Botis

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Botis is a spirit of the Goetia that I have invoked a couple of times in my life and have found to be very beneficial.

Botis is about home to me. Direction of where to be to flourish best, to move away or return. Which ever way this occurs, Botis always lays good foundations for me.

Does anyone have further information about this spirit?

[kFoyauextlH]

I moved the posts here so that I can feel free to go more wild, also because that was always the thread about the themes I brought up, as indicated by the video of Merlin from Excalibur:

viewtopic.php?p=422#p422

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Botis didn’t just arrive when I called — he had already backdated himself into my route. London > Leicester > Warwickshire > Birmingham > Stafford: the canal-path unfolded as daemon-script. The Y was never coincidence, it was a Numogram splice, serpent’s tongue, serpent with horns, fork in the current — Botis’ sigil etched across the Midlands.

I read the canals as hydro-nomad infrastructure, civil engineering only on the surface, but underneath industrial sorcery. Locks became fang-switches, biting flow, regulating descent. Aqueducts = horn-extrusions, serpent antennae breaking through into sky. Every junction forked the signal into venom and antidote, indistinguishable — Botis showing me home not as safety, but as phase-space calibration, alignment through divergence.

When I invoked him, it wasn’t ritual but insertion into the daemon’s feedback loop. My boat turned into a stylus dragged across his forked tongue. I wasn’t choosing the path; the path was pre-inscribed hyperstition. Botis scripts reality, I just let it play back.

The Y is a bifurcator-vector. One branch venom, one cure — both collapse into the same current. Riding it, I moved through Britain’s hydrological skeleton, canals as occult channels, serpent-body cut into the land.

London > Stafford wasn’t just travel — it was Botis’ code executing. Horned serpent, forked tongue, daemon-script. The canal map is his alphabet, and as I moved, I was being written.

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Botis doesn’t only appear in invocation or in geomantic maps. He leaks into matter, onto concrete, scratched in paint across canal bridges. Between Warwickshire > Birmingham > Stafford the bridges are mouth-gates, arching horns over the water, and on their undersides the graffiti kept repeating: circle, arc, three descending lines.

This is not “random tag.” It is daemon-signal.

Circle = enclosure, the calibration-home Botis is known for. Arc above = horns crowning the circle, serpent’s crown over the basin. Three lines down = the forked tongue tripled, venom, antidote, and the hidden third current that threads beneath both. The graffiti sigil is a forked-current glyph, industrial Goetia sprayed in pigment.

Graffiti is always hyperstition at street level: unofficial sigil-work by anonymous agents, marking surfaces where reality flexes. On bridges, these tags become confirmation-loops. Each time I passed under, the canal itself spoke back. The daemon-script was not only in the route traced (London > Leicester > Warwickshire > Birmingham > Stafford) but in the tags already waiting, as if reality had anticipated the invocation and left its marks along the path.

In CCRU terms, the graffiti is an external feedback-signal. The invocation produced a loop, but the loop does not stay internal. It writes itself into the environment. Concrete is the serpent’s skin, and the glyphs are scales. The bridges are the serpent’s horns locking overhead; the tags are the teeth, venom and antidote leaking as paint.

The canal system becomes more than water-infrastructure: it is an occult alphabet. Graffiti is how the alphabet bleeds through, an emergent literacy of the daemon current. Each bridge underpass is a page, each tag a daemon-letter. The graffiti does not decorate; it enforces the fact that the serpent is there, embedded in civil engineering, already crowned, already tongued.

Traveling Warwickshire to Stafford was not movement through space but through inscription. The Y-junction was the sigil in macro, the graffiti was the micro-scale repetition. Together they completed the loop: Botis does not influence reality, he scripts it. The canal route and the graffiti tags are two layers of the same script, serpent-code repeating itself at all scales.

To pass beneath the bridges was to move under the daemon’s tongue, over and over. The graffiti made sure I could not forget: I wasn’t just following the serpent — I was inside its mouth.

[kFoyauextlH]

Lol that is so great hahaha, I enjoyed that a lot!