I’m sitting down and speaking with Carl Abrahamsson, who you’ve seen on the show where we discussed Anton LaVey, the Church of Satan, and his journey with that world. Today, we’re going even deeper.
In his latest book, Meetings with Remarkable Magicians, Carl takes us on an entertaining and insightful journey through the occult—everything from the early development of the Temple of Psychic Youth to his experiences with LaVey, his initiations into the Golden Dawn, coffee with Nick Cave, and even dropping acid with a controversial Golden Dawn practitioner. This is gossip, analysis, and art as mysticism all rolled into one.
“The flame is your soul—without it, your magic is just bling.”
“Art is not an accessory to magic; it is the altar itself.”
Magic and art are inseparable when grounded in authentic self-expression.
True individuation—not hierarchy—marks the path of the occult initiate.
Modern tools like smartphones, AI, and video editing software are valid magical instruments when wielded with clear vision.
The difference between empty ritual and transformative ritual is personal honesty and psychological depth.
The “schools” of esotericism (Golden Dawn, Topi, OTO) serve as learning stages but must eventually be transcended.
Culture is the most enduring form of magical transmission.
The deepest magic comes not from following formulas but from converting lived experience into symbolic form.
“Don’t scroll through reality—spell it.”
“Individuation is the only initiation that truly matters.”
Meetings with Remarkable Magicians, felt like reading the autobiography of a rockstar—getting behind-the-scenes access to the personal lives of occult celebrities. It’s a Neil Strauss journey through the occult. So let’s start with something wild—tell me about doing acid with David Griffin.
David was living in Stockholm in the early 90s. The scene here was vibrant and open-minded. I was heavily involved in Topi, NATO, and various media. Through this social-magical cross-pollination, I met Griffin. We both had an interest in psychedelics—not as party drugs, but as magical and meditative tools. We explored those states within ceremonial frameworks. He was Golden Dawn-focused, which resonated with my interests at the time, having worked with Crowley material and its offshoots in the OTO.
So that became your Golden Dawn College after attending the Topi school and NATO college?
Exactly. Every phase was a curriculum. Griffin was deeply systematic, a synthesizer. The rituals were rich, the aesthetics compelling. Later, he moved to the US, and our contact faded. But it was formative.
Let’s go further back. Tell us about the Temple of Psychic Youth.
Topi came into my life in the mid-80s. I was awakening to magic, culture, and subculture. Psychic TV’s early records were like magical propaganda. I started the Scandinavian branch of Topi, organizing events, meetings, performances, and shamanic excursions. It taught me about magic and administration. More than that, it gave me lasting friendships—especially with Genesis P-Orridge. After Topi formally ended, we kept collaborating. That period shaped everything I am.
How has that influenced your mentorship work now?
My current Source Magic Mentorship draws heavily from those lessons. It’s not dogmatic. It’s pragmatic with a softer, more artistic and holistic flavor than chaos magic. It sees artistic expression as a valid and powerful magical act.
Which leads to a big question—what came first for you: the artist or the magician?
Hard to say. I was always absorbing, percolating, then expressing. Comics, music, movies—all of it fed into me. I made fanzines, conducted interviews, wrote, photographed, eventually studied film. Art was my vehicle. By 1989, I’d launched White Stains, my band. Our first performance was called Pyramidos, a psychedelic ritual inspired by Crowley. We used super 8 films, noise, and symbolism. People fainted. That told me art could be magic.
How do you see the modern creator’s toolkit?
It’s astonishing. We can manifest universes from our phones. But the challenge is to pierce the veil of passivity. Have a vision. Know yourself. Create from your depths. That’s how spirits—and audiences—listen. The tools are here. Film, photography, AI, music, writing… all accessible. But the frequency must be true. Art that comes from individuation, from a clarified soul, will resonate.
What was it like meeting Kenneth Anger?
He blew my mind. His work was talismanic cinema. Crowley embedded in every frame. I wrote my university thesis on Crowley’s influence in his films. We met in the 80s and kept in touch for years. He was generous—sending me photos, clippings, support. He showed me that art is magic, narrative can be talismanic, and power is in the subtext, not just the spectacle.
You also talk about individuation as a magical act.
Absolutely. That’s the key. All these schools and orders become roles people wear when they avoid knowing themselves. Real power isn’t in funny hats or degrees. It’s in breaking through illusion, discovering your symbols, and owning your path. It’s not about being the next Crowley. It’s about being the first you.
Any advice for young sorcerers building their practice with modern tools?
Yes: Know yourself. Clarify your vision. Then use every tool available—AI, film, music, writing, media—to express it. The phone is a wand. A camera is a mirror. Light is the new fire. But the flame is your soul. Without it, it’s just empty bling. You’re not here to scroll. You’re here to spell.
Last thoughts—what makes life delicious?
No dualism. Integrate all aspects.
“You don’t need robes or rituals to become a magician. You need honesty, vision, and the courage to create.”
“The more demagogic the magician, the more likely they are to be hiding from themselves.”
“A camera can be your wand, a lens your portal. But without purpose, it’s just another screen.”
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