On knowing False Prophets

I'm getting hounded by people asking me what I know about Frank Webster and False Prophet magazine. So to put it to rest, here is the full account of my dealings of a person of that name, and with the group calling themselves 'The Cult of Saturn'.

NO!.. as far as i'm aware, Frank Webster is not an alien or a supernatural being, or as concerned emails  to me suggest...'the anti-Christ'. Of what I know of him, he is just an ordinary guy, with an ego problem, who runs a satirical magazine. Any rumours about people opening portals to other dimensions, being tortured in dungeons or summoning up unnameable monsters from the deep ..... are pure gossip, and idle speculation.

I had no dealings with Frank Wester prior to 2008. This being the year I moved to London and responded to a job which was advertised under the curious banner 'idle hands wanted'. For many years prior to this, I had been trying to start up my company 'Bad Eye Deers Animations', promoting the animated series 'HELLS HOST' of which I am the director. 

When I saw the job advertising 'False Prophet magazine' and looking for 'Idle Hands'.. I saw the opportunity as a chance to promote my cartoon and submitted a short comic strip to the email address falseprophet@live.com - shortly thereafter I received an email back from someone going by the name of Frank, who said they liked my work and (if I had time), could I come down to meet him at their studio in North London.

 The outside of the warehouse window ledge was full of half dead plants. There was an overflowing garbage bin, and a pile of uncollected waste, a discarded mattress and old TV set by the doorstep.

I showed up to the address given to me, with my portfolio in hand.

A pasty faced blonde girl of about 25 answered the door.. who seemed drugged or in a daze. 'Is Frank in?' I asked. Not opening her mouth, the girl opened the door, and led me in. The studio was fairly odd, with decorated wall murals and hand painted art adorning it.
  In the middle of the room were two long wooden tables, forming a 'last supper' like seating space within the studio foyer. There, sitting at the end of the table, like a mangy Bruce Wayne, wearing a black hoodie with a skull on it, and smoking a cigarette, was the man I would soon come to know as Frank Webster. He was not wearing a balaclava, nor fedora, nor any other trademark item I have heard about in flash fiction and urban legend. His face was youthful, mid to late 20's and his hair had a greyish tint to it (though not from ageing), it was just that odd ashy brown colour some people grow naturally.

  He looked up at me and gave me a cold look of acknowledgement, which I had become accustomed to in that warm manner of greeting so typical of Londoners. He motioned to the chair and as I sat down, he poured himself a glass of malt whiskey, offering it to me in an adjacent empty glass.
  'Uh... No thanks... I responded nervously... Shouldn't really get drunk today'.. He shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself'. I do regret in some ways not taking up that glass, it was that restraint in me that always kept me from enjoying myself like more fun personalities I have envied, seem to do.
  We begun to talk and I found his personality endearing. In less than half an hour he had convinced me to work for free on the magazine for an extended period of time, and in exchange he would offer costless accommodation and studio space in one of the many adjoining warehouses. I wanted to say I'd think about it, but somehow the strange somber look in his eyes was not one which accepted 'no' as a response to his generous proposals.
  I figured that my fiancé might need some coaxing and persuasion to the idea of moving to a strange artist community, but given the right means I knew she would come round.
  'Lucy will show you the space we have available. LUCY!' Frank said at last, and the pasty drug-addled girl came back out into the meeting/dining room giving Frank a rough, forced smile. She motioned me to follow her and we both exited out the back door of the warehouse, down a big flight of descending stairs. The door led out onto the filthy street where all the adjacent warehouses stood and Lucy walked onwards leading me towards one of the warehouses further down the street. I paced forward to catch up with her and tried to make some idle conversation 'have you lived here long?' 

  Why I felt inclined to do this is evidence of my social stupidity, as anyone knows that these types of hipster kids are loathe to forced conversation of people trying to take with social niceties. These types only reacted to dialogue when something amply shocking was said, which broke the wall of monotony that stained their trendy urban dreams. 'Since I died' she said cruelly (to both shut me up (and prove she wasn't interested in ample chit chat. Nor was she interested in sunday roasts or joining the local church group). I made no further attempt to break the ice, which was far too solid to crack... and followed her until she said 'here it is. You're space would be the third room on the left'. This was my introduction to these people behind the ARGs, offensive magazines and alleged occult activity.

  Three weeks later, I had convinced my partner to move in, and after calling Frank, and organised a moving van, I was living in the Manor House community.

I wasn't really prepared for the kind of lifestyle a lot of people here were living. There seemed no way to avoid being absorbed into the world of this warehouse community like dirt to a sponge. Every weekend all the warehouses opened up, and the party spread like the enlightenment did at the end of the dark ages. If you weren't prepared to drink or stick something up your nostril, you had to be prepared to be accosted by a group of reveling twenty somethings. Most certainly there was no time for the studious or the solemn. I already had a penchant for the drink, and I found that my hand was much more frequently aquainted with a bottle of scotch or liqour than it had previously been.

  That said, in comparison to most of the inhabitants of this community, I was a hermit. I spent most days of the week working devotedly on my business and putting in long hours organising animators and voice actors, and directing HELLS HOST - Episode 3.

  Whilst I was privvy to some more curious events, I can't testify to any speculation of occult activity or otherwise that gossip and rumour speak of. I will do my best to outline any strange activity I was witness to.

  I do recall one occasion where violence broke out in one of the warehouses. What the precise cause of this outbreak of violence was I don't know, but I would put it down to drugs, and possibly relationship drama. In any case, there was one particular resident of 'Tewkesbury zoo' (as that house was colloquially referred to) who spent a lot of his time lifting weights, and had that, social media induced unnatural pectoral build. A faculty he put to use on this particular evening smithing and punching everyone within earshot like a mad villain from an action movie. 'War Bastard' was his nick name, I don't remember his actual name. Thankfully I was spared from his hurricane of wrath where he busted into my workspace, only to thrust a schooner glass in front of me, which shattered and disintegrated on the storyboard I was working on. Why he didn't attack me I don't know. But this was as close as I wanted to get to destruction, and I began to retreat from certain circles after this.

  I'm told that there were other instances of chaos and violence amidst the members of the community. Whilst I wasn't witness to them, I did hear of groups wearing masks and kidnapping other members of the community as a joke.

  I attended a few of the parties and did occasionally talk to Lucy and Frank. When Frank spoke to me, it was mostly just to inquire or direct me in some regard about False Prophet magazine, or a new idea for a cartoon. Lucy usually just scowled at me, but there was one particular evening when she seemed to appreciate me, if only just a little. It was easy to get lost amongst all the partygoers but I remember one evening when I was sitting on a rock in Gerome's backyard and Lucy sat down and opened up to me. She was obviously high on Ketamine or heroine, because her pupils were weird, but she basically gave me the 'Men. Can't live with them. Can't Live without them.' type of monologue, and she found my calm and reassuring contribution endurable. 

  By the end I had made some friends in the community and I was sorry to have to leave, but circumstances had changed and me and my fiancé were to get married and return to Australia. It was January 2011 when I left.

  So that is really the only dealings I had with Frank Webster in person. The rest of my correspondence was through Skype, he rarely called, and never used facetime. Mostly he communicated via private messages or group chats. I sent him pictures and illustrations to go on falseprophet.

  Oh... It's worth noting at this point that there were two waves of False Prophet magazine. Frank had been running false prophet in London as an underground Zine for.... I don't know how long. But around the time I arrived, most of the crew were talking about starting 'the new wave'. There was some plan to relaunch the magazine from the start date of 21st December 2012. I don't know why.

  I'd never seen any of the issues that the cartoons I had done in the past went into. But there was one occasion when Frank invited me into his room to have a line of coke, and I found a big stash of old issues which I rifled through. The format was very different from the online version. Frank didn't let me keep any copies.

  It was 2012 when Frank added me to one of the big group chats. At the time I was going through some turmoil. It was difficult being back in Australia and I felt like I had put a lot into the magazine and Frank hadn't really done anything to help me promote my work or get recognition. I didn't feel like socialising with all his magazine contacts, so when Frank added me to a chat, I usually just deleted myself. He had a bunch of different skype chats running, with varying amounts of people in them.

Sometimes 30. Sometimes 120.

Groups were often called : 'false prophet' , 'cult of Saturn' or sometimes I would be added to groups called 'the ninth circle' or 'the eighth circle.' Or other variations.

  I got to know some of the people in the chat. Lucy was pretty dominant in the 'Cult of Saturn' chat. She would usually be big talking herself or showing photos of her tits. I can't say that this didn't affect me. I mean for a pasty kind of drug addict, Lucy was very attractive, though I would never tell my wife. 

  I was added more often to the False Prophet chat after the launch in December twenty twelve. I have to confess there was a weird energy at this time. I can't say what was going on but I did witness a lot of strange talk from those folks in the 'False Prophet' chat and the members of 4chan who seemed to be constantly adding and disappearing from the various skype chats. If 4chan is a dark anonymous ocean hideout where the last bastions of anonymity on the internet are preserved, then the false prophet skype group was a pirate ship, where loathsome pirates popped in from the internet ocean to unmask themselves, make shady deals, and trade dirty secrets.

  Frank was often talking to someone using the pseudonym 'Aen Bfleck'. (Now I have no idea who this was but I observed they had a very close relationship, and seemed to share a common interest in odd belief systems.) Carl Jung. Aldeous Huxley. Alan Moore and H.P Lovecraft were often discussed. I sometimes saved conversations when I was in particularly paranoid moods. There were times I admit that I was convinced that Frank Webster and Aen Bfleck were part of some actual secret society, 'the illuminati' or something. Well... We were all watching a lot of youtube at that time.. What can I say.

  Aen was quite funny. I remember he once said 'in the future everyone will be anonymous for fifteen minutes.' Which was a play on Andy Warhole and something to do with the activities they were doing on 4chan. Some subconscious, pop cultural artworks which they were calling 'Zener' threads. I never managed to grasp or understand it.

  Then there was the weird activities Frank was doing with some of the people he was recruiting. I don't know what it was about really. I first got curious wondering where all the new people popping up in the group were coming from, then I overheard people talking about their 'super villain names'. A girl named EeVIe once spoke about Frank doing something called 'Übermensch' training. I'm pretty sure whatever it was, it was Franks way of having a little joke. Mind, I did hear Frank say one day 'Satan is dead. Now is the age of the Supervillain' (he always said cryptic shit like this though) But some of the people involved evidently took it pretty seriously. They seemed to believe that Frank was training 'supervillains' for some looming apocalypse. That the false prophet was all just a facade for this chaos starting operation. Mind you everyone in that chat seemed to have a different idea of what was going on with 'False Prophet' which I put down to Franks charming manipulation to get people involved. Some people thought that the 'Cult of Saturn' was some kind of book club. Others thought it was a spiritual group who practices astral travel and meditation. Some were quite seriously referring to themselves as magicians. I remember there was a couple of people who Frank had a fight with 'Lerza' and 'Marzipan' who left the group to start their own group of magicians, 'the Cult of Mars'. This was the group who hacked a whole bunch of people's accounts and posted information of everyone on 4chan. Franks skype was hacked and for a while no one believed that Frank was the real Frank after he came back.