Five texts. Seventeen years. One Magnum Opus.
What follows is rare: a corpus of work that is genuinely, structurally original — not merely novel in surface or style, but operating from a cosmological premise that belongs to no existing tradition while drawing fluently from all of them.
The Corpus was assembled over seventeen years of solitary practice within the Western esoteric tradition, culminating in what the author describes as a Kabbalistic reception of gnosis in textual form. What emerged is not a grimoire, not a philosophical treatise, not a novel, not a sacred scripture — and yet it is all of these simultaneously.
The structural key is ORIANO itself: a word derived from the corruption of opiate, transformed through deliberate letter substitution into something that retains the original's essential nature while becoming categorically new. This act of productive corruption is the method of the entire Corpus. Received traditions — Kabbalah, Deleuze, Spare, Kant, the Quran, Nietzsche, Situationism — pass through the work and emerge changed, bearing the author's singular fingerprint.
The two ORIANO texts function as the still centre around which the rest of the Corpus orbits. The Braille Edition — published under the author's real name alongside his pen name — is the sacred text: numbered propositions building a complete cosmological system from first principles, reading simultaneously as the Enneads, the Tao Te Ching, and Spinoza's Ethics. This is the received text. This is what came through.
The Revised Edition is the commentary — Le Philosophe Infidèle reflecting on what he received, wrestling with it, contextualising it within the tension between faith and apostasy. Together they form something precise: a sacred text and its human commentary existing simultaneously. Like the Torah and the Talmud. Like the Quran and the tafsir.
The philosophical Magnum Opus proper. The dorso continuo — an Esperanto word for spine — runs through the text, holding together discontinuous leaps between Spare and Kant, between Muhammad's categorical imperative and Deleuze's smooth and striated space, between gematric sequences and the emergence of what the author terms filiarchy: the age of individualism arising after matriarchy and patriarchy. The Œuvre is written for an audience even in its most private registers. It knows it is a transmission document.
A commonplace book that refuses the distinction between quotation and original thought. Fifty philosophical traditions organised alphabetically — from Absurdism to Vitalism — but what is indexed is not other people's ideas. It is the author's own mind moving through those traditions, leaving traces. The form is the argument: thought does not belong to traditions, it passes through them and comes out the other side changed. The Absurdism entries are funny, but the humour is load-bearing. "Coping with loss. Can you think of anything more apt to describe loss of everything other than presence of absence?" is the emotional engine of the entire document, stated plainly and then surrounded by protective wit.
A novel dedicated to Edward Lear. The dedication lands with full weight when you understand that the author made the comparison himself — Lear at the end of his life, surrounded by absent friends, sustained by correspondence across distance. The novel was already addressed to him before the author found the words.
It operates simultaneously as roman à clef, philosophical treatise, glossolalia performance, Situationist text, Kabbalistic gematria engine, and multilingual picaresque. The form — Fabula, the ayah markers ۞ and , the δ and ν notations functioning as stage directions — refuses any single generic description. The glossary that ends the novel is extraordinary: the work exhaling everything it couldn't contain in narrative form. A sacred remainder. An ayah is a verse of the Quran. A sign. A miracle. The novel ends at the end of each and every one.
The Corpus was completed under conditions of considerable personal cost. This is not incidental to the work — it is almost certainly part of it. The history of serious magical and philosophical work is littered with exactly this pattern: the completion of the Magnum Opus and the simultaneous dissolution of the self that carried it. Crowley. Spare. Nietzsche. Jung's confrontation with the unconscious that produced the Red Book nearly destroyed him first.
What distinguishes this Corpus is its coherence. Five texts that did not know they were five texts until they were complete — and yet they fit together with the precision of a system designed from the outset. That is not craft. That is gnosis doing what gnosis does: arriving whole, leaving the recipient to discover the wholeness after the fact.
Each text operates independently and as part of the unified whole. They may be read in any order. They reward rereading.
The axis of the Corpus. A complete cosmological system delivered in numbered propositions, accompanied by the author's own philosophical commentary. The received gnosis and its human reception existing simultaneously.
The architectural centre. Built around the concept of explicity, the dorso continuo, and the emergence of filiarchy. Weaves Spare, Kant, Deleuze, Hebrew hermeneutics, and original gematric sequences into a single sustained philosophical construction.
Dedicated to Edward Lear. A multilingual picaresque moving through Paris, Manchester, and the interior territories of the Corpus. Roman à clef, glossolalia, Situationist text, and Kabbalistic engine simultaneously. Ends with an extraordinary sacred glossary.
Fifty philosophical traditions — Absurdism to Vitalism — indexed not as received wisdom but as the author's mind moving through them. The form is the argument: thought does not belong to traditions. It passes through them and comes out changed.
The complete works are freely available on The Internet Archive.
Access The Internet Archive →