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It seems so long ago; the day a teenager, a boy named Allister Crawley, walked into that hotel, confident as hell applying for a job fresh out of high school and being awe struck by the hotels interior with all the black granite and the modern Chinese décor.

The only job available at the time with his limited qualifications and skill level was a doorman’s position. He grabbed it as soon as it was offered. There was no real interview held.

The concierge of the hotel Jean Claude, a Frenchman or should I say a Quebecois, took him up to a room on the second floor and asked him a few personal questions about his childhood then hired him on the spot, right then and there. He must have made a good impression because he was asked to start work the next day.


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The scene: As Allister entered the park and sits on a bench, an old antique car comes down the street, the sun had not risen yet...

Two headlights from a car coming up the street stopped then pulled in behind two or three parked cars, it could have been four. No one was counting. The other cars being early birds, what was it four-thirty, five? They had already parked, grabbing the couple of free parking spots at the meters along the curb. The law wasn’t enforced until six o’clock. There was still plenty of time before he and all of them would have to move or risk getting ticketed and towed.

Its headlamps shone over the roofs of the others. Bright like high-beams, so bright you’d be squinting if you were looking at them. The humming sound of its engine echoed on the surfaces of the sleek glass surrounding buildings, like a fine toothed Singer or a Honda motor bike. Being cool enough, the exhaust fumes coming from its tailpipe were being illuminated by the only streetlight close behind it, rising, swirling and then disappearing into the dawn’s dark sky above it.

Sitting there idling away its headlights finally went out and the motor was shut-down. All was quiet again. No one got out! The door never opened!
After a few minutes, the engine was fired up again, its sound reverberating off the surrounding buildings then the headlamps came on, shining out over the tops of the other cars like it had before.

Backing up first, it pulled out into the street, then stopped at the traffic light on the corner, near the entrance to the park and turned left and disappeared driving up Thurlow Street.

The man would have seen it if he were facing that way but he was facing the other way, trying to get comfortable, taking out the laptop from inside his coat and setting it in his lap.

He sat there in that frozen position for an unusual amount of time gazing at the laptops apple emblem with the bite taken out of it for at least, I swear, thirty seconds, the damn thing still closed.


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A few years ago, if you stood on the corner here and looked west up the street you would have seen the hotel, almost hidden, lodged between those two newer, taller, sleeker looking buildings, over there made of glass. At one time the building was considered to be the tallest building west of the Rockies, the pride of the city.

Now, the hotel no longer exists, the building having been demolished many years ago and where it once stood there is that vacant lot now turned into this little garden park, where workers from the surrounding skyscrapers can escape the hectic life of business, grabbing a few rays of sunshine when it’s not raining, eat their lunches that is, if it’s not raining, or have a smoke, raining or not, even though, there are postings all around that say you can’t.


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The man's name is Allister Crawley, similar to Aleister Crowley. I will explain later but as Allister sits there, pigeons start to gather at his feet. They know him and he knows them. It goes like this...

...Allister said, thinking that the pigeons, which had started to flock at his feet, on the pathway in front of him were actually interested in hearing what he had to say.

He had a name for each one of them. There was Pecker, who did nothing but peck the ground. There was one he named Helen, he thought a female but wasn’t sure, after his mother, it was his favourite. Then, there was Gimpy, with one deformed foot, almost facing backwards. Allister felt sorry for him and gave him a little more attention than he gave the others. He loved watching it scratch the dirt. Having a disability didn’t seem to stop him. He named Sue after Sue from work. He thought she was the prettiest and most of the time, is the first to arrive and always lands on the bench beside him.

She had a few white feathers around her neck, which made it look as if she were wearing a necklace, which reminded Allister of Sue and her necklace, a Black Alaskan pendant on a gold chain. She always flaunted in front of him, so he named the pigeon after her.

They all seemed to know him as well. If he were late, Helen would walk around the pathway like a peacock, as if pissed off, wouldn’t even come up on the bench with him, no matter how much coaxing from Allister.


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In this opening scene, the man that has just entered the park is obviously a homeless person and takes a seat on a park bench...

...He knows the little park inside and out, being around since it was first planned, plotted and planted. A park where he might find a place to sleep or might find food in the few garbage cans scattered around the park, or where he might have a piss or a shit if he had too. There was also the added benefit of finding the occasional butt tossed and stomped lying here or there on the gravel pathway that divided the park, slicing it right down the middle, with manicured turf on both sides sloping down to the path, soft enough to sleep on, that to him, wet or not, still looked awfully inviting...


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What type of influences did Aleister Crowley have on the rock group from the sixties, the Beatles?

If you look at the picture on the album cover of the Beatles 'Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, you'll see Aleister Crowley. Many people in the picture, musicians, actresses and actors, politicians, intellectuals and other famous people were influenced by him, including Jimmy Page who bought Aleister Crowley's old home called Boleskine House and lived in it for a few years.

John Lennon wanted a likeness of Jesus to be used but since he started telling people he was more popular than Jesus Christ, the men pulling the strings at head office, dropped the idea. Lennon also wanted Adolf Hitler but he too was rejected.

Aleister Crowley is up in the top left hand corner. On his right is the swami, Sri Yukteswar and on his left the sexy Mae West.

There are many theories as to why Aleister Crowley made the cut to be on the cover over others but as time goes by, the chance of ever knowing are getting slimmer and slimmer and we may never know.

Just another fact that makes Aleister Crowley a little more mysterious. If not eternal, his image will be everlasting.

Hey, the Beatles are the Beatles, that album will last for eternity, which means so will Aleister's likeness. Up in the top row, of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band Album Cover.


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Let me give you a brief outline on who this Aleister Crowley character is. Though not the main character of the book 'Raising Aleister' he does play a significant role in its creation...

His mother was in the habit of calling little Aleister Crowley, "You little beast!" from the book of Revelation. Little did she know the name would stick. Aleister took on the title of the 'Beast' using '666' as his signature name.

Crowley was born Christian but never practised or believed in it, in Royal Lemington Spa in Warwickshire in 1875, a beer brewers son. He studied at Cambridge and after his father died he inherited a considerable sum of money.

He became heavily interested and involved with the occult, magic and alchemy, joining the 'Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn' with other intellectuals and poets of the time; W.B. Yeats, Dion Fortune to name a few.

Deemed to be too unlikeable of a man and a homosexual, he was expelled from the Golden Dawn, so set up his own temple, on the shores of the famous Loch Ness, of sea-monster fame.

He believed in his own form of sacred 'Magick,' always spelling it with a k, coining the word, using it as a tool to allow him to speak not only to Demons but God himself, using your will alone to make changes to the physical world.
Much of what Crowley wrote about was so distasteful, so shocking, foul and evil that he was labelled a Black Magician. In reality that was far from the truth, he opposed it, even forbade it.

From a newspaper article in 1933:

"To practice black magic you have to violate every principle of science, decency and intelligence. You must be obsessed with an insane idea of the importance of the petty object of your wretched and selfish desires. I have been accused of being a 'black magician.' No more foolish statement was ever made about me. I dispise the thing to such an extent that I can hardly believe in the existence of people so debased and idiotic as to practice it.

—Aleister Crowley (from An A to Z of the Occult - Simon Cox)

He believed in the Law of Thelma, a complex philosophy of free will, which many confused with Black Magic. He also believed he had a Guardian Angel named, Aiwass.

I think what Crowley was trying to tell us was; that we each have free will to live out our destinies and exercise our free will as we see fit, but only if no one got hurt in the process and everyone participating is in agreement but along with this so called freedom we have a responsibility and a need to be self-disciplined.

To his credits, in 1907 he formed his own occult society, the Argentinian Astrum, The Order of the Silver Star and wrote many prized books and articles on the occult. He was a philosopher.

To his discredits, he thought he found the secret to eternal youth, an elixir of life, through his Alchemy endeavours. As imagined, nothing became of it. He was gullible.

Today, most of Crowley's paraphernalia is owned by Jimmy Page, guitarist for Led Zeppelin, who also owned and lived in Boleskine House for a short time, Crowley's house.

A known heroin addict and homosexual, the hedonistic Crowley died in a rooming house at the age of 72 in 1947, broke, suffering from asthma and bronchitis due to his heavy smoking and drinking and late night partying. His doctor died within 24 hours of his death. Many believe that Crowley put a curse on the doctor for letting him become addicted to drugs. But that will never or can be proven.

There are no 'standards of right'. Ethics is balderdash. Each Star must go on its own orbit. To hell with 'moral principle' there is no such thing. —Aleister Crowley

He was a man of his word, holding out to the end with his beliefs. His most famous poem 'Hymn to Pan' was read at the closing of his funeral.

Hymn to Pan

I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan!
I am they mate, I am they man.
Goat of they flock, I am gold, I am god,
Flesh to they bone, flower to they rod.
With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks
Through solstice stubborn to equinox.
And I rave, and I rape and I rip and I rend
Everlasting, world without end.
Mannikin, maiden, maenad, man,
In the might of Pan.
Io Pan! Io Pan! Pan! Io Pan!


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The Abbey Of Thelema

A religious commune of sorts, the Abbey of Thelema opened its doors in 1920. It lasted only a few short years and I’m not even sure if it’s still standing today and if you wanted to visit the place you’d have to travel to a small town called Cefalu, that’s over in Europe, in Sicily, Italy to find out. The building has never been occupied since, at least that’s what I’ve heard. The odd black and white Polaroid photo of it pops up on the Internet every now and then. They show the condition it was in when the photo was taken. The last picture I’ve seen was in 2004. The building was pretty far gone then, I don’t know what it looks like now.

It was basically just a square stucco shack with a door and a couple of windows. Really, nothing special to look at, consisting of a few mural clad rooms, abandoned after Mussolini’s Nazi troops discovered what was happening there. They heard the rumors that were being spread around town about the place and were watching. When they did raid the place everyone inside was rounded up and either shot or deported but before that happened, for a few dedicated souls it was the Abbey of Thѐlema, a temple, a spiritual learning centre.

You’d be hard pressed to find it now, the property having all grown over and you might not even recognize it to be the Abbey, even if you were standing out front and it staring you right in the face.


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He also wrote this book, The Book of Law, in 3 days supposedly dictated to him by an alien named, Aiwass. It became the basis for a religion called Thelema.

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Written by Aleister Crowley
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