THE MYSTERY OF THE NOLUCK (Background music, +quot;Laura's Theme+quot; from Twin Peaks) Di
THE MYSTERY OF THE NOLUCK
(Background music, "Laura's Theme" from Twin Peaks)
Diane, as I stand here in the Valley of the Stag, clutching my bag
of donuts, wondering what mysterious things will enter my view in
the next few moments, I want to tell you everything about my past,
whether it's germane or not.
My past whirls around my head (or is that flies?). I'm not sure
where to begin. My mother used to read a lot of Theosophical works
before I was born. I remember it well, the hard edge of the books
pushing on my nose as she rested them on her stomach. She read
aloud, screaming the words into her navel. How could I help but be
born knowing it all? It was then the Gods chose me.
(There's only one jelly donut in here, Diane. That will make it
more difficult to recall all the juicy details.)
In 1972 or 1734, I don't remember which year, I actually touched a
book on the Craft. It was What Witches Do by Fewart Starar. I
leafed through it, and put it aside. I didn't need anyone who had
studied to tell me what witches do. I'd known in the womb. I didn't
accept their explanation about the need for nudity. After all, if
the Gods had meant us to run around without clothes, we'd have been
born that way.
January, 1974 (or 1794?). It was in Costa Mesa that the Gods struck
again. I found myself in a Volkswagen bug with -- yes, Diane, it
was MORTON! He was blond and dressed in a red velveteen rabbit
suit. We were on a quest, seeking a communication device, or a 7-11
with a clerk that spoke English, whichever came first.
We managed to find the communication device, and opened Channel D.
Having accomplished our quest, we returned to the orgy. Nothing
much happened with Morton that night. There were five ex-GI's at
the party, swarming around me like flies on a garbage truck. I
accepted this as my due.
There was more, but this pineapple jelly donut has given me
indigestion. (Note that for the future, Diane.)
My next clear memory was Morton at my doorstep, clutching a large
heart, trimmed with paper lace. It was still warm, and I could
almost feel it beat. Faced with such a token of love, what could I
do? We rushed to the nearest love feast.
The feast was held at the residence of Grandma Fed, and it was that
night that I met everyone who was anyone in the current Craft
community. Little did they know that the new person in their midst
was the greatest of them all, destined to become -- but I get ahead
of myself. Thinking back, they must have recognized my true worth,
because their unspoken acceptance surrounded me, like smog.
Speaking of smog, after Grandma Fed had shared her recipe for "poof
powder," we decided to see what we could do about the Thing.
Something had fastened itself onto Morton, and gave him terrible
headaches that only responded to large doses of Glenfiddich.
Grandma Fed took charge. He gave me a magical weapon and made
Morton and I lie down side by side, and sent us into another plane.
(Eastern Airlines was still in business then.) I saw it...the
Thing. Shaped somewhat like a crescent moon, with closing devices
at its points, it held Morton's head in an astral grip. Unafraid,
I raised my weapon, and gripped the closing devices. Slowly I
removed, twist by twist, the infernal apparatus. Tremendously
pleased with myself, I opened my eyes and found to my astonishment
that the rest of the group had dozed off. I still clutched the
magical wrench, and beside Morton's head lay the C-clamp he'd been
wearing as a hat. Right then and there, Grandma Fed resolved not to
tell his students about power tools.
Much as I hate to digress, I must, because I forgot to dictate this
part earlier. Grandma Fed was of the Agriculturan tradition, but
had no Agriculturan High Priestess, so he couldn't truly have a
coven. No problem, he simply formed an Uncoven which had all the
teaching and initiations (and none of the calories) of an
Agriculturan coven. It had all the same offices as a really coven,
but it wasn't.
We continued to study with Grandma Fed, in the Agriculturan
tradition, but for reasons that I am not free to divulge, he did
not initiate us. This might perturb you, Diane, but, believe me,
there was a reason for it. We were initiated into the Vespucian
Tradition. It was only later that we realized no initiations were
necessary for the two of us because -- but that comes later.
Members of Grandma Fed's Uncoven discovered that we had been
initiated by a really coven, and as such were better than they
were. Two of them left in a Huff (slightly smaller than a Fiat),
and there we were. Others left. Grandma Fed got married. We decided
that was a good idea.
So we did a TV show, and then got married on a Thursday night. Then
we went to San Francisco to attend a ritual hosted by Gideon
Penfold, which has absolutely nothing to do with this story, but
gives me a chance to name-drop.
In November, everybody moved to a different place. We went to
Pasadena, and entered a stream of the LA Craft by joining a
ceremonial magic lodge headed by Prick Grunion (a grunion is a
small fish that inevitably beaches itself). We started going to
every ritual we could find.
You wouldn't believe it, Diane. It would seem at this point that
everybody we knew was sleeping with someone else's spouse. Those
who didn't ticked off the people who wanted to sleep with them.
Most of the groups fell apart.
Being good fun-loving pagans, we took it in stride. A lot of other
political stuff went on, which some might describe, but has nothing
to do with this story.
A really Agriculturan coven was formed, and although we tried to
join them, the HPS thought Morton should learn common courtesy. As
manners are not necessary for one who would eventually be chosen by
the Gods, we ignored her ideas and moved on.
THE SAGA OF 711
In the fall of 1975, Boe J. Sonofwill and his wife Ocean were
starting their own group. After six months, they finally let us
come to a ritual. Many spirits were contemplated that night and
then we drank them. Thus was given to us the magic number of these
spirits, and it was -- yes, Diane, I'll tell you -- 7-11.
This tradition had two keys you had to find out in order to
practice this tradition. One was figuring out what 7-11 stood for,
and the other was "Approaching the Altar." This might sound simple,
but after you've contemplated several fifths of spirits, it is
harder than it sounds.
Boe had been in written communication with the "leader" of this
tradition, King Flower, who had given him all this information. Boe
also went to England and met with Saxon, who claimed to be a member
of King's group and gave Boe further information as well as a
sacred copy of the Rolling Stone. Boe came back with a lot of
information we like to say he stole because it makes us look
Boe and Ocean broke up, and I'd give you the details, but that
would be in bad taste. Others writing such a history might include
it, but I won't.
Ocean went to England and met Saxon. She brought back a lot of
gossip, which we loved, because in the future, when we went to
England, we could say Saxon was a lousy contact and ours was
While Ocean was over there, she slept with a guy to get her third
degree (Okay, she did the Great Rite, but I'm saying it shorter)
(hey, Diane, does this make her better?) and came back with a
conviction that 711 was a bunch of garbage.
A bunch of garbage? Perfect! We insisted on having our 711
initiations. She screwed up the herbal potion and we threw up for
three days. (Thus began our sacred mystery of the plastic bucket.)
Still, we had the initiation and all the material we wanted, and
another initiation to brag about.
How to Kick All the Cats
Just to make sure we didn't miss out on anything, we worked with
the Quintella with some of the other weird people in the community.
Here I could include more gossip and stuff debunking other people's
claim to a tradition, but I don't have time. I'm almost out of
The Quintella broke up after everyone involved got tired of each
Another guy showed up that we don't like, so here's where we take
off on him. His name was Sherlock.
He studied with the Agriculturans, and was doing great until he
left his wife for Grandma Fed's sister. The Agriculturans thought
this was tacky and threw him out.
Somebody else decided this was the perfect chance to snipe at the
Agriculturans, so she and Boe gave Sherlock his initiation.
Boe decided he wanted to do 711 again, but he had burned all his
papers. We gave him copies of the stuff he had given us, but kept
back the stuff Ocean had brought back, and snickered whenever Boe
wasn't around. This made us feel great.
We decided it was time to reveal ourselves as the Chosen Ones, and
start our own group ... the Noluck. We had a ritual and did it.
There were a lot of people at that first ritual. We did a rite and
ate lots of food. We sent someone out for more food, and he came
back from the 7-11 saying "No luck. They're closed." This was the
omen from which we took our name.
Gosh, Diane. So much has happened since then. I could do paragraph
upon paragraph saying nasty things about Boe, and Sherlock, and
bunches of others. But this is a short tape.
The Goblin came to the Noluck. He started studying with Prick, and
then with Boe, but he deliberately poured wine on Boe's white rug
during a ritual, and Bow threw him out. Obviously the perfect
person for Noluck, so we initiated him immediately.
We spent the next three years doing our own thing, developing the
system we use now. We only initiated a few people who trained with
us, with one notable exception.
We went to a party in Bakersfield and found a group that claimed to
be the only American group of the tradition of 711. It turned out
to be led by Sherlock. We knew one of the women in his group, and
realized we had a chance to get back at Sherlock. So we took this
woman in the bedroom, said "Zap! you're an initiate." Then we took
her out to the members of that group, told them she was their High
Priestess, and their High Priest was full of it. (Ye Gods! It's
great to be the Chosen Ones! Other people actually do meaningful
rituals, with preparation and everything! But we're above that!)
Boe had gone to England and Ocean had gone to England, so we
decided to go. We did a ritual focussing on the sacred copy of the
Rolling Stone (Boe had given it to us) asking for contacts in
In the days after the ritual, we could tell our spell had worked.
We got all kinds of contacts ... especially through the Personals
When we were over there, we met all kinds of people we can gossip
about, and we will, given the slightest opportunity.
Naturally, the Gods led us to a contact better than Boe's. We met
Mr. Smith, who let us visit him. On our visit, he found a sprig of
mistletoe on an oak tree (oh, wow! What a surprise!) and decided we
were good guys. He taught us all the secrets, and now we know
everyone else is wrong. We ignore the fact that Mr. Smith may well
be the one King threw out of his group. If we acknowledged it, we
couldn't be so superior about our descent.
THE CLAN OF THE CARE BEAR
We used all this good stuff, and Mr. Smith decided that we should
be made members of the Clan of the Care Bear, the true name of
King's group. So we were. We went back to England, and Mr. Smith
laid hands on Morton and made him Magister, chosen by the Gods. (We
also ignore the fact that Mr. Smith himself has said in his book
that he no longer holds to the Magister being chosen by the Gods.
We're very good at ignoring things like this.)
Now we are truly the Chosen Ones, the only ones in American Craft.
We don't have to work or be good, or do any of the silly stuff that
other traditions do. The Gods have given us our priesthood
(especially Morton), and we don't have to worry about spiritual
growth or any of the nonsense of having to earn it by effort and
personal virtue. (And it's a good thing.) We just sit around being
Chosen and figuring out ways to cause trouble with other groups.
We wrote our training manual. Our people have to do ten guided
meditations, two aspects, and read "The White Goddess." Then we
initiate them and see if they can make the Clan.
We decided to form a church. So we did. We incorporated the Auld
Kernunnos Church. We chose this name so our initials would be
A.K.C., and give us a chance to be bitches and howl at the moon.
Where's the mystery? We are a mystery to other groups. They have
many questions, unchosen peons that they are: When do we hear about
love of the Gods? Where is the part about serving the Gods? Is
causing trouble in the Craft community part of their Work? Don't
these people have anything to do?
Well, Diane, there we are. Now everybody else can sit down and cry
because we are the elite of the Gods and they aren't.
Please type this up immediately.
E-Mail Fredric L. Rice / The Skeptic Tank