(Supplied by a Monastic Aberrant.)

That Jones shall worship the god within him turns out ultimately to mean that Jones shall worship Jones. Let Jones worship the sun or moon, anything rather than the Inner Light; let Jones worship cats or crocodiles, if he can find any in his street, but not the god within. Christianity came into the world firstly in order to assert with violence that a man had not only to look inwards, but to look outwards, to behold with astonishment and enthusiasm a divine company and a divine captain. The only fun of being a Christian was that a man was not left alone with the Inner Light, but definitely recognized an outer light, fair as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners.

- G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

And eternal delight and deliciousness will be his, who coming to lay him down, can say with his final breath—O Father!—chiefly known to me by Thy rod—mortal or immortal, here I die. I have striven to be Thine, more than to be this world’s, or mine own. Yet this is nothing; I leave eternity to Thee; for what is man that he should live out the lifetime of his God?’

- Melville, Moby-Dick

You hand in your ticket and you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you when he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel to be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible!" as he hands you a bone
And something is happening here but you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?

- Bob Dylan

The Desert Fathers believed that the wilderness had been created as supremely valuable in the eyes of God precisely because it had no value to men. The wasteland was the land that could never be wasted by men because it offered them nothing. There was nothing to attract them. There was nothing to exploit. The desert was the region in which the Chosen People had wandered for forty years, cared for by God alone. They could have reached the Promised Land in a few months if they had travelled directly to it. God's plan was that they should learn to love Him in the wilderness and that they should always look back upon the time in the desert as the idyllic time of their life with Him alone.

The desert was created simply to be itself, not to be transformed by men into something else. So too the mountain and the sea. The desert is therefore the logical dwelling place for the man who seeks to be nothing but himself--that is to say, a creature solitary and poor and dependent upon no one but God, with no great project standing between himself and his Creator.

This is, at least, the theory. But there is another factor that enters in. First, the desert is the country of madness. Second, it is the refuge of the devil, thrown out into the "wilderness of upper Egypt" to "wander in dry places." Thirst drives man mad, and the devil himself is mad with a kind of thirst for his own lost excellence--lost because he has immured himself in it and closed out everything else.

So the man who wanders into the desert to be himself must take care that he does not go mad and become the servant of the one who dwells there in a sterile paradise of emptiness and rage.

- Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

Add quotes from 

Quixote has from fiction

make instead imposters and fraudsters?

Lambert Simnel (c. 1477 – c. 1525), pretender to the throne of England

Perkin Warbeck (c. 1474 – 1499), pretender to the throne of England

Lobsang Rampa (1910–1981), who claimed to be a deceased Tibetan Lama possessing the body of Cyril Hoskins and wrote a number of books based on that premise

Victor Lustig 

The Tichborne Claimant: 

George Psalmanazar: A fraudster who fabricated a history and language for a country he never visited

In “An Historical and Geographical Description of Formosa,” published in 1704, Psalmanazar wrote about the lives and customs of the Formosans, which he claimed included cannibalism, ingesting viper’s blood for breakfast and sacrificing thousands of young children every year to a Formosan god. Presenting himself as an exotic foreigner, Psalmanazar captured the interest of British high society and gave lectures about his alleged native land. He even invented an entire Formosan alphabet and language. 

Gregor MacGregor

A Scottish soldier, adventurer and colonizer who fought in the South American struggle for independence, Gregor MacGregorwas also one of the most famous con artists of all time as he, upon his return to England in 1820, claimed to be cazique of “Poyais”, a fictional Central American country that MacGregor had invented which, with his help, drew investors and eventually colonists.Not only did Gregor MacGregor gain the trust and hard-earned pounds of his eager would-be colonists, he also created a guidebook detailing the geography and abundant natural resources of his island off the coast of Honduras.By the time his 250 investors had sailed to the vacant patch of water where their island should have been, MacGregor was already rounding up his next group of colonists, this time from France. Undeterred by the eventual deaths of 200 of his first settlers, MacGregor went through the trouble of drafting a Poyois constitution naming himself as head of the republic. Even after his trial and conviction for fraud, this magnificent man continued selling non-existent land and stock to European nobility.

Mary Baker,

 the truth came out: she was actually a cobbler’s daughter, Mary Baker, from Devon. She had been a servant girl in various places all over England but had not found a place to stay. She had invented a fictitious language out of imaginary and gypsy words and created an exotic character.She continued her role in the USA, France and Spain without the same luck. Her story was the basis of the 1994 movie “Princess Caraboo”, written by John Wells.

Feral Chiidren

Kaspar Hauser - At first it was assumed that he was raised half-wild in forests, but during many conversations with Mayor Binder, Hauser told a different version of his past life, which he later also wrote down in more detail.[6] According to this story, for as long as he could remember he spent his life totally alone in a darkened cell about two metres long, one metre wide and one and a half high with only a straw bed to sleep on and two horses and a dog carved out of wood for toys.

Marcos Rodríguez Pantoja (ca. 1946, Sierra Morena, Spain) – He lived for 12 years with wolves until he was 19 in the mountains of Southern Spain

Marie-Angélique Memmie Le Blanc, the Wild Girl of Songi, also known as the Wild Girl of Champagne, France (1731)[14]:41–48[15] – This is the only case of a child having survived 10 years in the forests (from November 1721 to September 1731),[citation needed] and the only feral child who succeeded in a complete intellectual rehabilitation,[citation needed] having learned to read and to write. According to biographer Serge Aroles, Marie-Angelique was 19 years old when she was captured, learned to read and write, and died on December 15, 1775 at the age of 63.[44] An Amerindian from Wisconsin (then in French-claimed territory), she was brought to France by a lady living in Canada and then escaped into the woods of Provence in 1721.[citation needed]

Mediums / Occult

The Fox sisters. From left to right: Margaret, Kate and Leah
The Fox sisters were three sisters from New York who played an important role in the creation of Spiritualism: Leah (1831–1890), Margaret (also called Maggie) (1833–1893) and Kate (also called Catherine) Fox (1837–1892).[1] The two younger sisters used "rappings" to convince their much older sister and others that they were communicating with spirits. Their older sister then took charge of them and managed their careers for some time. They all enjoyed success as mediums for many years.

Gladys Osborne Leonard (1882 – 1968) is considered one of the greatest trance mediums in the annals of psychical research. She was referred..

"The diminutive Anna Eva Fay was heralded as one of the ‘greatest mind-reading phenomena’ of her century. After beginning her career as a spiritualist medium, she later switched to mentalism and became a famous and much celebrated performer of the art. Unlike Cumberland she wholeheartedly claimed no less than a psychic ability to peer into her audience’s minds and extract whatever information she so desired. This supernatural skill, she claimed, was gleaned from a time when she resided in Burm”

Eusapia Palladino, Warsaw, Poland, 1893
 Alexandr Aksakov (right) "controls" while Palladino levitates table, Milan, 1892.
esare Lombroso and Charles Richet "control" while Palladino levitates table, Milan, 1892.

lladino, 1894; Julian Ochorowicz(left) controls right hand; Dr. Ségard controls left hand and feet.
Eusapia Palladino (alternate spelling: Paladino; 21 January 1854 – 16 May 1918) was an ItalianSpiritualist physical medium.[1][2] She claimed to possess extraordinary powers such as levitating tables and communicating with the dead through her spirit guide John King, and other related supernatural phenomena. She convinced many of her powers, but was caught in deceptive trickery throughout her career.[3][4][5][6]

Lousiana Fortune Teller Stella May 1930s 4x6 photo Here is a neat collectible featuring a Louisiana State Fair photo of a fortune teller posing against her sign during the early 1930s as an 4x6 photo. This is an excellent reproduction of an old photo on quality photography paper not cheap ink jet stock. Size 4x6 inches. Reproduced photo is in mint condition. This photo will be shipped protected in a padded mailer. Check out my other photos and vintage collection in my Shopify Store. Please note the Photoseeum fine print in the foreground of all the photos will not be in the printed version you purchase. All of our photos are developed in photo labs, using the finest photography stock available such as Kodak & Fuji or other quality brand name product. We do not print off our photos on cheap inkjet home printers, like so many other photo sellers here on Shopify. The old saying here get what you pay for. If you do end up buying 4 or more photos, Shipping is Free Worldwide.

Man From Nod

I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

See my wife of thirty years
Her face is ruined from her tears

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

See my child with eyes so bright
The stars are hidden from his sight

O I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

My mother is draped in robes of shame
Fears to use my father’s name

Well I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

My other child is buried deep
Sings my dreams when I sleep

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

They say he sleeps on a cold grey stone
Holes for eyes and snow-white bones

Well I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

Yes I’m a man from the Land of Nod
On my way to see my God

Hummingbird Lullabye

Hummingbird lullabye
And sweet apple wine
The days have grown shorter
And I can't seem to find
My way out of the darkness
That's surrounded my life
Hummingbird lullabye
And sweet apple wine

A ribbon and a rose
An old photograph
I sit on the curb
I can still hear her laugh
Inside my memory
It's all that I have
A ribbon and a rose
And an old photograph

A rowboat on a river
And the stars up above
I lay down and drift down
Away from my love
Who waits in the garden
Is it me she dreams of
A rowboat on a river
And the stars up above

Three teeth of silver
And the Old Laughing Bone
I've traveled for years
Trying to find my way home
I've sat in garden
I'm forever alone
With three teeth of silver
And the Old Laughing Bone

Transcendental Pretense

All these drugs
Are such a skull fuck dream
Take you down
Like you've never seen
Ride that horse
Kick in the saddle
Wrap your tongue
Around a ping-pong paddle
Swing real hard
Hit the little ball
Over the net
She broke the see-saw

A bottle of wine
Sitting in the sun
See that juice
As it run run runs
Take a drink
Twenty hits of acid
Come down a week later
See where that wine went
It's in through your mouth
And down through your body
Hold me down Jesus
With your black belt karate

Hit me in the spine
Crack's so fine
Break me in two
All over you
Shatter my heart
Right here on the spot
Injure my vanity
To upset my sanity
I'm crazy in love
Love like crazy
One hit from you
And I feel so lazy

Lying in the middle
Of your cosmic legs
Dive into a puddle
Of some scrambled eggs
Back in the bedroom
Melt in the full moon
Howl with the possum
He's playing a good tune
Sit with me Devil
Up here on the fence
Let's try to make some sense
Of this Transcendental Pretense

Simple Head Sitting on a Simple Man

Simple head sitting on a simple man
Draw a circle around your bones
We drew a straight line
We're doing what we can
Simple head sitting on a simple man

Totem poles all lined up in a row
See a figure eight lie down and dream
Stand straight as you can
Look down below
Totem poles all lined up in a row

Kelly Bellows in a dreamscape full of rain
Tears falling, falling down your face
We danced with the clowns
Sang the song of the human race
Kelly Bellows in a dreamscape full of rain

Exploitation is simple and up on the wall
The simple man he's screaming at you all
The metaphor falls apart
And still you see the water fall
Exploitation is simple and up on the wall

Kingdom Come

I'm going to lie so still now
Going to take my time today
Back down to a place I know
I got a raft
I'll float away

My body is so full of bones
Always going to be my home
No matter what the devil says
Not with his sticks
Not with his stones

I've got a soul on fire
And every old man that I know
Is sitting playing dominos
Getting drunk
In the choir

I'm going to take my words back now
Going to take my name away
Lie down in that grave
With a smile
On my face

God Won’t Leave Me Alone

O I've been drinking
All night again

O I've been thinking
About dying again

You won't forgive me
For my sins

You won't forget me
Again and again

God won't leave me alone
Even though he's broken all my bones

O I've been writing
A book of blood

O I've been fighting
Almost everyone

God won't leave me alone
Even though he's broken all my bones


The heart, once consumed with desire
is thankfully wasting away.
The dying animal is reconciled
to the leash of the eternal thing.

I still search for that golden bough.
I still search for a place to sing.
In a desolate and abandoned Byzantium,
soon, soon, I hear it whispering.

The mind, full of holy fire
is emptied into eternity.
And my memories, like birds on a wire
Have all flown away from me.

I still search for that golden bough.
I still search for a place to sing.
In a desolate and abandoned Byzantium,
soon, soon, I hear it whispering.

And you, in your tattered dress
no longer long to dance with me.
An old man's sad happiness
depends upon such paltry things.

I still search for that golden bough.
I still search for a place to sing.
In a desolate and abandoned Byzantium,
soon, soon, I hear it whispering.

Fresh Hay

The flesh filled smeared over 
with the smudge of time,
difficulty moving, out of breath quickly,
trouble sleeping, trouble staying awake.

The failure of stamina.
I imagine a Gulliver figure aging
in a Lilliputian world,
the diminutive devils of sickness, old age, death
throwing ropes over his form,
bending the spine closer to earth,
dragging down the skin over the bones,
slowing the stride to a sad shuffle.

Mostly, it is a persistent tiredness,
a dull exhaustion with the world.

I cast a cold eye on the happiness and joy of others.
This public laughter.
A family running around the park with children.
A father lifting his little girl into the air.
A mother riding on a grocery cart through a parking lot,
her children happily running along beside.
Lovers giggling face-to-face over private jokes.

Enthusiasm in older people is a particular sin.
Men singing the trivial praises of a beer or a new band or a recent film.
Even worse: the old trying to blend in amongst the young.
The masque of overabundance,
the false enthusiasm, the forced smiles,
the affect of being free of cares,
hiding like reptiles amongst a herd of sheep.
Showing their shaking hand
as they glance surreptitiously at the clock,
their faces falling in unguarded moments,
the grey slack skin yawning around the bloodshot eyes,
revealing the vacant countenance
of the skull waiting underneath it all.

These petty crimes of humanity...
aren't they all always petty in this regard?
I am as guilty as anyone.

However, tending to the fire
of this awareness seems everything.
I figure the old man feeding the broken down nag
in the barn for all of his life,
awaiting the return of the hero.
Still better, I say to myself,
as I shovel fresh hay into the coffin of the stall,
than being lost in there with all the others.
In There.
Standing outside in the gloom of the brain's evenings,
outside the luminous frame of the window,
careful to stay unseen in the shadows,
looking in upon the merry pageant
of other's desperate happiness,
thinking always how fortunate I am
to have made such wise choices in my life,
lesser traveled paths
that have led me to this strange watch
I hold outside of the drama,
that warm life, laughter and love
in there.

I mock myself laughter,
move deliberately into the light
so as to spy my ludicrous shadow
and descant upon mine own deformity.

I return to the ruined nag in the stall,
this ghost of a horse,
this trembling bag of bones
curled into the corner.

I whisper its name,
trying to divine if there is still life in the creature.
One sad eye opens.
The weathered head lifts slightly.
I say the name again,
rare warmth returning to my voice:

Blues for Dead God

Blues for Dead God
Haunting the sky
Poem for a broken man
With no reason why
Blood on the bones
Dancing in the grave
Living is just dying a little
longer every day
God ain’t nothing but a Monster Ghost
I think it’s Love that I’m gonna miss the most

Prayer for a woman
Who opened her chest
Gave me her heart
Said forget all the rest
Like the English Language
Stepping out of it’s skin
Speaking in tongues
Before it was a sin
I said I wanted it but I didn’t know the cost
I think it’s Love that I’m gonna miss the most

Last words for a Savior
Nailed to a cross
I found a bone in the Desert
Before I knew I was lost
Covered in honey
I set myself on fire
Lift up the Skull of God
Higher and higher
I don’t nothing by a scarecrow hung on a post
I think it’s Love that I’m gonna miss the most

Whisper in my ear
When I’m deep in the grave
Hold my in your arms
Every time that you pray
Dance with my bones
In the dark of the night
Throw my skull on the fire
And let my spirit burn bright
God ain’t nothing but a Monster Ghost
I think it’s Love that I’m gonna miss the most

Me and the Devil Blues

Well it’s a darkness visible and a world on fire
Everyone is burning in a dream of desire
Desolation in the Desert and an Empty Cross
I had a map of heaven but in hell I was lost
Rain coming down like tears of pain
The Devil and Me are riding on a train

I got Skull of God in my suitcase
Last words of Jesus tattooed on my face
Tore the wings of Gabriel to make my coat
And Adam’s apple is still stuck in my thought
The world is ending nothing is gonna be the same
The Devil and Me are riding on a train

I once knew a woman called Memory
But I can’t remember what she did to me
The Devil’s keeps singing some sad old song
Saying she was right but I was wrong
No matter what I do, it all stays the same
It’s just the Devil and me riding on a train

Well the Devil is laughing asking it I want to smoke
Hold out a handful of rocks I say, well I’m flat broke
He says, not to worry we can work it out
You can pay me later on the River of Doubt
I was sorely tempted I must honestly say
To make that deal with the Devil on the Hellbound Train

I say I got a bottle of tequila and a book of spells
To keep my true to my word while I’m sitting in hell
He says that tequila won’t last and your language is a dream
Made of sighs and whispers and cries and screams
There once was hope but none remains
It’s just the Devil and Me riding on a train

Go ahead and take my tequila and all your rocks
Burn me in fires and stop all the clocks
The Skull of God is like thunder in my hands
I’m gonna step out of my skin and my bones will dance
And these bones aint gonna ever feel no pain
It’s the Devil and Me riding on a train

The Devil he laughed and he knew I was right
And we drank tequila and smoked all night
And I passed out under the Skull of God
And dreamed I walked to Eden from the Land of Nod
When I woke up I was hungover insane
Just riding alone on that Hellbound Train

There’s a book

There’s a book
From all the years
It spent howling

There’s a page
That appeared
In the House
Where I was hiding

And the words
Tell of a man
Who was lost
In the life he was living

And the letters
Drawn in the sand
And no one remembers

There’s a story
With ragged hymns
As thin as
A spiderweb

And a writer
With too many sins
And far too much
Time on his hands

And his life
Tells of a man
Who was lost
In the myth he believed in

And his words
Are buried in sand
Fading away
As soon as he speaks them

40 Days in a Hole

I spent
40 days in a hole
Where it's going
Watching wheels roll

Well, I've been down deep
Under the sea
I've seen things
No one should ever see

Now you come back
Make my spine go crack
I need another hit
Before I have an attack

Of lost soul lonely
Love in a tin can
On an island all alone
A footprint in the sand

Well, it ain't nothing
To bleed until there ain't no blood
I walked thirteen miles
My boots caked with mud

To hold the heart of God
On a nail through my hand
To close my eyes and dream
The existence of man

Who never lived for nothing
Outside of his soul
Who never tried to understand
What he was told

He just sat there grinning
Shotgun in his mouth
Pull the trigger down
I heard the shotgun shout

It's blood on the tiles
And some toothless smiles
It took me forty days
To walk thirteen miles

And no blood running
And no white lies
No precious tears
On the blade of a knife

And it’s no blood running
And no white lies
No precious tears
On the blade of a knife

Now you come back
Make my spine go crack
I need another hit
Before I have an attack

Of your love