The Winter Solstice

Greetings for the Winter Solstice from the New Flesh Palladium. As the Sun returns to the Earth, so the Muse returns to the Monk-Knight of Thelema, the marrow to the Bone. Io Phalle.
One day, Sebastian takes Faustine for a walk in a section of the city where they never go. They were talking about the past, and voodoo, and magick, the yoga of atavistic resurgence. They were talking about “language is a virus”, as expounded by Elias Artista.
In the café, he poured the hot water over her teabag but the cup overflowed and yet still he poured. The water spread across the table and down onto her lap, hot water. She stood up from her chair, the wet dress clinging to her knees. Faustine’s pout is always enticing.
Sebastian’s fingers touch her lips. He says, “Like the cup, you are full. There is no room within you for me. If you wish to embrace me, you must empty yourself, being purified through the fire of the scourge. For ye shall not hold back even the last drop of your blood from the Cup of BABALON the Great.”
From the Neophyte of Eulis document:
I hear the beautiful voice of Faustine. Beneath the dulcid tones, a faint pleading bleeds through. “IADANAMADA”, the Undefiled Wisdom interweaves in a counterpoint of color and warmth and water and. . .the manta intones over and over again like the beating of the world’s heart. This is her sound vibration. This is it, the real thing.
She signed her contract of slavery in her own blood, Sebastian attending and supervising. The Mark of the Beast was cut deep into her flesh. The imprint made on the Deep Mind. The Magickal Child conceived.

The Host must be fully consumed as the priest is enflamed in prayer.