Using the Occult for Information on Covid-19

So why did I decide to summon the dead?

On Twitter, there’s this thread about a Professor at some college or another who put out a long e-mail in regards to, I’m not kidding you here, discuss his talking to famous dead scientist Louis Pasteur about what the “Corona Virus” is, where it came from, and how to stop it. Because why trust mainstream media, scientists of today, or even living fringe theorists when one can just call upon a dead French guy whose greatest claim to fame might be the process of making milk safer to drink? The shared e-mail comes off as borderline racist and particularly Nationalist, talking up how people in America are free but in China the populace is throwing away their individuality for the Communist Machine. I can’t make this up, have a look:

I’m not sure what most people got as the takeaway here, but what I got out of it was that clearly I need to ask some sources that aren’t the Centers of Disease Control & Prevention (Motto: “CDC, where’s the P?”) But who should I ask then? I thought about it for a few seconds before saying “Fuck it, time to call Aleister Crowley.” If anyone would know how to deal with a rampaging virus that might threaten the world as we know it, it would be a man who founded his own religion in between sexing pretty much everything that moved, right?

Now I am not a practicing magician of any real report. I don’t have some sort of claim to one-eighth of a blood line from an Ancient Wiccan lineage, nor am I the third son of a third son, nor have I ever drank a goblet of red Kool-Aid behind the Spencer’s of any mall in America. But I have Google, damn it, which may just be the most powerful Book of Shadows of them all. It wasn’t easy finding the correct ritual, in part because a lot of summoning lore has been confused by pop culture’s reverence for the hit CW show Supernatural.

The original post talked about using a Medium, but that would require friends and contacts. Anyone who knows me knows that internet people barely want anything to do with me; flesh space people are outright out of the picture. I went for a more traditional approach, using information found in Maximillien de Lafayette’s How to Summon and Command Spirits, Angels, Demons, Afrit, Djinns – Techniques and Instructions Volume 1. I chose this book not after any real understanding of the author or his powers, but rather on the fact the long title adds to this blog post’s word count and one can buy it on Amazon which means I can advertise it here and hopefully make a quick buck from residuals.

Note: The above advertisement is a referral link. The website may be financially compensated for any purchase made via the link.

(I love the reviews of that book, by the way, completely tanking it because apparently Djinn aren’t bilingual.)

So I cast a circle and set up some talismans. Also, it’s well documented that Crowley was super into heroines, to the point they lead to him dying penniless (although how and why was he smoking them? Something got lost in the translation there.) So I put up some big tittied anime figurines up to entice him. Finally I turned the lights off, lit some candles, and played some romantic music like Slick Rick’s Teenage Love and Heavy D & The Boyz’s Now That We Found Love.

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure it would work. I’m pretty sure to summon the dead you need a license or something, at least some sort of Associate’s degree. So imagine my surprise when I was interrupted by some hoarse coughing. Behold, it was Crowley himself, fit and in the prime of his 20’s, impatiently looking at me. I’ll never forget those first words:

“So, we fucking, or what.”

Now I am not sure what gave this man the belief that I was interested in intercourse, let alone with the ghost of a dead man, but here we were. I had to quickly rebuff him, which seemed to bother him. He was surprisingly impatient for someone who literally has nothing else to do but be dead. Did he have some sort of busy schedule where he answered questions for other people trying to summon him? I had no way of knowing. So I quickly cut to the chase.

“So we’ve got this virus going around, killing 2% of everyone it infects, and like, it’s spreading everywhere. You’re a smart guy, what do I need to do to protect myself? What can others do to protect themselves?”

He thought for just a few brief seconds, then said “Buy some prostitutes and fuck some men. Tell your lady friends they can ignore that last part.”

This, frankly, baffled me. “How is that going to protect people from Covid-19?”

“It won’t,” he stated flatly, “but it will take your mind off your anxiety. Worst case scenario, you die after having amazing gay sex.”

And I mean, I’m not going to lie, he has a bit of a point. Maybe instead of stressing about how we’re all going to die if we don’t wash our hands, or if the wrong person coughs on us, we should just be living in the moment. It was an idea, to be sure.

But I didn’t want ideas. I wanted a solution to this damn Corona virus thing.

“But Mr. Crowley, with all respect, you’re said to be one of the greatest magicians to have ever lived! Surely you can suggest some sort of spell or ritual that can protect the populace?”

He wasn’t very amused. “I’m an Englishman, not a filthy Jew. You want someone to kill a baby, or do some Kabbalah bullshit, you’re asking the wrong guy.”

“Holy fuck!” I exclaimed, admittedly not intending to. “That’s racist as fuck, why would you even-”

And then I was interrupted. Another ghost of a man had joined us, one I didn’t recognize at first. A bit of an Irish dandy.

“Oh, he’s just jealous. Don’t mind him. My sexy puppy is always jealous about things he can’t control.”

“I am not your puppy, Wilde,” Crowley angrily responded.

Holy fuck! I don’t know how, but it looks like famed poet and felon Oscar Wilde has joined us! I was curious what would bring him all the way from his afterlife to my presence…

“So, we fucking, or what?”

After a small amount of banter, I fill him in on the Covid-19 virus, which Crowley quips is “a disease of the callous Chinese lower class.” I then asked Wilde what he thought would be the correct way to handle this disease, and what we the people of the here and now could do to survive and perhaps even thrive.

“Well, at the end of the day, it’s just a sickness. Might as well go out and live a little?”

And he was right, in a way. This would be a great opportunity to travel, given how cheap it is. But what of those who didn’t want to get sick?

“Shit happens. You think I wanted to spend over two years of my life in prison? No, I wanted that asshole Queensberry to get fucked. But sometimes…”

And then he was interrupted by ANOTHER figure! Where are all these men from history coming from?

“Don’t listen to him,” the man in front of me said with a heavy accent I couldn’t quite place. “I’ll tell you and all of your friends what they need to do to protect themselves from this… what you say, Convent 19 virus?”

Now I recognized this guy right off the bat. “Gilles de Rais! What brings you here?”

“This terrible 90’s love music. I don’t know why you picked it. But it worked. I am hornier than a young boy whose been well fed, drugged with hypocras, and tied up so he can’t scream. Anyways, you want to save yourself from this disease, I’ll tell you what to do.”

Not going to lie, his anology had me a little concerned. Still, I was all ears, and picked up a pen and paper. As long as it wasn’t some useless talk about alkalines, or promoting the state in a way that suggested anyone who died from the disease deserved it, we’d be golden.

“Well, I’ll put it bluntly,” the Baron said. “You get a child…”


“You sodomize that child…”

“Wait, what?”

“And then you kill that child and bathe in its blood.”

What the ever loving fuck is wrong with people who are into the occult and debauchery, anyways. Fucking seriously.

“No, you creepy fuck, I’m not going to tell people to rape children and bath in their blood.”

“It’s not rape if you feed them first. And you have no idea how easy it is, you just-”


“Who would debase a child in such a manner?” Crowley condemned. I thought he would be on my side, and was caught in half-nod before he finished “That’s some real Jewish shit right there.”

I quickly dismissed them and went for a shot of whiskey. I feel like I learned absolutely nothing.

If there was one moral that could be taken from my experience summoning people from the past, it’s that listening to old people about how to handle modern problems is a bad idea because people from history are surprisingly god damned racist and creepy and I think I’ll just stick to keeping things clean around the house and washing my hands frequently.

I’ll make sure any gay lovers I have affair with and sex workers I spend time with wash their hands as well.


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