Desperate fossils and occult drag shows

There comes a time when you feel your life is heading towards an inevitable outcome. You realise your star is way past the zenith, and you don't have much longer. You either come to terms with that and live the rest of your life as best as you can, or you become depressed, then desperate. Then you start doing stupid things.

This seems to be the tragic theme currently affecting several more or less notorious figures in Western Occulture. They notice that their time in the spotlight has passed or is rapidly passing, that the books they published ages ago are collecting dust in some metaphorical dark archive full of cobwebs and mould, and that their YouTube videos are receiving fewer views and likes day by day. They look in the mirror and see grey-turning-white hair, wrinkles, and a not-so-distant hole in the ground.

Instead of using any occult knowledge and expertise they've acquired over time to prepare for the beyond while making the rest of their earthly days as comfortable as possible, they desperately seek newer sources for validation, not to mention income. Thus, they end up associating with all sorts of shady people no one knows about, people who, through a funny twist of fate, have become local gurus in their own miserable corner of the world, having gathered a bunch of gullible followers they constantly milk for cash.

One such example comes from northern Italy, where a single, middle-aged man living with his mommy is leading a group of anything but occultists. While he likes to cosplay as Zorro, his followers robe themselves in a tablecloth. Their "practice" consists of regular gatherings during which they light a myriad of candles and dick around listening to techno beats, while under the influence of alcohol and/or substances. They call it voodoo. In actuality, what they're doing is even more pathetic than setting up altars decorated with Christmas lights and calling it Solomonic.

While their buffoon antics can be overlooked or laughed at for a while before moving on, their business is not to be ignored. Instead, it must be dissected to expose it as a sham, as it's based on the same circus act. From subpar self-proclaimed astro magicians to alchemists whose magnum opus is brewing tea without spilling it, their costly courses and products are labelled with the astonishing greatness of teachers who are, in fact, pretenders and posers. 

Low self-esteem, big gut, rock enthusiast with no significant other or future? No problem! Declare yourself a master occultist and voodoo expert. Jaded middle-aged woman with constant nightmares of her physical imperfections? Brew tea and say you're Nicolas Flamel's wife, having learned everything from the master himself. Sissy man with delusions of machismo who goes to the gym to grow a potbelly? Start lectures on spagyrics as if you were at least Elias Artista. 

At any rate, some almost has-beens of Western Occulture have found their apparent elixir of eternal life by associating themselves with such deplorable characters, validating their belonging to the occult and even endorsing their... work. Even funnier is the fact that said has-beens are not quite your practising occultist kind, but more like academics and astrologers who dabble in occult practices using knowledge they've gained through purely theoretical means. How else would anyone explain their magical lack of knowledge or experience when it comes to simple but essential subjects relating to how woowoo actually works?

In one example, the academic in question said no one really knows what "add the usual" actually means in some spells found in the PGM, saying it must be something the ancients were very familiar with so they didn't bother copying it in every manuscript containing those spells, when an actual practitioner would know that's the point in the text where you add your intent. In another, an astrologer divides the power channelled into talismans towards two or more goals, thus weakening their efficiency.

Even so, these people are desperate enough to cling to the Western Occult forefront; they associate themselves with the buffoons. Laughably, it is the buffoons who gain the most out of this, of course, by marketing themselves as being partners with this or that "magnificent occult figure" and thus drawing more dim-witted potential members closer.

In the end, the "old masters" remain the same: no fake praise during a couple of lectures or anything extra added to their bank account will heal their desperation. Their terror may have been forgotten for a short while, but it is still there ready to strike with a vengeance. Moreover, it may happen that, instead of their name being remembered in style, it will be recollected in mockery and contempt because of their desperate attempts to prevent nature from doing its thing.