The Anarctic Atemporal Autonomous Zone

NOTE: Some of our readers may remember a wild night seven years ago. Billed as an “astral convention” at the Antarctic Atemporal Autonomous Zone (Cape Longing, Antarctic Peninsula). At the designated time over one hundred people in Europe and North America succeeded in projecting consciousness to the citadel on Cape Longing. Records of their experiences were sent to Hakim Bey, who gathered them in a little book and distributed copies to the participants. I’ve often thought about that night and how we brought that marvelous fantasy to life for a few hours. I’ve thought that perhaps we should repeat the experiment once a year – or more often. Hakim Bey, on the other hand, had no desire to play host again, and thought it best to leave it our little secret.

Imagine my surprise when I received the following communiqué from our Moorish brother, Harpocrates Ben Ishmael Bey: -JK

The Anarctic Atemporal Autonomous Zone


To the Staff and associates of the Moorish Observatory, Seattle, Washington, In the Year 1994 of the Common Era. Esteemed Moors and Fellow Travelers: As you may recall, I set out from Seattle in January of your present year, offering no clue as to my destination. Now you know. When I arrived at the citadel I found everything just as we had left it some seven years ago. Not a soul to be found, though the place still seemed to echo with the merry making of that memorable night. Soon realized that the faint sounds of jollity were coming from below me. And so I found my way to the cellars, and then the sub-cellars, and finally to a steep spiral staircase leading deep beneath the earth’s frozen surface. At last I emerged into a vast realm within (beyond) the world where I found, to my astonishment, that our long ago revel is still going on. Difficult as it may be for you to imagine, you are all here, amongst a great multitude of strangers, and in the company of all the Saints of Jubilation of all times and places. It has taken some getting used-to, this existence outside of time. I will give you some time to think about it.

I am now sending you an introductory pamphlet I’ve compiled, but I’m sending it to your summer address. Also sending further instructions to your future. Please publish these dispatches as they arrive. All will be made clear by your year 2002.

For your present it shall be enough for you to wonder at the possibility that all of you are also here with me, and to begin to employ creative imagination to acclimate yourselves to the idea that you are always in at least two places at once. Hope you’re having as much fun there as you are here!


That is all we’ve received to date. Neither Troy or I have been able to reach Cape Longing to verify or discredit Harpo’s story. We are anxious to hear from anyone who has.


After reading Antarctic Atemporal Autonomous Zone, I was wondering about the pamphlets that were being sent to summer address. What is going on with that now? Is there any connection with Incunabula Catalogue or Ong’s Hat stuff? Faery Faith In Celtic Countries?

— Anders R.B. Johnson, April 20, 1997

In a telephone conversation with myself in 1992, the Sufi ‘Abdal’ (or deputy) of the Antarctic Continent revealed that his station, while it seems at first absurd, it is apparently crucial for the perpetuation of certain activities within the Sufi sect. I was visiting a certain friend-of-a-friend, who is a fairly popular musician (known for his martial arts prowess and interest in the occult) while in California. We were discussing our vacation plans for the winter when the phone rang. The black-clad rock star answered the line, arched his eyebrow and passed me the phone: “It’s for you..” he said, suspiciously. My ear to the receiver, I could make out a very weak voice through the static that announced the speaker as the Sufi deputy of Antarctica. He said “… you musn’t bring pomegranates, it will lead to trouble” “No pomegranates! Remember……..Dirigible….” He then hung up. After about two hours of speculation on the subject, we returned to the topic of potential vacation arrangements. “Where do you plan on going this winter?” I asked.. “Java” he responded cryptically. – Make of that story what you will, it really happened, no shit. ..and I don’t even like pomegranates..

— ibn Z’ahma al-Shirazi, April 20, 1997.

Dear Sir,
After you’ve uttered the final oath that will allow you admittance into the deepest of the Antarctic chambers, you will remark to me: “Noble Mustafa, I am still in the world enough to question – is it real?” I will grin the wide, satisfied grin you will have come to associate with my smug demeanor and state: “Be assured, Illustrious Johnson, that if any thing is unreal in this place, it is yourself! Look! there you go now, having such fun with that nice Kallikak girl…” You will of course at this time experience acute deja-vu as I depart to annoy your other selves. the by, you wouldn’t happen to know what’s going to happen to those tools I’m going to loan you, eh?

— Mustafa El, April 21, 1997.


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