“Where do I go from here?” I sat pondering this query at the calloused edge of the jetty peering out over the rugby scrum of waves. Finger taps of rain pellets running into me like a herd of spooked deer careening across a field. Wind whipping with a slight crack like the circus cowboy putting out a candle. A voice so faint poured into my ear like Guinness over a spoon to reduce the head saying “Wherever you heart desires little one.”

Startled as if the the pistol shot just sounded from a 100m dash, I jettisoned myself back from the calloused edge. Head and body spinning back and forth like a top in search of the source. No author could be perceived.

During times like these I often get caught like a moth to a flame. DON’T FLY TO HIGH ICARUS! Reflections of the past like so many distorted images in the funhouse mirror room. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done better? What did I do to cause this to happen? Every self-deprecating conundrum rending me like a freshly pulled pork roast.

I am deserving of more than this garbage fire of self-loathing. The reporters of my internal dialogue, if they wanted a real scoop for the morning paper, would cast their questions like a net into the sea of those that were charged with my care as a child, my peers growing up and every teacher that said “you have more potential than this.”

“Where do I go from here?” Pondering yet again the question careens across my skull like a racquetball. Wherever this shoestring path goes, it will be alone for awhile I think. Removing the knife from my heart and sewing up the latest wound, I place it back in its cage, lock the door and toss the key over the calloused edge to be washed out to sea in the rugby scrum of waves.

There comes a point in time, for certain situations in life, when even the empath has had enough……

I deserve better from myself. I’m angry. I’m confused. It’s late and the blood from my heart is the ink lining this page. I must find my way off this cross. It is not mine to bare. This writing will help. It always does. The exorcism of emotions through the type-written word. No “Christ” compelling me but, my own will alone. I will persist. “Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.” ~ Calvin Coolidge

(Authors Note: We will be returning to our regularly expected writing this weekend. I have a few pieces cooking in my grey matter and I will be continuing my deeper exploration of Bushido and The 7 Tenets.)

As the story had been recanted to me multitudinous times over by the matriarchal parental unit of mine, at some point in the later stages of 1975, my male sibling unit encroached upon the duo of my parental units and uttered the query, “When will you benefit me with a younger male sibling unit?” And so it was, on a day not to far in front of us at this very moment, that I made my entrance into this Ialdabaothian hellscape known as Earth.

To sit at this desk and type this on the cusp of my 50th solar circuit should have me filled with joy. Currently, joy is the furthest thing in my limited emotional range. I won’t get into details, however, a recent occurrence has removed the incantations that once, barely, bound the kakodaimōn’s of the cavernous corridors of my labyrinthian cranial cortex. These arbiters of psychological self-harm are the source of my own personal “Nothing.” Artax died in the tar pit and Rock-Biter was left questioning his strength. If you perch your ear to the wind you can still hear the faint whisper of “They were such big, strong hands.” Bastion was no where to be found. The Childlike Empress was not saved.

I am often the one in people’s lives, when they are experiencing a multitude of challenges to proffer the compassionate reminder to “Be easy with yourself.” Now that I am in this space, I am finding that all about me is a tar pit. I am not sinking. There is no “Nothing” on my heels. Having the lived experience that I do, I know of all the various things that will help me to even my keel. There is but one problem that has always been the worst for me to repair in my own hull. Heartbreak.

Now, my wonderful followers and subscribers, I won’t sit here and continue to projectile vomit all the myriad episodes of heartbreak/ache that I have been through. (Author’s Note: there aren’t many yet they make up 100% of my history in love. A TL;DR to the above is on the side of my left knee I have a tattoo of a skull and cross-bones over a heart that says “Loser In Love.”)

As I continue to write this I am reminded that I should be mindful of all the experiences that made up my 49th solar circuit. There were a lot. It has definitely been a busy year. Just over a year ago I started this Substack and began getting acquainted with all of you that take the time to read my ramblings. Two of my dearest friends, and were my greatest influences to bring my writing over to this forum. I really began to find my footing in writing because of Substack and some of my friends encouragement along the way: , , , and members of my writers group like , and . My biggest piece to date The Satanic Warrior and my subsequent feature on Substack doing an interview on the topic. I hoisted a flag of representation and pluralism for TST in my town of residence at that time, in a public forum, above a Ten Commandments Monument and presented TST’s Invocation in front of attendee’s at the event on Halloween Day 2025.

My Satanic Warrior Essay was subsequently turned into a religious service for TST and I have begun research to transform the framework of the essay into a book. I was floored at the response to my essay here and in TST circles. I was then asked to join the religious services team for TST. With that responsibility came the responsibility of becoming an Ordained Minister of Satan with TST. A duty, obligation and responsibility I do not take lightly.

I also reached 11 years performing as a Certified Peer Support Specialist and made my 18th solar circuit in terms of being recovered from self-injurious practices at the hands of substance use.

Now there may be a reader that gets here and says to himself “WTF is this? A self-glorifying puff-piece!” On the contrary. When I sat down and began to write this, my mind was very heavy and in a very dark place. It’s been that way for a long stretch now. Continuing to piece together the events of my 49th year, in preparation for the welcoming of my 50th, has landed me on the doorstep of that joy that was lacking at the beginning of this piece. The people that really care about you will stay in your life no matter what is happening in yours or theirs. They won’t toy with your emotions. There won’t be mixed signals. In being inundated for over a month by mixed signals, I lost sight of all of the good that has happened… bad character trait of mine sometimes but I’m working on it. I was just reminded of a piece I wrote at the end of The Satanic Religious Cycle on Sol Invictus. In that piece I stated “The ideal of The Unconquered Sun translates to our unwavering commitment to be an adversary to any and all arbitrary authority.” Sometimes the arbitrary authority resides inside of our own mind.

In Revolt of the Angels by Anatole France, France’s Satan prescribes the moral of the story:

"We were conquered because we failed to understand that Victory is a Spirit, and that it is in ourselves and in ourselves alone that we must attack and destroy Ialdabaoth.”

~Revolt of the Angels

I believe I now have the space in which to release myself from the poison that was coursing through my veins. I have extracted the joy from my pain in recognizing where bits of my own Ialdabaoth still remain. As my comrade in The Satanic Republic of Substack, , so eloquently put it “Hope is about seeing what needs to change, then doing what you can to change it. It’s about putting your thumb on the scale or grabbing hold of the arc of history then bending with all your might. Hope is what motivates and enervates the spirit of change.”

The Spirit of Change, fueled by hope, is how we get to Victory being a Spirit.

If you’ve gotten this far, I thank you. I have sat in front of my desk and just allowed to words to flow freely from my mind to get to this point. I hope that this written journey may lend some insight to your journey in some way. I have seen the full truth in my error in judgement. I won’t be forgetting this lesson anytime soon.

Stay tuned, regular pieces will resume again.

~Sorin Malcontent

Grief is a drug. I've used it for days on end when someone Ive known has died, months even. It became the pile of kindling that I used to fuel the fires of substance use I already had raging inside of me. Then, upon the passing of a solar circuit, I would take hold of the grief once more like a person with substance use challenges searching for their next fix.

Grief, when left unchecked, will make a person completely lose themselves. Ethical and moral standards thrown right out the window. To the point that collateral damage can occur. When I began my work as a Peer, I assisted in the creation of a training for formerly incarcerated individuals. During brainstorming, I said "In order to survive, I had to become a person I never thought I'd be." Grief takes away the choice we have if we let it. Grief turns us into a person we never thought we would become no matter our current station in life.

Grief can also permanently rewire our brain. It can dampen or shut off natural, human emotional responses. I know. I have been subject to this. Because of therapy, I am a fraction better today however, for the most part, I can't cry anymore. If tears come, it is but seconds. All that really exists is a profound heaviness that feels as if you have a second body encompassing your frame. An abyssal sadness.

I came to the realization recently that not only did I retraumatize myself, yearly, with my incapability to walk through my Grief, I weaponized it to feed my self-pity through encroaching upon others inviolable bodies to feel sorry for and pity me.

Truthfully, I had no idea that was the case at the time and, looking back, I wish someone would have just grabbed me and shook the fuck out of me and told me to snap out of it. I was a ship lost at sea crafted from the memory of my deceased loved ones. Hull, mast, sail, keel and rudder crafted from Grief.

Today, as a Satanist and person recovered from self-injurious practices at the hands of substance use, I have to remember that my personal sovereignty and power provide me the foundation upon which to stand tall, acknowledge and celebrate the impact with which someone who has come to the end of their dash has had on my life and keep going. After all, when looking back their will only ever be "One set of Hoofprints in the sand." Through the dismal, darkest and most troubling times in my life, I kept going. I carried me through. I may have had help, most assuredly, but I also had to get the fuck out of my own way and be accepting of said help. I have to focus more on the gratitude I have for the moments of my life I got to spend with each and every one of the people I have known, in various capacities, that have died. I stopped counting at the 60's. The most recent streak being 17 people in two years.

These moments, the good times and the joyous times, are the only things that matter.

The. Only. Thing.

If any of you that read this only ever learn one thing from me, let it be this: Do not go where i went when it comes to Grief. It will break you. It will turn you into a marionette to do it's bidding and leave you cold and dead while still alive. We only ever have the present moment. Do the most you can with it. Use the past as an encyclopedia within which to gain knowledge on what to do and not do. Learn from it. Use the past to light candles in the halls of your memory to highlight the things in life that have brought you joy, comfort and caused you to smile. Discard the darkness as best you can (i acknowledge there are situations that must be processed or navigated through professional help...if this is necessary, do not hesitate to seek it out). Do not ruminate. This effort is almost always futile. When doing these things, it will create space for your future moments to be all that they can be. LIVE your life.

We have agency in how we let our emotions control how we be in the world. We are the Captains of these meat suits we inhabit while experiencing our dash. We feel our emotions. We should not become our emotions. I recently saw where I allowed myself to become some very ugly emotions. They controlled me. Im not proud of myself for my actions when they were at the helm but, my emotions weren't wrong or incorrect.

Edit: Always trust your gut.

Frankly, I stayed way longer than I should have. That's my own fault. I recognize it and own it. What is most troubling is the pervasiveness of attitudes like this, not mine, the one's I am walking away from.

Take notice. Trust your gut. Hope can get you in trouble when you begin to let it override your instincts. I fully realize that, for one such as myself and my profession, this may seem a bit contradictory.

There are other roads. The possibilities are only limited by your perspective. Shatter the glass ceiling and aim for the stars.

1. Apart from weapons, I sought not superfluous trappings.

~Dokkodo, Miyamoto Musashi

One might ponder that this would be an easier conundrum to circumvent. I could see this being the case, under any other circumstance, except there was a veritable plethora of occasions which came to pass that fed, clothed, housed and assisted in the reproduction of these nightmares of perception, sentiment, sensitivity and sympathy.

I was the steam whistle calling them to duty year after year. Beginning at midnight, as if in some sort of sadomasochistic ritual, I would take down the key, a key crafted out of the frozen tears ripped from my ducts and molded with the clay of my sadness, penetrate the lock and open the vats. The inmates immediately took control of the asylum upon stepping foot out of their cage leaving nothing but chaos and carnage in their wake. Lecherous, knuckle-dragging, eldritch abominations sure do love their fucking overtime. The self-inflicted torment lasted twenty plus years.

A mentor asked “why do you retraumatize yourself?” and gave me a course of corrective action that would allow me to starve those beasts till they were…no more? I will not try to pull the wool over my own eyes and say that it is over. It is just done…for now.

A close confidant asked me “For what purpose did you do that?” and after a moments reflection I arrived at… “Self-aggrandizing pity.” Instead of processing my pain and sorrow, I had weaponized it. Not so much from the standpoint of superiority but from the perspective of hostility towards other’s happiness and believing my perpetual grief mad me uniquely afflicted.

Some caves are better left sealed after we have done the work to dismantle the entryway for good.

Be easy with yourselves,

Sorin Malcontent

Originally penned 6/28/22

“Has it ever truly been ‘The Land of the Free’

What I hear and what I see

Are not what my history teachers taught me

Democracy has become the greatest lie ever told

On our backs

With our lives it is sold

Pandora's Box opened with a vote and swipe of the pen

The second coming of the dark ages

The first chapter in those pages

I hear the people I love wail, cry, rage and moan

I express my support

My heart filled with sorrow

My country tis of thee

Sweet land of Larceny

They take it all

Vampires in the capitol buildings

No longer satiated by our usual givings

Now they have fed on women's rights

You think they won't come for yours or mine

Think again

Everyone is in their sights”

There had been only one set of hoofprints in the sand the whole time and they were mine!”

The closing line of my Satanized version of “Footprints in the Sand” is taken from my "Sinful Testimony". What is written above is how I will approach the date of 6/20 from now until I am no more. June 20th marks my 18th year removed from self-injurious practices at the hands of utilizing illicit substances as a maladaptive coping skill. I am RECOVERED. I have wasted far too many days and nights trapped in the merry-go-round “shoulding” all over myself.

The reality is that, through it all, I have been and continue to be the sole arbiter of my journey, good or bad. Yes, I admit, sometimes there was kicking and screaming. I have navigated any challenge every challenge in my life, successfully.

Thing is, and my hope is that you can see it, if you take a moment to look back in the sand, you only have one set of hoofprints too.

As a side note, I have also been in a bit of quiet reflection over the current trajectory of my path in life. May 15th I received formal notice of my ordination as a Minister of Satan with The Satanic Temple. It brings me no shortage of joy to have arrived here yet this is but a landmark on on my continuing journey as a Temple Satanist. One could say jet fuel was just added to the fire of the meaning and purpose in my life.

Now to my friends and associates. As I go about my reading on Substack, one of my favorite things to do is to “Quotestack” from pieces I read. These are usually parts that have really stood out to me in the attached article. Over the past month there have been a number of quotes that have, for me, cemented in my mind my current trajectory. I would like to compile them here for you all to take in and my hope is that they provide to you some positive reflections.

published a piece dissecting what “will” truly is and how it can be consciously engaged to better ourselves (probably not the best synopsis). There was a lot to chew on in this article and, because of my past and present experiences, much of it resonated with me deeply. One such line in the article was: “Any challenge that asks more of you than you think you can give will bring you closer to a sense of using your will consciously and intentionally. I suggest engaging in both mental and physical effort.”

The next three quotes stood out to me because, in my mind, they speak to the NECESSITY that I continue my path in living my life as authentically as I have been. These little “nuggets” of insight continuing to empower me along my way down this path I have chosen for myself.

But, further, as non-theistic practitioners of religion, we should recognize the imperative of unapologetically pursuing artistic endeavors that are true to our selves, reflective of that which is evocative and meaningful to us, regardless of whether or not it is interpreted as disturbing to others.

~ “A Horrific Matter Of Taste”

There is immense power in realizing that not everyone has to approve of you.
Not everyone has to understand you. Not everyone has to celebrate your choices, identity, beliefs, expression, politics, religion, or lack thereof. Some people will simply be offended that you exist as yourself…A Satanist should be able to exist openly without collapsing under the demand to become smaller, quieter, softer, safer, or more agreeable for the comfort of strangers.

~ “Stop being shallow. Tenet 4 is not what it first appears.”

Never again will I pretend to be someone I am not, whether for money, a roof over my head, a meal, showing my artwork in another gallery, or the banal ideas of success society values.

~ “A Necessary Rant”

And the last quote I wish to highlight to all of you reviews what is required when all about is madness and mayhem and everything inside of me wishes to collapse under the external pressures.

But this moment calls for bravery. It calls for pulling out the will to keep going from wherever you possibly can. Kick, scream, punch, throw up, but keep fighting.

~ “Eazy-E Company”

Living authentically is not always easy. Many times it is the challenge that “asks more of you than you think you can give.”

The reward may not always be tangible. It is there and it is priceless.

This weekend I had the honor of presenting my “Sinful Testimony” at TST’s Satanic Revival. I have shared it below:

“I was beset upon by the most profound existential crisis I had known up to this point in my life. It was the beginning of 2021 and I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing with my life as what my life once was had completely disintegrated yet again. I began seeing Baphomet’s head on my TV questioning me “Hail Satan?”. There was something alluring about the plainly stated question to be sure. This is how I first discovered The Satanic Temple.

The documentary lit a fire in my core. A fire that can only be fueled by knowledge. The website provided me with a feast that ignited all the good impulses in my brain as I devoured The Mission Statement, The FAQ, got introduced to current campaigns and The Seven Tenets of The Satanic Temple. Fully awakened was the “Audrey” of my mind saying, “Feed Me Seymour!”

It is important to note, at this time, that I am a person that has many years recovered from self-injurious practices at the hands of substance use. TST’s Sober Faction set the hook in me from the moment I read the words “Sobriety Without Superstition”. My 12-Step Community had abandoned me when I needed them most. In my further exploration of Sober Faction, I found “The Invocation of Power” which reads “I grant myself the courage to take responsibility for my own actions. The power to let go of that which does not serve me and the wisdom to seek help when needed. Hail Satan!”

It was at this moment that I realized it was my own personal power that had guided me through my early recovery, homelessness, joblessness and other traumatic events. I need not surrender or admit to being powerless over my own self to persevere! I needed no God because I was my own Master subject to my own will alone! There had been only one set of footprints in the sand the whole time and they were mine!

I had arrived. I was a Temple Satanist.

I began attending Sober Faction Meetings and After Hours at the Satanic Estate. I even became acquainted with TST members on Satanic Twitter and other social media platforms. As I began to come to know more Temple Satanists, I knew I had finally found MY Community. TST and its members showed me that the aforementioned existential crisis need not exist.

From TST’s Mission Statement to The Seven Tenets and The Seven Rituals of Sober Faction there is a unifying thread baked into it all. Action. I understood what I had to do. I made it my personal mission to embark on a quest of continually expanding my Satanic Practice within Temple Satanism. I began this process by making myself available to campaigns where I believed my services would be helpful and volunteering within my congregation. I am currently immersing myself in the philosophy and unpacking its themes through my writing. The Satanic Temple has provided me the fertile soil within which to rediscover what having meaning and purpose in my life means. I am looking forward to seeing how this journey continues to unfold. I stand before you today full of Satanic Joy at being given the opportunity to share this with you my fellow Temple Satanists! 

Hail You! Hail The Satanic Temple! Hail Satan!”

~ Sorin Malcontent

late at night

all is quiet

i think of you

as the days go by

the pain (though self-inflicted)

dulls

do you think of me?

do you wonder how i am?

it gets easier.....they say

THEY dont live in my head!

THEY dont love with my heart…..

Sorin Malcontent 4/22/11

We live in a country (USA) where the duly elected people who were supposed to be looking out for us have fully thrust the entire populace into a giant, nationwide existential crisis. What we don’t hear enough of amidst the smoke and mirrors games being played—and I believe this to be purposeful—using the exposure of the Epstein Files, the war on Iran, the Palestinian genocide, I.C.E. detentions (read: kidnappings) and killings, and the total collapse of our economy is the undisguised and aggressive Erasure of Trans People in the United States. Literally hundreds upon hundreds of bills nationwide, all spelling out a genocide on United States soil of approximately 0.5% of the population. Let’s get honest though: this is just another in a long list of abominable acts that the “United” States has undertaken. Republican politicians signal the rallying cry of “PROTECTING WOMEN AND CHILDREN!” Meanwhile, cisgender men of the very same group continue to have charges of CSA brought against them, exposing the same behavior they claim to fight against. Don’t believe me?

(content warning)Look here: Who Is Making News? This link is the data summary from the 10,885 cases run from February 10, 2023 through May 23, 2024. I didn’t come here to scream into the void, as I often want to do and as this source information would warrant. I came here to discuss how trans people have positively affected my life.

Trans folks I have known throughout my life have been some of my greatest teachers. They didn’t teach me Math or English or any course that you might encounter throughout the years of schooling many of us undertake. Their presence and effect on my life has been nothing short of extraordinary. I worry about these friends daily—their physical health, their mental health. Their ability to exist as human beings. I care about them deeply. This is why I write this: a testament to their humanity

(Names have been changed for protection)

I met Jacques pre-transition. He was dating a long time friend that I had known since High School. I had moved into a sober living home, and there was a crawfish boil. I was still recovering from a string of traumatic events in my life. I was scared, and I barely knew anyone. I sat near the high school friend’s partner to ground myself. Jacques and I exchanged some small talk and a few laughs, yet I already felt safe with him—a feeling I hadn’t known in quite some time. As time passed, Jacques and I travelled in similar circles and, every time I was near him, that feeling returned. Life life’d, and I hadn’t seen him in a while. Then, all of a sudden, he was at a book club I had been given an invitation to attend.

He never expected anything from me. He always took me as I was, warts and all. We went to get Friday the 13th tattoos together two years in a row. Jacques and his then-partner were the first people I came out to. He accepted me, held space for me, listened to me. Life changes and various other factors separated our physical presence but, thanks to the interwebz, we stayed in contact.

There was a pause in contact for some time, and then a reconnection: he told me he was beginning his transition. I let him know that I supported him and that I wasn’t going anywhere. I held space for him, as he had always done for me. I learned of unconditional love from Jacque. They were there when I needed someone. I would be there for them.

Then there was Jean, who I’d also known pre-transition. When we first met, I knew that this person would be in my life for a while. Jean began her transition, and I immediately saw how the people who had always told us we could rely on them were nowhere to be found. I remained her friend because I understood that she was living her truth and because, ultimately, she was the same person she had always been inside—she was just finally allowing herself to be that woman on the outside, too. I still largely hid from my own truth, and she gave me hope. Time passed, as it had with Jacque, and I was in a point of my life where I felt incredibly mentally and emotionally weakened. Jean showed up for me. I fell in love with her, even though I knew we wouldn’t be together. It’s easy to fall for someone who shows you that you are worthy of love. I still love her, and she knows. She showed me what it was like to live authentically, which allowed me to finally begin to do the same.

I met Astrid through Satanic spaces. She was a strong yet soft and caring Fae (*smile*). Astrid gave me shelter as I was finding my footing again after a move and recovering from the darkest year of my life. She listened to me. She listened to my poetry. She supported me when I began to explore my inner feminine side. She gave me safety when I needed it most. Most importantly: she never judged me.

The members of the trans community who I have come to know have shown me the love, care and acceptance I had always sought from my peers and others yet never received. I learned what it looks like to love myself from the trans community, from watching them actively love themselves and from experiencing their love for me.

Knowing a trans person saved my life. Knowing a trans person helped shine the light to the path I needed to find to learn how to love myself again. Knowing a trans person allowed me to stop hiding from my sexuality. Knowing a trans person has allowed me to fully embrace the femininity that exists alongside my masculinity (duality exists in us all) and to live free from gender norms placed upon cisgender or cis-passing men.

Take a moment. Step outside your prejudice. Step outside the propaganda.

Trans lives matter to me. They should matter to you, too, for one very important reason:

Trans lives matter. Full stop.

~ Sorin Malcontent

“According to the budget document, the following speech (nevermind the First Amendment) counts as a red flag: “anti-Americanism,” “anti-capitalism,” “anti-Christianity,” “extremism on migration, race, and gender,” and “hostility towards those who hold traditional American views on family, religion, and morality.”

Congressional Integrity Project

In more recent news, The Religious Liberty Commission adjourned its final meeting and reading the following quote made my brain melt.

“Today’s capstone hearing of President Trump’s Religious Liberty Commission contained more powerful testimony and discussion about how people of religion are under assault by the secular left. It is time to set the record straight: there is no such thing as ‘separation of church and state’ in the Constitution. For too long, the anti-God left has used this phrase to suppress people of religion in our country. During all 7 Commission hearings, witness after witness testified that the so-called ‘separation of church and state’ was used to take their God-given religious liberty rights away."

~ Chairman Dan Patrick of the Religious Liberty Commission

I find it all too coincidental that a commission tasked with “religious liberty” was comprised of only one non-Christian, a Rabbi, and “Dr.” fucking Phil. As with anything this administration does it was a laundry list of Trump sycophants, evangelical preachers, bishops and pastors. In regard to the statement that “there is no such thing as the ‘separation of church and state’ in the Constitution, I will share with you Lucien Greaves astute characterization of the absurdity of that statement:

“When the grandstanding Christian Nationalist boldly declares that ‘the separation of Church and State’ does not appear in the Constitution, all they mean is that the phrase itself, in verbatim, does not appear in the Constitution, and, presumably, that they do not understand it to be a credible interpretation of the First Amendment, despite centuries of precedent.”

~ Lucien Greaves “Defending Religious Liberty From The Religious Liberty Commission”

We also got to witness the AI wonder of “Trump Jesus”.

I would normally find all of this funny, but that is not the timeline we live in today and I am watching all of this with a very serious eye.

The Authoritarian Christian Nationalist regime currently in play is using text from an old playbook. The majority religions begin to persecute the weaker ones or the ones that don’t conform to their ideologies. You can go back in time and see this same script play out over and over and over again. Weaponizing faith and religious practice to craft a scapegoat to blame the evils that they themselves are creating. The Crusades, the obliteration of Pagan religions, the Inquisition, the various witch trials over centuries to the Satanic Panic of the 80’s/90’s. Christians of one flavor or another have been on a never-ending revenge arc since they became a dominant religion. Only now they have many of the power pieces in play in places of political power in order to turn the United States into a Theocracy. Let’s not get it twisted, Trump does not care one iota about religion. He is simply usurping, or having his strings pulled by, their leaders to gain access to their voter base.

“Whether we have quarreled in the past or not, in my practice (as I can only speak for myself) I wake up every morning prepared to potentially have to go to bat for my freedom to be a Satanist and, potentially contrary to some belief, any Satanists freedom to practice, within reason.”

~ “Kumbaya My Satan?”

In my previous piece I spoke of going to bat for Satanism as I am a Satanist. This, I fear, will eventually go much farther than that. For any Catholic readers that may see this, I am happy to see what the Pope is currently doing, yet I fear he is not saying enough as a citizen being that he is originally from Chicago. You see this flavor of “Christianity” does not think Catholics are Christians.

The rhetoric of “people of religion are under assault by the secular left” is other dialogue we have heard in the past like “put the Christ back in Christmas” and other such slogans. It is the vitriol by which they weaponize faith to rouse mob mentality or create a moral panic a la “satanic ritual abuse”. Same turd, different bowtie.

“We don’t have to get along or like each other. We don’t have to roast smore’s and sing ‘Kumbaya, My Satan’ around a campfire to acknowledge what is right in front of us and will affect ALL OF US. We need “Satanic Solidarity” now more than ever.”

~ “Kumbaya My Satan?”

Satanists, Buddhists, Taoists, Muslims and etc. will have to find a path where we can all meet in the middle to face this oncoming assault against actual religious liberty and freedom in this nation that is granted everyone in the Constitution.

The Path of Peace is more often than not a Path TO Peace full of steep inclines, bogs of stench and “The Nothing”.

~Sorin Malcontent

I change into my nightly attire, eat and then shortly before I sleep, I read. I'm actually kind of enjoying it, allowing my brain to relax and be nourished rather than to continue to inundate it with more noise. Bad enough that I have tinnitus that manifests like a forest full of cicadas stuck on repeat.

Maybe somewhere along the way I unconsciously made the decision to engage in conquering my biggest foe, silence.

This is where the layers of the onion begin to peel out. The silence isn't just a lack of sound, its a lack of others. Don't get it twisted. I have friends and people I talk to regularly. What i mean to convey, I guess, is someone occupying space with me. I have spent so many years of my life wanting, desiring, craving a person that silence was the language within which the void spoke. This particular dilemma has been the topic of conversation between myself and my most trusted confidant lately. Growing up I was never the one in my groups to have others. It kinda broke something in me. I would see my friends and be envious of the experience they were able to have.

Now, before we go to deep into that, this has more layers and isn't a sob story about not having a partner.

Lately, as I have sat in silence for longer periods of time listening to the wind blow between the houses outside my windows, I have come to a space where it is more about me being okay being with me. Being subjected to various types of non-physical trauma throughout my life wired my brain to think a certain way about myself. I haven't had a good track record of being good to myself mentally or physically. Almost fitting that I am on this precipice approaching my 50th revolution around the sun.

I can't say as if I have ever experienced a time in my life in the last 49 years that I was truly okay with me. It's about time I got there.

There is the other side of silence that I still abhor with the fiery passion of one thousand suns: Silence In Communication.

It has often been my running quote that I receive 3 appropriate communication styles and one inappropriate.

Appropriate Communication:

1) yes

2 )no

3) fuck you

In all three of the above I know where I stand.

Inappropriate Communication:

Silence

Silence does wicked things to me. Extensive silence is a death sentence in my brain.

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown". - H. P. Lovecraft

Silence is the well-spring of the unknown.

Therein lies the core of my initial problem. I did not know who I was and therefore I was in fear of being alone with myself. I sought out others and their acceptance in order to fill the space of the unknown within me to eliminate the silence so I did not have to tread in the realm of the unknown. I came to this while writing this just now.

Today I know who I am. Today I no longer fear myself. The unknown is now knowable. That specific fear is no longer necessary.

Rest assured, life has a great deal of things which will continue to generate fear.

You Don't Have To Fear Yourself Anymore.

Sit In Silence.

~Sorin

It has been some time since I first published my essay The Satanic Warrior: A Comparative Study of TST's Tenets and Bushido for the Modern Satanist. Since that time I was honored with appearing on Lucien Greaves Substack and was asked by TST’s Hellmouth Religious Services Team to be Co-Celebrant for a TST Service, regarding The Satanic Warrior, on TSTTV.

As I have previously noted upon re-examination of my essay, I felt more depth was needed and that I had only scratched the surface of this topic. With the help of friends and framily alike, I have acquired a number of texts that I am using to research deeper into TST, Satanism, Bushido and Martial Philosophy with the goal of producing a text on The Satanic Warrior. In this moment, I would like to explore with you “The Satanic Warrior’s Guide to Tenet I”.

“Tenet I: One should strive to act with compassion and empathy toward all creatures in accordance with reason.”

The Seven Tenets of The Satanic Temple

In my paper I had likened Bushido’s “Jin” (Benevolence) with TST’s first tenet. Benevolence, for the samurai, was their duty to show mercy and compassion representing the highest attribute of the human soul. For the Satanic Warrior as exemplified by our first tenet, The Warrior would take it a step further. The Japanese have a concept called “Omoiyari”. Omoiyari (oh-moh-ee-ya-ree) is having an anticipatory sensitivity to another’s situation. Similar to empathy, it implies being able to consider the feelings and needs of others. But it also is about acting on the empathy. It is being able to deliver our thoughts with action. As with Tenet I, the warrior would strive to ACT with compassion and empathy.

The Seven Tenets are action oriented. They are the Tao (Way) of The Satanic Warrior that adheres to them. This is proven in the 7th Tenet that relates that each is a guiding principle.

It has been my experience, in the time I have spent as a member of The Satanic Temple, that members of TST show great consideration of others or, to put it another way, are able to put themselves in another’s “shoes”. This is empathy in action and allows us to show compassion to all creatures.

Some examples of “Satanic Omoiyari” include much of the work done by the “Satanic Good Works” campaign. The SGW is at the forefront of this principle. “The Devil’s Pantry” which had congregation’s partnering with local food pantries collecting donations during the government shut down. “Mentsruatin’ with Satan” drives that collect feminine hygiene products. TST’s “Day of Action Blood Drive” for The American Red Cross.

It doesn’t stop here. Congregations have sponsored highways and beaches, keeping them clean of litter and debris. Supplies for unhoused populations and other compassionate and empathetic acts worthy of a Satanic Warrior. This principle is also extended within our day to day lives as human beings.

Now let us spend some time on what I feel is an often overlooked aspect of Tenet I. “In accordance with reason”. What exactly does this mean? This has multiple layers, in my mind’s eye. Taken of its own, it means to act, think, or decide in alignment with logic, rational thought, and moral judgment rather than impulse or emotion. This is where, I believe, The Warrior has to keep Tenets III, IV, V at the ready. It is well within someone’s right to not be accepting of our compassion and empathy. To force it would be to encroach on another’s freedoms, forgoing our own. In accordance with reason takes to account never distorting scientific facts to fit one's beliefs because we are using logic and rational thought when applying compassion and empathy.

On the other side if this it helps to protect us. “In accordance with reason” is the clause that encourages The Warrior to set healthy boundaries and maintain objectivity which thereby assists in preventing burnout. It is a reminder to The Warrior to rest, when necessary, so that they may return to the struggle with all their faculties about them.

The third facet of “in accordance with reason” (here I wish to stress that these are my thoughts alone) is that, to this Satanic Warrior, there will come a time when it becomes unreasonable to act with compassion and empathy. If someone were to cross my inviolable body or to try to unjustly encroach upon my freedoms, they are not owed my compassion or empathy until such time as they have earned it back. This is where Tenet VI plays a part in Tenet I by affording the opportunity to amend the harm caused.

In closing, a final thought on “The Satanic Warrior’s Guide to Tenet I” is that striving to act with compassion and empathy to all creatures in accordance with reason requires discernment. By exercising discernment The Warrior is able to achieve greater insight into utilizing reason when acting with compassion and empathy to all creatures.

~Sorin Malcontent

The station wagon belched to a stop. Seething Father figure mumbling something as if it were to be intelligible to the boy. Mother’s protruding eyes, hungry grin and saliva soaked teeth echoed Father’s command. The tone different yet still laden with razor blades. Eyes blinking like a lone bulb with and electrical short, the boy made his way out of the vehicle. Everything felt so sticky. The vinyl seats, the air, even the sun felt as if you had just gotten a freshly opened can of slime stuck in your hair for the first time.

The boy assumed his parental figures had gone inside. He heard the rasping echo of their voices like the sound of an iron lung coming from inside the home. The door was opened out, he noted. This struck him oddly, but not enough to shake him. Everything was unpacked and set-up for a seamless move. Father couldn’t be hindered with work. Always travelling. Never home. Mother couldn’t be bothered with any inconvenience. It was strange to see them slither about the home at night drinking cocktails, smoking cigarettes and reading books. A veritable maelstrom of liquor, smoke and novels. No sooner did the boy enter than the door slammed shut behind him.

Flying a few from the doorway, the boy hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. He got up and dusted himself off. Peered in every possible direction for the hulking serpentine forms of his parental units to undulate into the room to investigate the cacophony of the boys lard bag of a body schlepping against the terrazzo floors.

Nothing.

Still off in the distance the same rasping echo of their voices could be heard. Dinner was on the table. A full, phantasmic retinue of culinary curiosities lay before the boy splayed out on the table like a field dressed boar. Only one place setting.

As he climbed into his usual chair, everything began to shift. The air began to slide about the room haphazardly. Lighting dimmed as if a person was on the verge of unconsciousness. The boy’s sight began to play tricks on him. No longer did he hear the hollow echo of his parental units, only the tickle of the winds movement and the barely legible, waterlogged blop of flesh against the terrazzo floor.

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The boy started running for the door for what seemed like an eternity. He knew he began to move because he had jettisoned himself out of his seat like a pilot ripping the eject handle in a fighter jet. He could feel his legs ploughing through the air like an Olympic Swimmer. His feet never seeming to make purchase on the ground.

Thunder tumbled the house like so many bingo balls on a Wednesday night down at the parlor. Mother sure did love to cavort and cackle with the rest of the serpentine, blue-haired smoke stacks. The maddening chaos of what transpired ceased its machinations. The boy, frozen in place like a bowling pin, fully encompassed in a darkness that would give the color black the chills, wept.

A razor sharp feminine voice manifested in the boy’s ear, “Why do you weep child?” His voice, sputtering like a backfiring Pinto, was unable to annunciate a single a single word. “You are safe child.” The razor’s having dulled. A veneer of compassion gently caressed her tone. In the void that currently engulfed him, a form began to reveal itself. An alabaster foot began to pierce the veil of the void. Black vines of thorns caressing up the leg and about the body forming a bodice. This form was complex in its simplicity. The only imperfections making up her face. A surgically precise patchwork of Pain, Grief, Anger, Rage, Sadness and Contempt. Amidst the stitching, the boy saw beauty, compassion and empathy when he gazed upon her.

He stammered but found his wording “I…I…Where did you come from?” Finding courage enough to extricate the question from his maw. A wave of comfort slowly dripped down his body unlike anything his memory could recall. The corners of her mouth darted upward in a sinister grin, “My dear, sweet child!” A petite chuckle shot from her lips like a bullet. “I have always been and I will never cease to be.” She leaned in closer, the crook of her hand between her thumb and forefinger resting gently on the boys chin. He could now see that the vines coursed around her body incessantly like a storm tossed sea. Her eyes were a blood red that shone like back lit rubies. The boy’s stress, fear, shock, awe and the years of torment at the hands of his parental units kept melting away like the spring sun meeting a snow man.

“You will likely inquire as to my moniker.” The demon smiled at him. “I am ‘She’ and I wish for you to take my hand and come with me. Do you consent?” With a slight nod the boy signaled his consent. She took his hand, the vines crawling up to her wrist revealing slender alabaster hands with long fingernails that looked to be created from the void itself. “Where you dwelled was a construct. A lie. Fabricated as a prison within which to keep you shackled for all eternity so that you would not realize your true potential. They subjected you to it without your consent. To keep you small. To keep you afraid. to prevent you from finding your voice.” “H-how do you know all of this?” The boy’s eyes taking the circumference of moons. “You see, my dear sweet boy, you and I are one in the same. I am an Angel of Consequence. To keep you trapped, they tried to sever your emotional capacity from you. What they didn’t foresee was the creation of me!” She cackled so loudly the void began to quiver from its force.

“I don’t understand what you mean!” cried the boy. Crumpling to the ground into a ball. Pulling his arms and legs in like a turtle, he wept again.

She knelt by the boy. Gazing down on him with her blood ruby eyes shimmering like one of Liberace’s jackets. She stroked the boys hair, calming him. The boy turned and hugged her. The vines peeling back so as not to harm the boy. “Yes, that’s it boy, you are safe with me.” She wrapped her arms tightly around the boy. She kissed his forehead. The vines slowly began to engulf She’s head and the boys arms and legs. She’s gaze locked in his and as the vines traversed her face She whispered, “I am you, You are me…As Above, So Below.” With the last echo of sound escaping She’s lips, the vines inundated every molecule of the two figures. Wrenching and writhing at a rapacious pace. The vines ceased their waltz, decayed and fell away revealing a perfect onyx sphere. The void dissipated.

I awoke with my face against my desk moist from the drool. My head was swimming like a 10 year old trying to make a whirlpool in his friends above ground swimming pool. Trying to shake the memory off by shaking my head akin to a dog just having been given a bath. I took a sip of my luke cold coffee to try to snap out of it. Pushing myself up from the desk, weebling and wobbling to the spare bath. Slightly chuckling to myself because I didn’t fall down. Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down you know. Wrenching the cold water faucet to the full on position. Water careening out, I put my hands under to splash my face. I look to the mirror. My eyes shimmer like blood red rubies. I jump back, the entirety of what I thought was a dream enshrouding my mind and within a moment, clarity. A soft, razor like, feminine voice echoes in my cranium, “I am you. You are me. As above, so below.”

I’m usually pretty good and synthesizing something from the electrical impulses blasting Morse Code through my mind on the Neural Information Superhighway. It has been a little odd to me as of late that my writing has be relatively devoid of any of my usual morose meanderings when I wax poetic. So, Dear Reader, you get the pleasure of seeing me just absolutely ramble about Nothing and Everything All At Once.

I sit here and hope that my thoughts careen their way into some form of concrete perspective that falls in my lap like good ol Jim Bob panning for gold when he hits pay dirt. “EUREKA!” the exclamation would rise through the slew quarry ad all thr synapses would gather in feverish wonder at the verbose lexicon of a story that proceeded to undulate out of the pan of my mind.

Sometimes I talk about a fictitious person. His or Her name would be Jim or Jane Bob, respectively. Is this person really fictitious? Do they bear some concrete relevance to me? I can say I’ve ever met them face to face. Or maybe, just maybe, they represent and amalgamation of “single-serving friends”. the multitudes of NPC’s that have crossed my path over time. Am I, similarly, just and NPC to them? Or did my countenance reflect on them, in the dust bunny sized speck of time we inhabited together, enough that they are periodically reminded of me? I mean who could blame them. Don’t they know who I am? I AM the Juggernaut, Bitch!

I will always digress.

Such is the way of things. Rabbit holes and random reminders of loosely associated memories brought back only to serve me in that specific moment. Seems as though this grey matter acts as a giant claw game. I sit here and can’t very well remember much of my childhood, yet upon activation, YAHTZEE! A memory surfaces to be regaled to my unfortunately captive audience. I do apologize and promise you will e released at the end of the show. Hot chocolate and cookies for all….TO GO!

Speaking of captivity. Are children not but captives of the whims and cultural indoctrination of their parents? It seems a giant conveyor belt through time. One generation after the other. Tweaks and changes made along the way. Outgrowing varied cultural norms that no longer serve. And yet, HOW THE FUCK DID WE GET HERE!? Stuck to the aforementioned conveyor. Now on the underside and headed back in time?

I won’t linger here…the pressure returns.

I’m generating this piece and doing my due diligence to push more data past the megabyte teeth of Algorithm Audrey. Feed Me! Feed Me! Such an insatiable cunt. Always more, more, more. It never ends. Such is the way of the world. Never ending cycle of rinse and repeat. Trapped in a giant spin-cycle of the washing machine of time. Can we get some fabric softener please??? The fabric of time so rigid and razor sharp. Almost as if the universe contained nothing but starch. Better keep going lest the Iron of Idleness flatten and steam you.

Steam. Self is steam. Self-Esteem. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. There are good things afoot in my weird world. Eye on the prize and don’t move your own goal posts.

Don’t move your own goal posts. That needs rumination.

It appears we’ve reached the end of this particular game of chicken. Hmmmm? Chicken. I’ll probably make wings for dinner. If I eat anymore BAWK chicken BAWK I’ll BAWK likely turn into a COCK-A-DOODLE DOOOOOO chicken.

Type and hit send right?

Thanks for being here my dear, esteemed reader. You are appreciated! Even when you may feel like you aren’t, return to this piece and read this. I appreciate you!

Peas and Collard Greens,

Sorin Malcontent

If you couldn’t tell by now this piece veers away from my Satanism. Periodically, I write from the perspective of the man behind Sorin Malcontent. This is one such piece.

As I have detailed before, in one of my earliest articles on here, I am a person in long term recovery from substance use and mental health challenges. I’ve engaged in a plethora of dangerous and potentially lethal activities. Thankfully I can say that is almost 18 years in my rear-view mirror. Self-reflection, determination, perseverance and an unquenchable drive to live my life and learn and to do things differently have aided me in this journey. It hasn’t always been easy. How I navigate things has changed thanks to recognizing the aforementioned strengths along with a steadfast resolve to embrace growth and change. Over the last two and a half years I have engaged in bi-weekly therapy sessions. One of the hardest and most necessary revelations that I have come to is that I have no fucking clue who the fuck my parents were. Not that my parents weren’t actually my parents but the image, ideals and how they presented themselves in the world was a lie.

My Mother was married prior to my Father. Found this out after she died. I have a half-brother along with his children, my half-nieces, one of whom I am in contact with and we converse. I already wrote about what my Mother did to me. My Father completely wrote my brother and myself out of his will, leaving everything to his second wife. This included a home that he and my Mother purchased, was all but destroyed in Hurricane Katrina and my Brother rebuilt with his bare hands and was promised to my Brother by my Father. He funneled over 480k dollars the Family Trust, willed to my Brother and myself by our Mother, to Satan only knows where….he does, my Father’s 2nd wife.

Today something else hit home while at work. I had known about it. I still have the paperwork for it. Something at work finally made all the pieces click into place. I told the members of my Team about it because it related to something we were discussing. I became emotional as one would. Then, as I do, the emotions were reeled back in. The fact that I got emotional while revealing it openly for the first time ever is proof of the benefit of my therapy. Later in the day, wile on an errand for work, I had time to clear my head more. Cranked up the music and cried for 25 minutes straight….longest I’ve cried in 27 years.

So what is this thing I keep eluding to you are probably asking yourself by now after getting to this point of typeface word vomit all over your Substack screen.

The Price Of A Life…

At some point, most likely when I was eyeballs deep in my addiction, my Father took out a life insurance policy on me. At the bare minimum, I believe he had resigned himself to the fact that my current life choices were leading me to my death and, should something have happened, he either didn’t want to be on the hook for financial repercussions or wanted to have the money with which to bury me….at minimum. Panning out, he wanted to cash in on my demise.

As I mentioned, I still have the paperwork. So, what was my life worth to my Father?

$25,000.00

Author’s Note: These are my thoughts alone and are not indicative in any capacity of the thoughts, opinions or policies of TST, it’s Executive Ministry, it’s Ministers or the Congregations.

“Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man…” ~ “Thanatopsis” by William Cullen Bryant

Once we breathe our first breath there is but one certainty, Death. In my life I have experienced and inordinate amount of death. It has affected me greatly and used to almost cripple me at times. As a practitioner of a non-theistic religion, I do not believe in an after-life. I could blather on about the continuation of energy but I do not hold the proper educational acumen to speak properly on this. To quote a song by the rap artist Prozak, “On your headstone there will be two dates. All that matters is that line in the middle.” People often speak about “Living Your Dash”. Hell, I even have “Live Life” tattooed on my knuckles (a personal motto adopted after entering recovery from years of substance use). Being surrounded by death skews your perception on things sometimes.

At one point in my life I did an ancestry test and began putting the pieces together of my family tree. In my searching I found a website called Find-A-Grave and was able to search the resting places of my ancestors. There are people that go around randomly taking photos of graves and uploading them to this site. You can even put in a “request for photo” and sometimes people will fill them. Collecting all this data led me on an adventure. I went to Texas where my Father’s side of the family is from and physically located the resting places of ancestors that I had never been to no matter how many times I visited my family in Texas. My Mother and Father had a habit of keeping me from funerals and resting places of even relatives I knew, but that is a different story.

I was deep in thought one day after seeing another in countless petitions for help with burial costs for a lost loved one of some person. It made me remember old records I saw in family paperwork where, much like and insurance policy, families used to have, basically, burial policies through mortuaries or cemeteries themselves. Plots would be bought and paid for over time. I thought about what would happen once my body completely failed and I was no more. How would I be buried/interred/etc.? I had always said, fantastically no less, that I would want to be burned atop a huge funeral pyre while my loved ones danced and celebrated my life to the wee hours of the morning. Realistically speaking, is that even feasible or affordable given my current lot in life? Probably not.

No sooner did I finish these thoughts then my brain “zoomed out” and put on it’s “satanic lens”. What about members of TST? Those of us that have been estranged and othered for simply existing as our most authentic selves and/or for our alignment with Temple Satanism?

Far too often do “Others” impose their will on the recently departed and the true family of the recently departed. Don’t get me started on the absolute FARCE estate hearings can be in the US (this cuts deep for me).

Tenet 3 states: “One’s body is inviolable, subject to one’s own will alone.” With this in mind I propose that, in death, we as Temple Satanists have our final embodiment of Tenet 3 (Thanks ) , the right to determine, without encroachment of outside arbitrary authority, how our bodies are to be treated in death and what is to be done with it. While I have not yet done one, I recommend everyone write out a will specifically detailing what if anything goes where and to whom AND how you wish your remains to be handled. Find someone that you trust implicitly or multiple people to entrust with notarized copies of your final wishes. These are your Death Guardians.

I also began postulating on what it might take to open a private cemetery for members of TST. Decent amount of land. Specific areas to accommodate varying burial options. Potentially a little pond area for scattering of ashes, a place to inter and even space for more eco-friendly choices like biodegradable urns, human composting and tree pods. It would have to comply with any and all local regulatory boards. The main caretaker would have to have licensing to be able to receive and transport remains from other parts of the country. Back to a previous point, it sickens me that people have to undergo financial stress just to properly deal with their loved ones remains. That in mind it would need to be reasonably affordable. Enough to fully meet The Final Tenet 3 of the Decedent and also to support the cemeteries operations.

Tenet 1 from Temple Satanist to Temple Satanist should extend into death. Compassion and Empathy for the dying and recently departed and their wishes…within reason. We owe it to ourselves to be each others caretaker because so many who should have weren’t or aren’t. Did not Dionysus, Nectaire and the rest of the fallen angels care for the early inhabitants of Earth whilst Ialdabaoth was no where to be found? So to should we be as such to each other. Not only in the pursuit of knowledge but also in the end.

This may be too lofty a dream. Knowing that there is a place to put what remains of our meat suit once it fails and we are no longer means something to me.

Yours In Satan,

Sorin Malcontent

“There is surely nothing other than the single purpose of the present moment. A man's whole life is a succession of moment after moment. If one fully understands the present moment, there will be nothing else to do, and nothing else to pursue. Live being true to the single purpose of the moment.”

~Yamamoto Tsunetomo “Hagakure: The Secret Wisdom of the Samurai”

Heathens and Heretics alike! Gather ye round! I bring great tidings from the desk of Sorin Malcontent!

I sit in wonder at the roads that lay before me. It fills me with great Satanic Joy to have experienced what I have thus far and, I’m happy to report, the journey continues. If you would have asked me, this time last year, that I would have raised a TST flag in my town, written a well received essay on the comparison of Bushido and the Tenets of TST and be consistently writing, I would have laughed at you. Well, here we are.

Last night I was having a chat with a close friend and mentor. I told them “I really don’t think some people understand how much TST means to me.” At the beginning of 2023 I told myself I would work towards expanding my Satanic Practice. No destination. Only growth. To live being true to the single purpose of the moment. Many opportunities have come my way and in each I have made my way. When a door opens, do not hesitate, enter.

In the initial stages of formulating “The Satanic Warrior: A Comparative Study of TST’s Tenets and Bushido for the Modern Satanist”, I was approached by the Director of Hellmouth Religious Services curious as to whether or not I would be interested in using my essay as the basis for a TST Religious Service. I may have stuttered but I did not hesitate. I entered. It is finally time.

This Tuesday, March 10th at 8PM CET, 8PM ET and 8PM PT

and myself will be the presiding over Hellmouth Religious Services presentation of: “Satanic Warrior: A Satanic Deliberation”.

I hope you will join us. To tune in, head over to TSTTV during any of the aforementioned timeslots. Viewing is free however you do need to create an account.

Yours in Satan,

Sorin Malcontent

“Devotion to the study of one’s path—first acquiring the fundamentals, and then continuing to refine your knowledge and skills—is a lifelong pursuit with no end. Without becoming content with your level of accomplishment, think critically of everything, and spend your entire life traveling the path, asking, “How can I find the truth of the Way?” Never give up the quest. Continue to practice like this and you will uncover the Way.”

~Yamamoto Tsunetomo “Hagakure: The Secret Wisdom of The Samurai”

Author’s Note: What is related here is true. I may have briefly discussed this in one of my earliest posts. I’m not entirely sure. What I do know is that this is a huge step for me. I can’t tell my blood. I’ve told my inner circle. Now, in an effort to further my growth, I tell you, my Comrade Stackians. Special Thanks to The Writer’s Coven and Chuck Palahniuk for this writing prompt. When writing about the most difficult things, just write and hit send. That’s another lesson I learned today. Write and Hit Send.

I wish I didn’t know what I know now. To be honest, because of my own mind and beliefs, I am conflicted as to the validity of what I now know.

Fall ‘92. Sleeping. A weight. Stench of stale menthol cigarettes, bourbon and sweet vermouth. Rhythmic motion. Pressure intensifying. Oh fuck! Oh fuck! A raspy female voice penetrating REM sleep and echoing “DON’T CUM! DON’T CUM!” Blackness. I awake with my alarm. Head abnormally full of fog. Slowly I don my school uniform. My stomach churns like a galleon lost at sea as the faint smell of cigarettes and liquor linger in my nostrils. I make my way to the living room stopping just inside the doorway. My Mother, in her usual moomoo, sat reading the Times Picayune with her cup of coffee and smoking a Montclair Menthol Light 100. I begin to speak “Mom?”, my voice cracks, “Did something happen last night?” She doesn’t even look up from the paper. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” she quips, “Go fix your breakfast and get out to the bus.”

It’s March 2015, I’m picking myself up off the floor. The searing memory had flooded my consciousness like i had been hit over the head with a blackjack. Dropping me to the floor. The smells viscerally real. I wasn’t asleep. This wasn’t a dream.

Over the next decade the image of my Mother eroded like the shores of the Louisiana coastline. Nibbled away. Each wave taking another bite out of the isle that was my Mother’s memory.

She used to tell me she would love me even if I became an “axe murderer”. Was this authentic or was this just to placate living with the monster inside her own mind.

I’m in therapy. I still haven’t found resolution. I accept that it happened while simultaneously being unsure of the validity of the memory. It doesn’t torture me. It doesn’t haunt my dreams. There is a chance that it affects my life in one way.

Mother’s Day 2025. I closed the door. What I once knew of my Mother and how I once saw and felt about my Mother… Gone. The final wave biting away at the last speck that was the isle of my Mother in my mind. Only sea remains. It’s vast expanse growing only more desolate.

I wish I did not know what I now know.