Sympathy

No Sympathy for The Devil —

Keep That in Mind

Buy The Ticket

Take The Ride



Lucifer :

 "Doesn't quite make sense, 
Doesn't quite make sense." 

Of course it doesn't make sense, it's not real. 

(HE SCOFFS) 

Oh, Sherlock. 

(SHERLOCK EXHALES SHARPLY) 

Peek-a-boo. 

Sherlock :
No. No, not you. 
It can't be you. 

Lucifer :
I mean, come on, be serious. 
The costumes, the gong? 
Speaking as a criminal mastermind, we don't really have gongs or special outfits. 

Sherlock :
What the hell is going on? 

Lucifer :
 Is this silly enough for you yet? 
Gothic enough? 
Mad enough, even for you? 

It doesn't make sense, Sherlock, 
because it's not real. 
None of it. 

Watson :
What's he talking about? 


Lucifer :
This is all in your mind. 

John :
Sherlock? 

Watson :
Holmes! 

John :
You're dreaming...

I don't believe that God made Man in his image. 

'Cause most of the shit that happens comes from man. 

No, I think man was made in the Devil's image. 

And Women were created out of God. 

'Cause after all, Women can have babies, which is kind of like creating. 

And which also accounts for the fact that women are so attracted to men... 'cause let's face it... the Devil is a hell of a lot more interesting! 

Believe me, I've slept with some Saints in my day, I know what I'm talking about. 

So the whole point in life is for men and women to get married... so that God and the Devil can get together and work it out. 

Not that we have to get married. 

God forbid.

The Reichenbach Cauldron

I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. 

I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. 

Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.

“My dear Watson,” said the well-remembered voice, “I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.”

I gripped him by the arm.

“Holmes!” I cried. “Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?”

“Wait a moment,” said he. “Are you sure that you are really fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance.”

“I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes. Good heavens, to think that you—you of all men— should be standing in my study!” 

Again I gripped him by the sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. “Well, you’re not a spirit, anyhow,” said I. “My dear chap, I am overjoyed to see you. Sit down and tell me how you came alive out of that dreadful chasm.”

He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his old nonchalant manner. He was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the book merchant, but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been a healthy one.

“I am glad to stretch myself, Watson,” said he. “It is no joke when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we have, if I may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night’s work in front of us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished.”

“I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now.”

“You’ll come with me to-night?”

“When you like and where you like.”

“This is indeed like the old days. We shall have time for a mouthful of dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm. I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that I never was in it.”

“You never were in it?”

“No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to you was absolutely genuine. I had little doubt that I had come to the end of my career when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. I read an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. I exchanged some remarks with him, therefore, and obtained his courteous permission to write the short note which you afterwards received. 

I left it with my cigarette-box and my stick and I walked along the pathway, Moriarty still at my heels. When I reached the end I stood at bay. He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me and threw his long arms around me. 

He knew that his own game was up, and was only anxious to revenge himself upon me. We tottered together upon the brink of the fall. 

I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds and clawed the air with both his hands. 

But for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he went. With my face over the brink I saw him fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the water.”

I listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmes delivered between the puffs of his cigarette.

“But the tracks!” I cried. “I saw with my own eyes that two went down the path and none returned.”

“It came about in this way. The instant that the Professor had disappeared it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance Fate had placed in my way. 

I knew that Moriarty was not the only man who had sworn my death. There were at least three others whose desire for vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader. They were all most dangerous men. One or other would certainly get me. 

On the other hand, if all the world was convinced that I was dead they would take liberties, these men, they would lay themselves open, and sooner or later I could destroy them. 

Then it would be time for me to announce that I was still in the land of the living. So rapidly does the brain act that I believe I had thought this all out before Professor Moriarty had reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.

“I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. In your picturesque account of the matter, which I read with great interest some months later, you assert that the wall was sheer. This was not literally true. 

A few small footholds presented themselves, and there was some indication of a ledge. The cliff is so high that to climb it all was an obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my way along the wet path without leaving some tracks. 

I might, it is true, have reversed my boots, as I have done on similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested a deception. On the whole, then, it was best that I should risk the climb. It was not a pleasant business, Watson. 

The fall roared beneath me. I am not a fanciful person, but I give you my word that I seemed to hear Moriarty’s voice screaming at me out of the abyss. 

A mistake would have been fatal. More than once, as tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, I thought that I was gone. 

But I struggled upwards, and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where I could lie unseen in the most perfect comfort. 

There I was stretched when you, my dear Watson, and all your following were investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my death.

“At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel and I was left alone. 

I had imagined that I had reached the end of my adventures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in store for me. 

A huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, struck the path, and bounded over into the chasm. 

For an instant I thought that it was an accident; but a moment later, looking up, I saw a man’s head against the darkening sky, and another stone struck the very ledge upon which I was stretched, within a foot of my head. 

Of course, the meaning of this was obvious. Moriarty had not been alone. 

A confederate—and even that one glance had told me how dangerous a man that confederate was— had kept guard while the Professor had attacked me. From a distance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend’s death and of my escape. He had waited, and then, making his way round to the top of the cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed.

“I did not take long to think about it, Watson. Again I saw that grim face look over the cliff, and I knew that it was the precursor of another stone. I scrambled down on to the path. 

I don’t think I could have done it in cold blood. It was a hundred times more difficult than getting up. But I had no time to think of the danger, for another stone sang past me as I hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. 

Halfway down I slipped, but by the blessing of God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.

“I had only one confidant—my brother Mycroft. I owe you many apologies, my dear Watson, but it was all-important that it should be thought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought that it was true. 

Several times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret. 

For that reason I turned away from you this evening when you upset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and any show of surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and irreparable results. 

As to Mycroft, I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money which I needed. The course of events in London did not run so well as I had hoped, for the trial of the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. I traveled for two years in Tibet, therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa and spending some days with the head Llama. 

You may have read of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. I then passed through Persia, looked in at Mecca, and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum, the results of which I have communicated to the Foreign Office. 

Returning to France I spent some months in a research into the coal-tar derivatives, which I conducted in a laboratory at Montpelier, in the South of France. 

Having concluded this to my satisfaction, and learning that only one of my enemies was now left in London, I was about to return when my movements were hastened by the news of this very remarkable Park Lane Mystery, which not only appealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed to offer some most peculiar personal opportunities. 

I came over at once to London, called in my own person at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, and found that Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been. 

So it was, my dear Watson, that at two o’clock to-day I found myself in my old arm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned.”

Eurus Holmes and The Tantra — Beyond Good and Evil

There's comfort yet; they are assailable;

Then be thou jocund: ere the bat hath flown

His cloister'd flight, ere to black Hecate's summons

The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums

Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done

A deed of dreadful note.

ACT I

SCENE I. A desert place.

Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches

First Witch

When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Second Witch

When the hurlyburly's done,

When the battle's lost and won.

Third Witch

That will be ere the set of sun.

First Witch

Where the place?

Second Witch

Upon the heath.

Third Witch

There to meet with Macbeth.

First Witch

I come, Graymalkin!

Second Witch

Paddock calls.

Third Witch

Anon.

ALL

Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

SCENE V. A Heath.

Thunder. Enter the three Witches meeting HECATE

First Witch

Why, how now, Hecate! you look angerly.

HECATE

Have I not reason, beldams as you are,

Saucy and overbold? How did you dare

To trade and traffic with Macbeth

In riddles and affairs of death;

And I, the mistress of your charms,

The close contriver of all harms,

Was never call'd to bear my part,

Or show the glory of our art?

And, which is worse, all you have done

Hath been but for a wayward son,

Spiteful and wrathful, who, as others do,

Loves for his own ends, not for you.

But make amends now: get you gone,

And at the pit of Acheron

Meet me i' the morning: thither he

Will come to know his destiny:

Your vessels and your spells provide,

Your charms and every thing beside.

I am for the air; this night I'll spend

Unto a dismal and a fatal end:

Great business must be wrought ere noon:

Upon the corner of the moon

There hangs a vaporous drop profound;

I'll catch it ere it come to ground:

And that distill'd by magic sleights

Shall raise such artificial sprites

As by the strength of their illusion

Shall draw him on to his confusion:

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear

He hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear:

And you all know, security

Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

Music and a song within: 'Come away, come away,' & c

Hark! I am call'd; my little spirit, see,

Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me.

Exit

First Witch

Come, let's make haste; she'll soon be back again.

Exeunt

‘ As to you, Watson, you are joining up with your old service, as I understand, so London won’t be out of your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have. ‘

The two friends chatted in intimate conversation for the next few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past while their prisoner wriggled vainly to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the care Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head.

‘ There’s an east wind coming, Watson. ‘

‘ I think not, Holmes. It’s very warm. ‘

‘ Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. 

There’s an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before it's blast. But it is God’s own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when The Storm has cleared.

Start her up, Watson, for it is time we were on our way. ‘

Again, Phoebe came to the desired embrace of Coeus.

Then the goddess through the love of the god conceived and brought forth dark-gowned Leto, always mild, kind to men and to the deathless gods, mild from the beginning, gentlest in all Olympus.

Also she bare Asteria of happy name, whom Perses once led to his great house to be called his dear wife.  

And she conceived and bare Hecate whom Zeus the son of Cronos honoured above all. 

He gave her splendid gifts, to have a share of the earth and the unfruitful sea.

She received honour also in starry heaven, and is honoured exceedingly by the deathless gods. For to this day, whenever any one of men on earth offers rich sacrifices and prays for favour according to custom, he calls upon Hecate.

Great honour comes full easily to him whose prayers the goddess receives favourably, and she bestows wealth upon him; for the power surely is with her.

For as many as were born of Earth and Ocean amongst all these she has her due portion. The son of Cronos did her no wrong nor took anything away of all that was her portion among the former Titan gods: but she holds, as the division was at the first from The Beginning, privilege both in earth, and in heaven, and in sea.

Also, because she is an only child, the goddess receives not less honour, but much more still, for Zeus honours her.

 Whom she will she greatly aids and advances: she sits by worshipful kings in judgement, and in the assembly whom she will is distinguished among the people.

And when men arm themselves for the battle that destroys men, then the goddess is at hand to give victory and grant glory readily to whom she will.

Good is she also when men contend at the games, for there too the goddess is with them and profits them: and he who by might and strength gets the victory wins the rich prize easily with joy, and brings glory to his parents.

And she is good to stand by horsemen, whom she will: and to those whose business is in the grey discomfortable sea, and who pray to Hecate and the loud-crashing Earth-Shaker, easily the glorious goddess gives great catch, and easily she takes it away as soon as seen, if so she will.

She is good in the byre with Hermes to increase the stock. The droves of kine and wide herds of goats and flocks of fleecy sheep, if she will, she increases from a few, or makes many to be less.

So, then. albeit her mother's only child (17), she is honoured amongst all the deathless gods.

And the son of Cronos made her a nurse of the young who after that day saw with their eyes the light of all-seeing Dawn. 

 So from The Beginning she is a nurse of the young, and these are her honours.

 (17) Van Lennep explains that Hecate, having no brothers to support her claim, might have been slighted.

Eurus Always Adored Music

THE WORLD DOESN’T END IF THE DOCTOR DANCES

"BEFORE THE VOICE CAN SPEAK IN THE PRESENCE OF THE MASTERS." 

“Speech is the power of communication; the moment of entrance into active life is marked by its attainment.”

"In The Beginning was The Word —"

EXCEPT : That is not exactly True, now is it...?

SHERLOCK 

(quietly, leaning towards her again): 

I’ll let you in on something, Janine. 

JANINE (in a whisper): 

Go on, then. 

SHERLOCK: 

I love dancing. 

I’ve always loved it. 

JANINE: 

Seriously? 

SHERLOCK (quietly): 

Watch out. 

(Looking around to make sure that nobody else can see him, he swings both of his arms to the left, takes a sharp breath, rises onto his left foot and does a full-circle pirouette.) 

JANINE: 

Ooh! Woah! 

SHERLOCK :

Never really comes up in crime work but, um, you know, I live in hope of the right case. 

JANINE (sighing wistfully): 

I wish you weren’t ...

... whatever it is you are. 

SHERLOCK: 

I know.

“ I think that music is a genuine mystery.

It's one of the experiential phenomena we all have access to.

It's like looking into the Night sky.

Or at The Grand Canyon.

There's something about it that seems to speak about things that are beyond the mundane.

And it's an interesting thing that music can do that, because although it has this arguably transcendental element, it's rare to find someone who doesn't like music.

So it's transcendental and niversal at the same time.

It also seems to me that music reliably speaks to people of meaning.

And that there are... And that the reason music plays such a popular, powerful role in our culture is because the meaning that music speaks of is beyond rational critique.

And we're very rational, and we're very intelligent.

And so we've been able to make intellectual hash out of most of the things that had traditionally offered people a grounded sense of meaning.

But because music is beyond rational criticism, it seems to have been able to retain its experiential connection with transcendent meaning denied the fact our rational mind has destroyed everything else

that's transcendental.

Part of the reason music can do this is because it's beyond verbal formulation or verbal criticism.

So if you listen to a song, whether it has lyrics or not,  you could perhaps assume that it just doesn't, it does something to you.

And if someone, who had never heard music, asked you what it did, you couldn't tell them in any way that was a reasonable mary of the experience itself.

I suppose you could consider that analogous to trying to describe colour to someone who is blind.

Whatever music is about, isn't translatable into language

Now, we cause language to augment our pleasure in music.

We do that with lyrics constantly.

But whatever it is that music speaks of... If it speaks of something... Is not something you can speak of in words.

Now, as rational people, we're also inclined to presume if it's real, you can speak about it in words.

But there have been cultures since the dawn of history believe that there were certain things that were not only unspeakable from a verbal perspective, but whose meaning was actually demolished, if it was put in words.

I mean for example in ancient Hebrew societies and current Islam societies, it's heretical Heretical, improper to make an image of the transcendent.

And the reason for that, it's not merely an arbitrary, moral law, nonsensical from a rational perspective.

The reason for that is some things lose their meaning as soon as they are translated into something that's as tiny as a word.

And music is one of those things. “

- Jordan Peterson 

Behind The Waterfall

Mycroft :

Do you? 

Sherlock :

Do I what? 

H-how did you get that? 

I left it at the crime scene. 

Mycroft :

"Crime scene"? 

Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions? 

Do you miss him? 

Sherlock :

Moriarty is dead.

Mycroft :

And yet...? 

Sherlock :

His body was never recovered. 

Mycroft :

To be expected when one pushes a maths professor over a waterfall. 

Pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama. 

Your life in a nutshell. 

Sherlock :

Where do you pick up these extraordinary expressions? 

(HE SNIFFS) 

Sherlock :

Have you put on weight? 

Mycroft :

You saw me only yesterday. 

Does that seem possible? 

Sherlock :

No. 

Mycroft :

Yet, here I am, increased. 

What does that tell the foremost criminal investigator in England? 

Sherlock :

In England? 

Mycroft :

You're in deep, Sherlock, deeper than you ever intended to be. 

Have you made a list? 

Sherlock :

Of what? 

Mycroft :

Everything. We will need a list. 

Good boy. 

Sherlock :

No, I haven't finished yet. 

Mycroft :

Moriarty may beg to differ. 

(HE SIGHS) 

Sherlock :

He's trying to distract me. 

To derail me. 

Mycroft :

Yes. He's the crack in the lens, the fly in the ointment

The virus in the data. 

Sherlock :

I have to finish this. 

Mycroft :

If Moriarty has risen from the Reichenbach cauldron, he will seek you out. 

Sherlock :

I'll be waiting.

Mycroft :

Yes. I'm very much afraid you will..... 

Mrs. Hudson : 

Two days he's been like that. 

Lestrade :

Has he eaten? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

No, not a morsel. 

Lestrade :

Press are having a ruddy field day. 

There's still reporters outside. 

Mrs. Hudson : 

Oh, they've been there all the time, I can't get rid of them. 

I've been rushed off my feet making tea. 

Lestrade :

Why do you make him tea? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

I dunno, I just sort of — do. 

Lestrade :

He said, "There's only one suspect," and then he just walks away and now he won't explain. 

Which is strange, because he likes that bit. 

Said it was so simple I could solve it. 

Mrs. Hudson : 

I'm sure he was exaggerating. 

Lestrade :

What's he doing, do you think? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

He says he's waiting. 

Lestrade :

For what? 

Mrs. Hudson : 

The Devil. 

I wouldn't be surprised. 

We get all sorts here. 

Well, wire me if there's any change. 

Mrs. Hudson : 

Yeah. 

(CREAKING) 

(FOOTSTEPS) 

Lucifer :

Everything I have to say has already crossed your mind. 

Sherlock :

Then possibly my answer has crossed yours. 

Lucifer :

Like a bullet.