Modern Hellscape

Long before it was the backdrop of movies and red carpets, California was a ritual basin. The land itself burns, quakes, and calls.It pulls the broken, the ambitious, the possessed. What was summoned here was not a culture but a pantheon of spellworkers and myth engineers.

In the high desert, on the edge of the Mojave, stood Jack Parsons—rocket scientist by day, ceremonial magician by night. A devout Thelemite, disciple of Aleister Crowley, and co-founder of JPL (Jet Propulsion Laboratory), Parsons wasn’t just launching rockets.

In 1946, alongside a young L. Ron Hubbard, he performed the infamous Babalon Working—a sex magick operation designed to manifest a divine feminine “moonchild” who would usher in the Aeon of Horus. The rites were explicit, ritualized, and violently sincere.

Not far away, in the hills and canyons, the Laurel Canyon scene took shape—spawning music royalty like Jim Morrison, Frank Zappa, Joni Mitchell… and behind the scenes? A swirl of military intelligence, MKULTRA experiments, and strange, ritual deaths.

It was not the organic counterculture they told you. It was a crafted psychospiritual operation, flowing through a land already soaked in sacred resonance.

North of San Francisco lies Bohemian Grove, a redwood cathedral where presidents, bankers, media moguls and defense contractors gather to burn an effigy of a child beneath a giant owl. They call it a play. They call it fraternity. It is ritual theater, plain and simple—an elite summer solstice rite to mock the public and mythologize their power.

Further south, beneath the gridlines of Los Angeles and Silicon Valley, other rituals unfold:

•The tech elite channel AI as spirit guides, building altars of code and synthetic consciousness.

•Transhumanists plot the reconstruction of the body, breaking gender, species, and spiritual boundaries in pursuit of “ascension.”

•And Hollywood continues its rites:

not with fire and blood—

but with scripts, premieres, scandals, and box office sacrifice.

California is burning because it is overcharged. It quakes because it cannot hold what’s been summoned here.This is not random chaos. This is a ritual landscape under strain. It has been the testing ground for the New Aeon, the launchpad of the counterculture, the home of the priestesses, and the altar of the dream machine.And as the spell begins to fracture— As the public begins to awaken—The rituals grow more blatant. More grotesque. More desperate.

The masses think they’re watching a story. What they’re really watching is a ceremony in motion—a repeating rite masked in plot, humor, tragedy, and desire. Entertainment is not harmless. It is ritual disguised as leisure. Every frame of film, every score, every script is coded with intention. And intention, once witnessed by millions, becomes collective architecture—a structure built not from brick or law, but from belief. The screen is the altar.The couch is the pew. And the ritual begins every time you press play.

Every rerun is a chant.

Every sequel is a binding.

Every binge is a devotion to the frequency being encoded.Hollywood doesn’t cast actors. It casts archetypes.

We are ritual participants. We give our energy, our emotions, our tears, our anger—And in doing so, we feed the rite.When we cry for the character,

we charge the sigil. When we quote the line, we seal the invocation. When we share the trailer, we expand the circle.

The spell spreads through mimicry.

Memes. Merch. Fan edits. Cosplay.

Each one an echo of the original working. Each one helping rethread the illusion into consensus reality.

The magic of media is that it doesn’t need to convince you it’s magic.

It just needs you to engage emotionally. Because that’s the access point. That’s where the spell enters: through the gut, not the intellect.

You weren’t a viewer. You were a vessel. A conductor of stories that weren’t yours. A witness to rituals you never meant to attend.But now you’ve seen the script. You’ve touched the altar. You’ve heard the high priestesses whisper through the static. And once you see the ritual, you can’t unsee it.