Attempted Assassination of Thelemic Sex Magician

A Jerry Bournes Special Report 

On the 17th of March in the middle of a sunny, warm afternoon, G.M.Kelly, editor of The Newaeon Newsletter, outspoken defender of Thelema and its founder Aleister Crowley, was viciously run down by a seemingly careless motorist while legally crossing a city street to return home. Kelly, as he has always preferred to be called, claiming to be an informal farm boy at heart, had just left his printer's having had the first number of the sixth volume of his publication prepared for distribution--it is an issue which shows no mercy in dealing with a well known television talk show host and self-proclaimed journalist.

Fortunately, Kelly survived. Surprisingly, the driver of the automobile also survived.

Kelly explained: "I'd just had TNN six-one printed and while carefully crossing in front of a fully stopped car at an intersection I was knocked down and thrown into the usually busy one-way three-lane main thoroughfare. Luckily, traffic on the street had been stopped a block away by a traffic light. Despite what many people seem to think of me because of my necessarily hard-nosed attitude towards those who would attack and pervert Thelema, I am an extremely relaxed, flexible man...not only intellectually and emotionally, but also physically. A split second after I had been struck by the car, whose driver hit the gas while watching the halted traffic up the street rather than watching where she was going, I jumped back to my feet completely unharmed, without so much as even a bruise later, despite the fact that I do have a bad back from an injury sustained in 1969 e.v.."

Kelly further explained: "Without any apparent, sincere concern whatsoever, the driver leaned casually out her window and asked 'Are you okay?' Well, needless to say, I was a bit peeved. In an admittedly petulant manner I replied, 'I hope to hell I am! Just get the hell out of here!' The lady then literally added insult to injury and rudely replied, 'Well f--k you then!' I just could not believe it! First she carelessly, without the least concern for human life whatsoever, runs down a pedestrian, and then she insults her victim. I'm thinking, 'Lady, at least be smart enough to fake some concern. Jump out of your car and make some kind of a fuss over me and apologize your ass off...just in case!'

"Dumbfounded, I turned and looked at the blonde. 'Lady,' I say, 'do you want me to take your license? I mean really take your license?' 'I don't care!' she angrily exclaimed. 'I didn't want to get in an accident and dent my car,' she added. I stood there slack-jawed. 'Listen, lady,' I said, 'you just hit and knocked down a pedestrian who was legally crossing the street! Do you understand? There are dozens of witnesses,' I said, gesturing towards the people standing around, watching the event from a short distance away, 'and if I wanted, I could have your license taken away for life. You could end up working the rest of your days to support me. And by the looks of it,' I pointed to the paramedic uniform the young woman was wearing, 'I could have you blackballed so badly you would have to look for a new line of work to pay for your little boo boo here. And what if I had been a frail old woman or a little kid whose head was level with the hood of your car when you hit the accelerator?'

"Now the woman began to stammer and whine, repeating that she had been afraid she might have gotten a dent in her car...once more without even considering her shameful attitude, more or less stating that her car was more important to her than a human life. I just couldn't believe it. I simply shook my head, turned my back on her, and as I walked away, threw over my shoulder, 'You're stupid, lady!'"

Interviewing some of the witnesses to this event, words like "miraculous" and "like magic" were used to describe the manner in which G.M.Kelly regained his feet and composure to stroll away after being viciously run down in what appeared to be an accident.

But had it been an accident?

I have been investigating Kelly's history and startling evidence seems to indicate that it was not an accident and that there have been, in the past, repeated attempts to take the infamous magician's life.

Going as far back as his early childhood, I discovered that twice, before he had mastered the art of swimming, Kelly nearly drowned in two different lakes. He described the first experience in particular as remarkably peaceful. Kelly, enthralled by the beauty and peace of his surroundings, did not struggle with death, whose icy hand pulled his child's body towards the bottom of the lake. He described the jade green color of the water, bits of jetsam floating in that calm expanse in unique silhouette forms, as tranquil and lulling. It was his "dad" who finally dove into the water and pulled him out.

Circa 1968, while still in high school, a deliberate attempt had been made upon Kelly's life. While consoling a girl in the hallways of the school, having left the dance upstairs in the gymnasium, the chief bully and his gang entered the scene. The ruffian Kelly described as the ideal Nazi: "He had cruel good looks, neatly combed blond hair, hard blue eyes; he was a neat dresser, muscular--very physically fit--and he possessed above average intelligence. However, he was remarkably cruel. One of his favorite pastimes was to beat a fellow student so badly that the other fellow had to crawl away bleeding. No one liked him. Not even his little group of followers. They only followed him because it was safer than being run over by him. Shortly after graduation he was involved in an automobile accident and paralyzed."

Kelly was knocked down by an unexpected punch that cut his lip. The ruffian, obviously intoxicated, then lifted his foot with the intention of bringing it down squarely and with full force to crush Kelly's face. Kelly, laying on his back, wearing the Cuban-heeled boots that helped win him the reputation of being a "mod" dresser, despite the fact that these boots, a pair of wristbands and dickeys were the "moddest" he had ever gotten, grabbed the descending boot heel with both hands, stopping it, and then drove one of his Cuban heels straight into the attacker's groin. The ruffian and his gang quickly disappeared after that to experience further humiliation in later encounters, and, for the moment at least, Kelly had become a bit of a hero to the rest of his classmates and his teachers.

In 1969 G.M.Kelly fell from a height of approximately three stories due to a faulty overpass and his own stupid carelessness. Somehow the rumor spread that he had attempted suicide, which Kelly generally laughs at saying, "Had that been my intention, I think I would have been smart enough to pick a higher bridge!" He landed on his feet, let out a scream that he was pleased to note was entirely masculine in sound, and upon trying to rise to his feet discovered that his legs, as he puts it, "were like rubber bands". Falling back to the ground, he concluded that his back had been broken in the fall. Kelly then squirmed about on the ground, an overgrown grassy area near the road that ran under the overpass he had fallen from, found a small rise and proceeded to set his own back. Managing to get back up on his feet, he did not for a moment entertain the idea of bending to sit in an automobile, so instead of hitching a ride to the nearest hospital, the nineteen year old neophyte walked the two or three miles distance.

As usual, he was detained with inane questions about insurance coverage, and when the doctor finally saw him, Kelly's calm assertion that his back had been broken in the fall was ignored. His punctured hand, an injury sustained while he was trying to grab a hold of the railing after his feet had slipped out from under him on the overpass (hardly the thing a leaping man would do), was cleaned and dressed, but only after much insisting did the doctor agree to x-rays of his spinal column--scheduled for the following day. Needless to say, (Kelly having spent a rather uncomfortable and disconcerting twenty-four hours, careful not to incur greater injury to his body that would perhaps have led to physical paralysis, no one believing he had actually broken and then set his back), the physician's face was very red after the x-rays revealed Kelly's broken back. A week and a half in the hospital, during which time Kelly displayed an incredible control over his bodily functions that frankly amazed the staff, and he was up and about again. Even with a cast on his arm, his wrist having been damaged in the attempt to save himself from the fall, and encased in a metal backbrace that he was doomed to wear for a year, Kelly engaged in such activities as touch football and even more dangerous endeavors: romance.

Over the years there were other incidents:

During the year he wore a metal backbrace under his clothing, Kelly was attacked by three hoodlums in broad daylight as a black and white police cruiser drove right past. The most remarkable thing he noted was the leader's physical and psychic resemblance to his old school enemy. Having been grabbed from behind, slammed against a wall, and viciously hit in the face, Kelly stood amazed as his attackers, laughing, turned and strolled away from him. In a state of disbelief, finding it incredible that total strangers should wish to do him such harm, and without even the intention of robbing him, Kelly quickly walked up to the hood who was the obvious leader of the trio, grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, but instead of striking back, simply asked why he had hit him. No answer was forthcoming, however, and when the punk laughed and pushed Kelly back, the budding magician and student of human behaviour lost his footing and held on to the hooligan to break his inevitable fall to the hard concrete paving, mindful of the condition of his spinal column. As he made contact with the sidewalk, Kelly realized that he was in for a further beating and thinking fast did the most logical, if least heroic, thing to put an immediate end to the situation. He grabbed the pocket of the punk's slacks and pulled out the entire front of his pants. It was Kelly who had the last laugh, albeit with a bloody lip, as he watched the Nazi-like bully, his companions naturally following close behind, doing his best to hold his torn slacks together and hide his private parts as he ran off and away from the laughter of the numerous witnesses to the event.

Later that day, Kelly met his then best friend (who has since been born again). His friend ignored his disheveled appearance, asked "What's new?", to which Kelly replied, "Not much", and they went on for some time before Bud could stand it no longer and asked about what had obviously happened. After telling the story, the two young men encountered the hooligan, who had redressed himself in clothes meant to be dirtied and torn in fighting, and with ten to a score of others backing him up, tried to coax Kelly into, supposedly, a one-on-one. The fellow quickly grew tried of coaxing, became crude and vulgar, Kelly made fun of him, the encounter soon became a spectator sport which the young writer easily won, causing people to again laugh at the bully who was eventually escorted away by security men.

Kelly and Bud, a very large young man two years his senior, but completely terrified by the event (praise the Lord), casually strolled past the gang, Kelly smiling despite the fact that the security guards were now nowhere in sight, and then laughed in their faces. They entered a bakery at Kelly's insistence, rather than to simply leave the mall at which this occurred, and Bud quickly learned the reason why. There was another entrance to the bakery by which Kelly and his companion could leave the mall without the disgraceful appearance of fleeing. "I never claimed to be bloody Bruce Lee," he later explained. "There were a good number of those guys and some of them had made it clear that they had chains and things in their pockets and under their jackets. After all, I didn't have a big red S under my shirt...just an aluminum backbrace!"

Sometime after his back had healed the brace had been removed, Kelly was attacked by five rough characters in Point State Park, as he was talking with a young lady, shortly after quitting time at The Pittsburgh Press where he then worked. They teased and harassed him for a time, then began circling him trying to coax him into a fight, but he resisted. Eventually one of their number growled like an animal and rushed in on Kelly. The maniac pummeled Kelly's face as the young magician stood his ground, taking the punches, moving not an inch from where he stood. The lunatic had no way of knowing that he had attacked a Thelemic magician and that the young aspiring student of the esoteric arts had "separated (himself) from (his) physical vehicle". He later explained that by this he meant that he had altered his state of consciousness so that he was no longer concentrated upon the physical plane. Consequently, he was so incredibly relaxed and detached that his body was almost immovable and he sustained not the slightest injury from the vicious attack, later walking away without even a bruise. However, he also explained, such a state could not be maintained indefinitely when one's body, so to speak, is in real jeopardy of being destroyed. Kelly returned to the somatic or physical state of consciousness, resigned to the fact that he would have to deal with the situation upon the maniac's level, casually grabbed the attacker around the head and simply dropped to the cobblestone paving, his body on top of the man's head, and ignoring his futile attempts to free himself and harm Kelly, proceeded to grind off a good portion of the villain's face while demanding an apology and a promise to cease and desist. A good deal of flesh and blood lost, the maniac, whimpering, eventually met Kelly's demands, was released, promptly sought to break his word and was stopped by his companions who then dragged him away, showing a great deal of respect for the soft-spoken young magician.

In the same park, again after work, Kelly sat in a half lotus, concentrated upon the reflection of the sun upon the river, and successfully entered a blissful yogic state. Time passed unnoticed and when he again returned to the somatic state Kelly discovered that it was late evening and dark. On his way out of the park, Kelly turned away from the sidewalk because the overhead lamp was out, it was dark, and he could see shifting shapes in the darkness. Then, as usual, deciding to encounter instead of run away from his fears, Kelly turned again and took the dark way. "Okay," he told me, "maybe sometimes it is wiser to avoid the possible danger, but fortunately it turned out well."

A large man stepped out of the shadows, stood in Kelly's way, and demanded money from him. The young student of yoga, feeling incredibly tranquil from his meditations, calmly and softly said "No". Unexpectedly, the big man lashed out and punched Kelly in the face with all of his strength, amazed that he had failed to knock him down. Touching his lip and examining the drop of blood on his finger, Kelly looked back at the man who stood in his way and again calmly replied "No" to the repeated demand. He literally offered his other cheek, which Kelly notes few Christians practice, and was again struck in the face, but this time with no effect whatsoever as the yoga student had been prepared for it and flowed with the punch. "Are you finished?" he calmly asked his attacker who stood with mouth agape. Kelly then stepped around and walked away from the would-be mugger. When the man's friend rushed up to Kelly profusely apologizing for the man's actions, Kelly calmly turned to the shirtless fellow who had a tiny crucifix dangling from one earlobe and said very sweetly before strolling away: "It's all right. I could have killed him if I'd wanted to."

Yet again, in the middle of a bright summer day, in that same downtown Pittsburgh park, Kelly was approached by a man bearing a loaded revolver which he stuck in the young magician's side. He demanded Kelly's money with the threat of shooting him if he did not comply. Kelly, admitting "I had about three silent heart attacks in a row and nearly wet myself, but would have rather died than admit that to the man!" laughed in the mugger's face and cavalierly said "Shoot!" The man was taken aback, said he would count to three and then shoot if Kelly did not hand over his money, then counted to two, halted, started again, halted again at two, and finally his ill-chosen victim, smiling hugely, asked, "What's the matter? Can't count to three? Here, let me help you. One. Two. Three. See. Isn't that easy? Now you try it." Totally baffled and disconcerted, the mugger, putting the gun back into his coat and stepping away from Kelly, said that he would "let it slide this time", then walked away--but not fast enough to miss the magician's loud laughter which probably haunted him for months thereafter. Of course, when a fellow employee at the Press decided to report the incident within the pages of the newspaper, despite Kelly's request to forget about it, the affair was inaccurately reported.

Kelly had also been knifed by another mugger at a later date, in the East Liberty section of the city. The attacker received a broken jaw for his trouble after he had inserted the first inch of his weapon into Kelly's stomach. Kelly walked home, disinfected his wound with whiskey and attended to his own dressings.

There were other incidents such as automobile "accidents" from which he walked away unharmed, and according to G.M.Kelly, he had also been attacked upon more than one occasion psychically. However, such claims of psychic attack are in this reporter's opinion dubious at best. Yet, Kelly speaks with great humor of each alleged magical attack, claiming that it is like trying to drown a fish in water; that like nightmares, such attacks are to him much the same as a roller-coaster is to a child.

I have also uncovered numerous similar incidents in the thirty-eight years of G.M.Kelly's life, but it was the most recent one, directly after the printing of the newsletter which reveals the sham reporting of television celebrity Geraldo Rivera that led me to my investigation. There is no doubt in my mind. The evidence is alarming. Not one of these "accidents" and incidents were haphazard. Each was a deliberate attempt upon G.M.Kelly's life.

The culprit? I have uncovered irrefutable proof that there is an organized network at work in our country that will stop at nothing to defend their leader who is worshipped by them (as well as by himself) as a god. These cultists, mesmerized by their leader, an obvious cult figure, have dogged Kelly all his life, seeing the potential even in his childhood, and finally feeling his hot breath down their necks when The Newaeon Newsletter, Volume VI, Number 1, was printed tried once more to silence him. These people have masterminded every attempt upon Kelly's life, using some form of hypnosis to drown him, hiring ruffians to attack him, paying off police officers to look the other way and physicians to medically mistreat him.

I am, of course, speaking of the as yet little known but highly organized nationwide network of Geraldoists that threaten to destroy the minds of every living being in America.

The cult of Geraldoism is spreading rapidly,ignoring the attacks of television critics and the comments of every respected journalist in the United States. Their leader, who no doubt will deny that such a cult exists, is building a vast following of simple-minded individuals who are willing to accept anything he says on television without regard for the overwhelming abundance of fact that contradicts and proves false everything that the talk show host "reports" on.

The cultists' supreme leader, the self-styled journalist, is a man whose ego knows no bounds--an utter fanatic who, because it is sensational and will help him make a name for himself to gain the attention he so desperately desires, jumps to wild conclusions that he will not in the least alter or change no matter how much evidence to the contrary is placed plainly before him. He has condemned not only the innocent, but also the great, and speaks with assurance that one day he will be recognized as a great man, taken seriously as a true journalist, and respected by all. He is, of course, living in a dream world, desperate for the respect of those men and women who have proven themselves to be true journalists.

The leader of the Geraldoists, falling into the patterns of those who suffer from the same mental and emotional disorder that he suffers from, while obviously desiring the love and respect of those respected journalists that he considers his peers, outwardly shows disdain by calling them "punks", insisting that he has chosen not to be a member of their clique, while in fact it is clear that he would love to be included in their numbers and that he has been excluded by them and their considerable and understandable disgust for his lack of objectivity, his extremely poor investigative techniques, and his general unethical behavior and methods, not to mention his passion for self-aggrandizement.

Like many cult leaders before him, the paper pope of Geraldoism is unshakably fanatic and tenacious. Nothing seems to stop this high priest of tabloid television, this trafficker in TV trash. Neither the harsh comments of respected journalists, law enforcement officials, renown and admired celebrities, nor any amount of common sense, reason, logic and evidence, has any effect upon this man and his fanaticism. However, no man is completely indestructible (with the possible exception of G.M.Kelly!), and the leader of the Geraldoists will no doubt one day succumb to the growing apathy and boredom of his followers, the weight of his own well publicized blunders, and the dread of every individual whose very means of existence depends upon television and their popularity on the proverbial boob tube: falling ratings.

It is true that at the time of this writing Geraldo Rivera is quite popular and receiving the monetary benefits of that popularity, however, he cannot hide the fact, no matter how hard he tries, that he is a tormented man, desperately desiring the love and respect of the very people he constantly outrages and insults--individuals he cannot help but to respect for their dedication, self-discipline, and determination to always put the story first.

And there is where the difference between the respected journalists of our society and Geraldo Rivera can be seen. Whereas the headline of a story is printed in large, bold type to focus attention upon most news stories followed by a small by-line, putting the story first, one finds that the stories told and virtually invented, pieced together from various unrelated scraps of miscellany, by Geraldo Rivera are inevitably preceded by such things as "A Geraldo Rivera Special" printed in screen-filling letters, announced as if the eight wonder of the world were being presented.

It is obvious what comes first in the mind of the Geraldoists' leader--not the story, as it is with every honorable and respected journalist, but one thing and one thing only: Geraldo Rivera.

Extreme caution should be taken so as not to fall under the charismatic spell of this master of muck and his organized network of Geraldoists. Remember, the best defense against this threat to human intelligence is careful analysis, reason, logic, sincere objectivity and good old not-so-common common sense. Urge those around you who are falling under the spell of this inquisitorial pseudo-journalist to carefully examine his statements and the statements of his cohorts, as well as the so-called evidence which, if presented at all, is perverted in such a way as to mislead. Offer alternative television viewing to these potential victims of Geraldoism. Help them to avoid addiction to the mind-controlling techniques employed by this tetrarch of trash TV. If necessary, write to your congressman and other elected officials and demand a national task force to investigate and battle this growing menace and wipe out Geraldoism wherever it rears its ugly mustachioed head.

The fate of society is in your hands.

____________________________________

EDITOR'S NOTE: While the truth of the earlier part of this article pertaining to the misadventures of G.M.Kelly has been verified as fact, we hold severe reservations concerning the existence of an organized network of cultists devoted to the worship of Geraldo Rivera. Although we have no doubt whatsoever that Mr. Rivera is worshipped as a god by at least one person, namely himself, we seriously doubt that crimes have been committed either by him or for his sake. Mr. Rivera's only crime seems to be misrepresenting himself as a legitimate journalist.

(TNN.VI.2.1-3, MAY 1989 E.V.)


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