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Alice is at it again...
This may be more suited to 'The Magick', but since Crowley gets cited as a guru, and since his life was not simply a long magickal treatise, I'd like to try it here first.
He's a fraud. A big, fat, confidence trick(ster) who used pseudo-learning and a considerable personal magnetism to avoid doing a day's work, to get laid, and make excuses to himself and others about a herculean drug habit.
His poetry is execrable. Most of it exists for the sole purpose of annoying his contemporaries, dissing Yeats, and concealing childishly scatalogical acrostics.
His magickal works are one long deluded fantasy, peppered with in-jokes and attempts to get you to whack off into jars of shit.
His mountaineering career, very possibly the only aspect of his life where he showed any genuine merit, was cut short by his own cowardice in the face of danger - which cost the lives of some of his companions.
His treatment of men and women as sexual partners and friends was unswervingly bad.
In short, he's not a role-model or a guru. He was a fantasist and a nasty piece of work. Why on Earth does anyone still give a fuck about him - and why do otherwise intelligent counter-cultural types embrace a man who today would probably be bosom buddies with strip-club owners and fleshy capitocrats? |
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Definitely no comparison between them in the poetry department!