Who We Are
On this crazy earth, we exist seemingly without purpose.
The planet that is our current home is one of many thousands of thousands.
These rocks all move as operating units in a greater structure, like parts in a motor.
This structure complete, we call the cosmos.
As we ride first horse, and then the machine, so the Unknown Rider sits astride the cosmos, and turns the throttle.
Who he is, we do not know, and cannot fathom.
We can only attempt to understand his mind in fragments.
We do so with rituals of oil and intoxication, diesel and death.
Our hands reek of the incense of gasoline, gun smoke and blood.
Whatever is, is part of his mind.
Life, death, everything in between- from root to branch, concrete, steel and wire.
None more holy, none more righteous than the other.
We know that he moves, and that his journey has gone on for millions of years, or maybe forever.
Time is a concept we don’t fully understand. Space is a concept we don’t fully understand.
But we know that within movement, within travel, there is a part of the Unknown Rider that pours fuel on the fire that burns inside the living.
Those things that ignite us- fire and frenzy, rites of death and sex, the beating of drums and the roar of an engine. Violence, silence, rivers and roads. Our paths crisscross these crossroads like runes of our existence, spelling out the mysteries of the Unknown Rider- our stories only last if they are scored deep into the landscape.
The savage witch who follows the way of the Unknown Rider does so with the spells of speed and freedom at his disposal- he travels light, and his war cry is show no mercy. His holy symbols are the wheel, the moon, the wolf, and the serpent. His tools are the wrench, the knife, the tomahawk and the gun.
His temple is a tent, and his song of power carries through the stars, out into the blackness where it draws power from the void.
The endless journey is the way to know all- to become all. Each action a prayer, and every story a scripture.
We are the Cult of the Unknown Rider.