 books by saint natas... autohagiographical works: Confessions of a Black Magician (available from Original Falcon Press) poetic analysis: Something Sacred (out of print) Esoteric Tales (out of print) explorations of realities: Tales of Heartache and the Loss of God Star Crossed Chronicles (coming soon) The Lords of Secret Things (coming soon) Personal Data Real Name: Nathan Neuharth aka Saint Natas, Disco Shaman, Frater SEID (Spiritus Existo Infinitus Dominus), Galabram, Galahad del Acqs 666, Amen Ra, Peta' Manipi Identity: publicly known Occupation: anarchist, antichrist, artist, author, adventurer for hire Birth Place: unknown (possibly a satellite orbiting Sirius B), he claims it happened in a black out... Citizenship: the Black Iron Prison (once known as the Roman Empire, some times called the Third Reich, has even been called the United States and the British Empire; it goes by many names but it's all the same) Marital Status: divorced Known Relatives: unknown, (an indigo flavored form of immaculate conception is suspected; some say he is 3 quarters German and 1 quarter Sioux, but that may be urban legend) Group Affliliations: HOGD (formerly), the Order of Chaos (retired), kult ov kaos, Templi Ordo Chao (defunct), GWB, and other clandestine organizations... Height: 1.8 m Weight: 90 kg Eyes: blue Hair: brown Zodiac Sign: cancerAlignment: Neutral Evil
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....Issue VI in the works. accepting contributions, for article inquiries please contact Saint Natas
revealing the genius *(plato's genius i.e. the holy guardian angel, the complete unconscious)
one true love, the one i've been dreaming of, sweet, raunchy, white trash goddess, we howl, killer wolves mating for the delight of Pan, blue and red swirling, run naked in the forest, skyclad, and fuck in the grass. she sees Dionysus and Adonis in my eyes, together we die a thousand tiny deaths. in her the wet, humid jungle, the wild, moist, and feral. we smile darker than you think, our hearts laced with scars of innocence lost. quietly, i'm louder than you. my god is better than yours. the god of the hip, far out, and groovy, the god of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, i am Cain in early exile, through shedding tears for Abel, planning imperial, no more talk, let's walk. reach out to the dregs, the down trodden, the broken, these are my people, the rejecters of the program. i'm centered in the all-seeing eye of the storm, through crying about why it hurts so much, you want to fight me? come on. kick my ass. i'm a pussy. I am the Saint of Fools and Fuck Ups. the revolt is begun, with words like time bombs, uncoiling kundalini serpents in the future, which is now, time a moebius strip unraveled with the strike of the snake, awaken and arise, when it stops eating it's tail. today is the greatest day, to live and die, to love and cry, to laugh and lie, to cum and sigh. in silence all is magnificent, any single interrupting voice angelic. don't trust a man who's smooth between the legs, he'll be disgruntled with the bliss of creation, slapping your hallelujahs from the air, these are the riddles of madness, like a new wave savior day dreaming in technicolor rainbows of rain's end, an imaginary hero, leaning against a dumpster with a drunken smile, the growing puddle of piss lightly spattering his shoes, he zips his pants, lights a cigarette and hums 'hurdy gurdy man', like some burned out urban shaman, my poems are slices of life, hearts cut out, still beating, still bleeding, shined out diamonds, dull stars blinking out... |
