A Passion for Evil

For those in the UK, there’s A Passion for Evil, an upcoming stage production about Aleister Crowley which may be of interest by Purple Media in development with The Lowry. A Passion for Evil runs two nights, Sat Oct 29th and Sun Oct 30th.

If anyone attends this and wants to write a review, let me know … was it good? Was it a slide into to the Crowley Corollary of hysterical apophenic satanism or an interesting exploration worth having seen?

“Limited £5 tickets available on Studio shows – book now!

Aleister Crowley is one of the most controversial men of the 20th century.

A master of the occult, outstanding mountaineer, poet and writer. Crowley fearlessly pursued his search for the truth, exploring the world and the darker regions of his own mind, he rampaged through the hypocritical moral code of Victorian England.

They branded him the “Wickedest Man in the World” and there were allegations of human sacrifice yet even today he is followed by thousands.

In this piece of chilling theatre John Burns strips away the myth and seeks out the truth of the man they called The Beast.” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “Pale women sickening for some sister breast; Lone sisterhood of voiceless melancholy That wanders in this Hell, desiring rest From that desire that dwells forever free, Monstrous, a storm, a sea.”
  2. “Horribly useless, this business called life. What does it all matter, when love is gone? And who can hold love? Oh, misery! misery! And still so many years to live. To live alone.”
  3. “I lifted up my eyes. What soul stood there, Fronting my path? Tall, stately, delicate, A woman fairer than a pomegranate. A silver spear her hands of lotus bear, One shaft of moonlight quivering and straight. She pointed to the East with flashing eyes: ‘Thou canst not see her–but my Queen shall rise.’ Bowed head and beating heart, with feet unsure I passed her, trembling, for she was too pure. I could have loved her. No: she was too wise. Her presence was to gracious to endure. ‘She did not bid me go and chain me to her,’ I cried, comparing.”
  4. “Thus, sweet, I’ll sing when day doth break And weary lovers must awake To part, but now our pleasure take In one last bout of rivalry, Whose passions first shall answer make To the dances that the curtains shake Till we must part and love must die.”
  5. “O wanton breasts that heave deliciously And tempt my eager teeth!”