these days.
People tell me all the time that they can't go into any store anywhere without being accosted by miles of mermaid merch. Like they're surprised I was right!
Yeah, I'm changing my name to Chrissandra. No one believes my dopey prophecies until it's too late.
I guess I should have accepted Apollo's friend request on Facebook. I don't know, it was weird. He kept poking me. Made me kind of uncomfortable.
