Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Gerald Yorke

Karlsruherstrasse 2.

Berlin-Halensee.

Die [Sunday]

6 December [1931].

C∴[are] F∴[rater]

93.

Yours of 4/12 to hand this a.m. Damn sorry about "headaches and depression". We at least have no headaches. But we are utterly exhausted. You know my impotence. The record stands Sept 24, Oct 22, Nov 21. What is to be done about it?

"But it's ill jesting with a heavy heart" as Sergeant Buzfuz said. The fault is with you. (I am so exasperated that I am goaded into telling the truth) You fall with Lloyd because you haven't made the Magickal Gesture that gives you the moral right to master men. Your letter was perfect technically; but it wasn't loaded. (God, if I had your assortment of aunts!)

What is a "fraud". Knowles [Guy Knowles] is simply a scoffer, as my Uncle Tom [Tom Bond Bishop] would say; but too conventional to object effectively to people like Carter [Lieutenant Colonel John Carter]. The days of wishy-washiness are over; we are down to brass tacks. Bird-seed must yield to Man-seed.

This applies (like the Law of Thelema) to every atom as to every composite body acting as an unity. The one best bet is that you may understand what your motto implies—and get through the Ordeal of a Neophyte.

The writing of pamphlets is like nothing else. One has to select with more care than in a sonnet. And one is not even helped by the cut-and-dried rules of the sonnet. "Confidence" had to be side-tracked for "Commerce"—and probably "Wealth" has to come in between

Mean time we are uncertain of our daily corn, even till Dec 31. We have to rely on the Gods—and ye should be as Gods, knowing Good and Evil. Instead you are Mr Worldly-Wiseman, without worldly wisdom! Oh tragedy and comedy of the Great Work.

I blame myself for all this. When I did, it wasn't necessary; when I thought about it, there was not even means to meet necessity.

But I am done. I die. I bring forth fruit. You cling to life and lose it. Even your poor mangy Buddhist Bhikkhu would have known better. And he is only 50 per cent he-man, red-blooded, clean-living, American citizen. You have to be positive or bust.

93     93/93

F∴[raternal]ly

666.

P.S. Monday. You should have been at our P.S.A. Bill suddenly lost all consciousness of what she was doing, walked in from the kitchen, and stabbed me with the carving-knife. Then she got violent, and it was great fun holding her down till the doctor came an hour or so later. A bluggy business. The cause became apparent this morning; so there's another hope gone west. She sends you lots of love, but is in too great pain with this damned dysmenorrhoea to write for a day or so.

666.

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