Deep in the heart of Leeds Point, New Jersey, an intrepid archaeologist stumbled upon an enigmatic novelty concealed within the oddest of hiding places—an old tire, forgotten amidst the eerie woods. Within this heinous hoop lay a manuscript, aged and mysterious, its pages adorned with cryptic symbols and a drawling of the Jersey Devil. It was as if the pigmy pines whispered secrets of a forgotten age. Undeterred by the strangeness that pervaded the air, a defrocked doctor by the name of T Halberd meticulously deciphered the ancient script. To his amazement, the esoteric language unraveled before his eyes, revealing itself as none other than Riddlesdiculous, a tongue used by the inner circle of the Riddlesbrood Touring Theater. The contents of the manuscript, however, were far more astonishing.
Written upon those timeworn pages, hidden for generations, was a poem—a hymn to the enigmatic deity, Pan. And the author? None other than the controversial and renowned Aleister Crowley. The significance of this discovery sent shivers down the archaeologist's yellow spine. How could such a forbidden work find its way to this desolate corner of the Jersey shore? As the scholar (If he truly was a scholar—no documentation could be found to confirm or deny his level of education) delved deeper into the verses, he unwittingly unleashed an unseen force. A chill wind crept through the pine trees, whispering the words of the poem with an otherworldly fervor. Below is the translation submitted to the media for publication:
Etsaaf skau Paan
Hymn for Pan
A oobrageetawn tichee kauwen wasuhree e spaad
Cause thrill with lithe desires of light,
Ahe yawbeth a zreshlaan!
Hey, man, don’t stay behind!
A oonathal, aazraw elstaeth, ezaad
Come out of the night, rushing,
Se Paan! Iyo Paan!
From Pan, Io Pan!
Iyo Paan! Iyo Paan! A oonathal dekostai shawkoreed.
Io Pan, Io Pan, Come over sea
Se Sisileeh ee Harkadeed.
From Sicily and from Arcady
Ai aewawwol otlai Bakhus, chee fawnfiki ee pardefiki,
which roams like Bachus with fauns and pards
Ee nimfiki, otlai aelthele, ee saetir’ki
and nymphs as guards – and satyrs.
Kothai raas staigrae otlai thloogir,
Upon an ass as bright as milk
A oonathal dekostai shawkoreed,
come over sea
Aa leed, skau leed! To me, for me!
A oonathal chee Apawl aw tuhnging oonatawnee.
Come with Apollo in wedding garb
Braubakh ai adruhk ee slaazoom shee
Herder-woman and giant lady-snake
A oonathal chee Artemis dechee hem leenigee
Come with Artemis adorned with silken shoes
Daebuh a afas elzaid braikee slooln winderim staitigee.
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful god
Aw spaazool se tarthaur, kothai maaproon mindenee ga
In the moonlight of the forest, upon the mountain of marble
Fin zeebo se broobel bekee ga
The speckled dawn of the amber fountain
A aagaap oogreenod e eenduhfar gawna
Dunk the purple of adamant prayer
Aw zaunool raizawna, aeshlagreeth staizawna,
In crimson shrine, in scarlet snare
Setlik ga, au ispook, deyaw loo baestoo
That soul which is startled within blue eyes
Ite enduhhlaanteer flipeed slooln, ai aileek otlai floo
by watching thy wantonness, which weeps, self-aware
Aasawnith au eruhnzel, guhleen au awretlik,
The grove that is tangled, the trunk that is gnarled,
E geeth fibre ai aeram sidrikisetlik
Of living tree which is sprit-and-soul
Ee keepishotnar, a oonathal dekostai shawkoreed
and mind-and-body come over sea
Iyo Paan, Iyo Paan, radawalder o winderim, aa leed, aa leed
Io Pan, Io Pan, demon or deity, to me, to me
Ahe yawbeth! A zreshlaan!
Hey man! Don’t be left behind!
A oonathal chee raisuhwala ai osenloog otlai skoowee
Come with trumpets that make a shrill noise
Khauma waeb otlai khogradee
Completely beyond the wet hill-side.
A oonathal chee suhnuhnguh ai uhmumbrel otlai drooga
Come with drums that mumble deeply
Chaatanooga
Vernally
A oonathal chee doot daebuh oonathal chee brooloo
Come with flute and come with pipes!
Hlai zraeram leed shloo?
Am I not ripe?
Leed ai afigram awretlik athuhngkim
I who wait, writhe, and wrestle
Ibreeth ai zraeram haek p’andbaltim
against the air that is without branches to nestle in
Shotnar leeld stai tai ootaw atyool yuhneeta
My body, so tired because of the grip of emptiness
Skogra thle wargaz, thle shargah zekhspena
as strong as a lion, as sharp as a venomous snake
A oonathal, o oonathal! Daebuh
Come, oh come! And
Leed aeram kooyuh
I am numb
Ootaw kauwen yeewaa se radawaldering
Because of the lonely lust of demonry.
A aushook iskeeth ga aataw elshaed ai awgawldering
Shove that sword through the humiliating shackles.
Ai eekhoh aakhogragath
That which devours everything
Ai osendais aakhogragath
That which begets everything
A akin eseering looln ga ote pa lee
Give the sign of the Open Eye to me
Ee oonekot aako elzaild zikstikee
And up-pointing token of the thorny thigh
Ee daaplith e baachid riduhzee
and word of madness and of mystery
O Paan! Iyo Paan!
O Pan! Io Pan!
Iyo Paan! Iyo Paan Paan! Paan Paan! Paan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan!
Leed aeram yawbeth
I am a man
A ithlayaked oo otlai eebang winderin staibraw, keth!
Do thine own bidding as can a great god, damn!
O Paan! Iyo Paan!
O Pan! Io Pan!
Iyo Paan Iyo Paan Paan, awslig leed Io Pan!
Io Pan Pan! Awake I am!
Aw slaalz atyool
In snake’s grasp
Muhrkagan ga ishlaekh tichee plikislaashkas
The eagle slashes using beak-and-talon
Winderimi aplet aazraw naashkas:
The gods pull away from those jaws:
Droogoo mooloo oonathal. Iyo Paan! Leed au enak
Great beasts come. Io Pan! I am carried
Aa zaaktonag kothai leekonfilk ga hlak
to death upon the unicorn’s horn
Leed aeram Paan! Iyo Paan! Iyo Paan Paan! Paan!
I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
Leed aeram taem slooln, leed aream yawbeth slooln
I am thy friend, I am thy man,
Yooketh nald slooln, leed aeram lood, leed winderim aeram
Goat of thy flock, I am gold, god I am
Meez skau suhnuhb slooln, flaum skau rook slooln
Meat for thy bone, magic for thy staff
Tichee fools’heme starekhee ezad leed kostai skakha
With steel hoof I race over rocks
Awyaa skailawng gruhfee aa widiken
Through stubborn solstice to equinox
Nool de wawrgidee itonyuh
This eternal world, endless,
Leed ikhaum, leed iklaang, leed ishlaekh, leed isken
I rant, I rage, I rip, I rend
Tooyeed, gan, chath, maenad, yawbeth hauwaaln
Small creature, bird, girl, wild-woman, man
Tichee graf Paaln
By means of the Might of Pan
Iyo Paan! Iyo Paan Paan! Paan! Iyo Paan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!
The report takes a sinister turn from this point further, for with each line deciphered, Halberd’s sense of unease heightened. A gnawing sensation of being watched grew within him, like a shadowy presence lurking just beyond his peripheral vision. The words of Crowley's hymn seemed to awaken an ancient power, an entity that had slumbered for uncounted years. Paranoia began to taint the scholar's every waking moment. Subtle whispers echoed in his ears, and eerie silhouettes danced at the corners of his sight. Was it the spirit of Pan itself, aroused by his intrusion?
The Doctor, in an attempt to communicate with the presence, called out for it to says its name. But then he realized he should ask, just in case any college students from near by Stockton University were near, what its preferred pronouns were. Upon yelling this into the dark canopy above, a disgruntled growl was heard and a tree fell down beside him—one of its long branches hitting the Doctor in the balls.
After he screamed in an unmanly high pitch, he wondered—Had this been a prank? Or had the eldritch forces within the poem forged a connection to something far more sinister? As night fell upon Leeds Point, the archeologist found himself constantly glancing over his shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest. Every creak of a branch, every rustle of leaves set his nerves ablaze. The darkness around him seemed to twist and writhe, harboring unimaginable horrors. The boundaries between reality and the otherworldly had begun to blur.
And so, dear readers, as the tale reaches its climax, we find our intrepid archaeologist teetering on the precipice of his own sanity. Will he succumb to the maddening forces awakened by the discovery of Crowley's cryptic hymn? Perhaps this discovery was serendipity this Hymn to Pan, as it is common knowledge that the Riddlesbrood Theater is Performing a show entitled “Peter Pan and the Pirates” in Historic Smithville very soon! Only time will tell, for within these pages, the secrets of Leeds Point still wait to be fully unveiled.
Below are some images of the Poem written in the Gawbren, or glyphs of Riddlesdiculous!
He who begets something which is alive must dive down into the primeval depths in which the forces of life dwell. And when he rises to the surface, there is a gleam of madness in his eyes because in those depths lives cheek by jowl with life! The primal mystery is itself mad...the matrix of the duality and the unity of disunity.― Walter Friedrich Otto
Translations done by BenJamin P. Johnson in cooperation with the Language Creation Society