The Orgone Accumulator – Win $500 USD Via Your Wit & Imagination

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The Orgone Accumulator

Wilhelm Reich’s Orgone Accumulator is a wooden booth lined with metal that people would sit in to improve their mental health by trapping the healing force of the orgasm. Well-known users include  J.D. Salinger, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs, Saul Bellow, and Norman Mailer.


Win $500 USD by spinning the best tale/explanation/polemic about this interesting little bit of historic business. Second Prize: A Skype Consult with me. Third Prize: A Two Year Mega Mystic membership – you can add it to yours or give to a friend.

Any one can post their entry via the Comments below. But only Mega Mystic members are eligible to win one of the fab prizes.

Other than wit and imagination, i am open to any interpretation or explanation of the Orgone Accumulator. It can be a feminist polemic. A sci-fi dystopia. A contemporary franchise document. You could tackle, if you are ambitious, the concept of much modern literature being perhaps inspired by the Orgone Accelerator.

The judges decision – aka MINE – is final. I will be choosing three winners next Thursday May 3 and announcing them in this post.  I will be reading all entries next week so there is no need to rush your entry.

There are so many questions re the Orgone Accumulator: Did any woman ever use it? Did you have to come to climax IN the machine? Or did you just meditate while the orgasm particles buzzed around?

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98 thoughts on “The Orgone Accumulator – Win $500 USD Via Your Wit & Imagination


    This was H2H the hardest competition to judge and there are several entries in there that i love SO much but they’re not even in the top three. I love how you responded and the torrent of info, wit and ideas in here – thank you!

    However, there can only be three winners and there they are…
    The $500 USD – Aqua-Cap-Gemini
    The Skype Consult with Me – Embarkons7
    The Two Year Mega Mystic membership – Duck Dodgers

    Please email me to arrange reimbursement, booking etc !

    And thank you to everyone who entered/commented!

    Also, did you see that Veneida (post a few days ago) was a Leo!

  2. Ever since this was posted I’ve been debating on whether or not to pipe in.
    Ultimately deciding yes because 1. this is one of the most open and safest, yet simultaneously private forums I’ve had the pleasure of being a part of and 2. #1 helped me reframe what I have to share as being a pretty wild funny story rather than focusing on the threatened dis-ease of exposure, or some such negative inner swamp wander. Gotta keep that thing drainnnnned.

    So here goes:

    I have an orgone accumulator in my backyard. Yes it works (there’s context to that though).
    I inherited it from my grandfather, William S. Burroughs Sr.

    First the orgone accumulator. That way you don’t have to read my whole origin-reunion-channelling my dead Grandmother story if you don’t want to.

    The orgone accumulator, for me, was mostly used to keep myself from going insane while I lived with Bill. When he died he left one thing for me, or rather James Grauerholz insured this at my request and because the entire time I lived with Bill he never learned I was actually his Grand-daughter. I was always Joan reincarnated to him.

    The accumulator works much like float tanks sans the water. I’ve never had an orgasm in it, but certainly have had moments of orgiastic feeling. Simply feeling the joy of life coursing through my body and not having to share it with anyone or anything because of the close confinement and sensory deprivation. I use it regularly for an extra oomph in meditation and when I particularly wanna focus and stay in my inner worlds like a beloved visitor.

    As for Reich, I feel he came up with something that was already in existence. I’ve often wondered if this is some symptom of Western man or ‘Poppa Pat bebbies’ as I like to call them. (For the ladies and non gender identifying I use Poppa Pat Babes, because really none of us are immune to Partriarchy even as we innoculate ourselves.) Where the PPB’s compulsive need to discover and conquer shows up here in looking out in the world as if through a telescope, finding some ‘thing’ and systematically categorizing it, labelling it, and trademarking it as their discovery and thus the right to capitalize and disseminate such a discovery through their microscopic egoic lens. See – Reich’s study of mind-body and possibly spirit connection through sexuality and its energies, but through doing so, proliferating his own brand of patriarchal symptoms of misogyny, male impotence, female suppression and left brain dominance.

    My story is that I found out Billy Burroughs Jr. was my father a few years after I’d left home as a teenager. My mom, Karen Perry, having never spoken about my father in anyway except back handed-boomerang insults – and her regret that she met him that one last time after their divorce which resulted in me – inadvertently let this metatronic peice of information slip when I was visiting and just so happened to have been reading one of his books.

    This was back in 1994. You can imagine that when I found out I was flummoxed and speechless.
    Weirdly enough it wasn’t so much that Billy Burroughs was my Father, but that THE William S. Burroughs was my Grandfather. By blood! I had a personal obsession with him from the age of 13 that probably borderlined on psychotic. He was my main man in my Electra complex if you will, so finding out that I was ACTUALLY his kin floored me and set off what would be the wind that filled my sails for many years after.

    It took me a few months to track William down. I was in living in Wichita, Kansas. Strange synchronicities had led me there and continued to happen. I got the feeling that these instances were altering my very insides. I knew William lived somewhere in Lawerence, Kansas, but I didn’t know where. Something bigger than me was helping me out (or helping itself to me I didn’t know which to be honest) and wouldn’t you know it, the guy I had started to date when I got to Wichita knew where he lived! I had gotten around to telling him what I was travelling for and at first he laughed out loud, clearly thinking I was deranged. Completely dismissing me as a fan gone too far. When I told him we were cutting up pot in his backyard with garden shears and I was flooded with the red hot urge to simply tackle him wantonly, only to get his pants down so I could cut off his dick. Instead, I left the shears aside, hooded my eyelids, gave a little laugh and told him he was right. I spun a yarn about how I really wanted to find him to hear from his lips what he had to say about women.

    Up until that point I had been writing myself and the main chunk of my writing was in relation to William, (see: deep deep teenage obsession) but from a woman’s perspective, pulling his worlds into mine. Old Bull Lee, William Lee, Kim Carsons, Dr. Benway and many of his other characters took on new and secondary personas in my world. A world made in an attempt to reconcile my love for this man’s work and his flagrant aversional dislike towards women that was equally as flagrant as the pain and rage I read between the lines of his inability to reconcile, let alone connect with the Feminine, so alienated he was to Goddess. (and Burroughs was SUCH an alien! Late aqua rising with Sun, Mercury, Venus, Jupiter AND Uranus all in Aquarius, in his 12th house. Oi vey. Side note: if you ever wanna see a real time cartooney version of a Leo and Aquarius having dinner, watch the video ‘Warhol Burroughs Sedgewick-Chelsea Hotel. Poor William.)

    For me, when someone, a man nevertheless, writes up a delicious title such as ‘The Immortality Control Board of Venus’, only to use it to denigrate the Goddess herself by wrapping her up in robes, not of pink madness, but the grubby patriarchal control machinations, you best believe any woman with a basic sense of the existence of alchemy, archetypes, and inner worlds is going to raise contention to such dribble. No matter how hilarious the overall story arch.

    Anyways, I laid that guy down there in his backyard and wrapped him up well and tight enough to get him to tell me where William lived. At the time – and perhaps any time really that involves convincing a 20 something year old guy that you’re sleeping with to do something…it was easy to persuade him.

    when I got to the run down bungalow, one of the first things I notice while walking through the yard – aside from the cans of exploded paint, cat bowls, and fire logs – was a strange looking outhouse. It clearly wasn’t an outhouse. I recognized it as a makeshift orgone accumulator. I was vaguely familiar with Reich at the time; William wrote about orgone in Junky. At the time I knew only that this contraption was supposedly able to, through eventual orgasm, dissolve the chronic character attitudes and muscular armour of those who sat in it. By doing so it would enliven a person’s vegetative nervous system and help bridge the psychological with the physiological. A bridge that was extremely inert in most of the Western population. A bridge that is also mostly inert even during sex acts between people because it’s all body and no heart, or just one self-loving pocket in the heart, but I digress…

    For some reason, I found the sight of this thing funny and I barked out a loud laugh that sent birds flying from the trees. The front door swung open and out came a tall, bald, incredibly gaunt and pale old man, resting his slight weight on a tapered cane. William was staring directly at me from the porch, his mouth open slightly, his lips moving like that of a mouse caught between a pair of hands. His eyes were wide, wild and disbelieving. For me, I felt this thing in my gut – something between a kettle bell being dropped onto my uterus as a helium balloon deflated inside of it. I could hear myself speaking to William, but I have no idea what I said.

    A much younger man had followed behind Bill, putting his arm around him concernedly trying to catch his eyes. William simply pointed out to me. The man followed the bony finger and a strange look came over his face when he saw me. He said ‘Oh my…oh my, oh my…okay…Bill, go back inside and if she’s still real in an hour you’ll be better composed.’ Bill nodded, turning to go back in the house without a second glance. The man, who I’d learn was James Grauerholz, excused himself to follow Bill inside and returned quickly.

    He asked me who I was and I told him my story. I felt a little dazed and there was this buzzing I hadn’t noticed until I saw Bill and became aware of it receding when he went back inside. James stood there, saying nothing, looking up at the sky. He asked if I had ever seen my Grandmother, Joan. (For those that don’t know, William shot Joan in the head in a botched game of William Tell in 1951.) I made a face that assured him I hadn’t. James nodded, ‘This is Joan.’, and handed me a photo of a woman. Gazing down at it I had to muffle a scream for fear of setting William off again. The woman in the photo could have been my twin or older sister. I fainted right then and there and to save you the unnecessary details I met my Grandmother during that spell and she explained to me that she needed to be near Bill from now until he died if he had any hope of finding what he was pining for. That he deserved to find that peace. She also warned me to NOT let Bill disallow me to use the orgone accumulator. He would for fear of it interfering with what he believed to be her reincarnation, i.e. me. It was crucial that I spend three hour intervals inside of it the night before each New Moon and the dawn after the Full Moon. She didn’t explain why, but once when I failed to do so after the Full Moon I found myself stuck in an alternate universe watching Joan fully embodied in MY body and she was furious about it. Even as a spirit she was crazed and when I returned to my body the following New Moon I found myself having to recover from a stale Benzedrine bender.

    I wound up spending the next two years living at 1927 Learnard Avenue. Whenever Bill and I were within sight of each other, I would feel Joan, who was always nearby, move inside of me, feeding me lines. They had quite a bit to talk about and to tell you the truth I wound up in an immersive learning course that is not available anywhere on this planet. Slowly I brought out my writings to share with Bill, Joan orchestrating the whole thing and I can tell you one of the best feelings I have had in my life was making Bill Burroughs laugh til he cried and cry until he laughed.

    The day before his heart attack Joan gave me the heads up and said when he left she would too. But really, I feel like I have two Grandparents hovering around my shoulders most days, even now. They’re the ones who give me the sharp edged tongue or the pursed lips and electric shield right when I need it.

  3. In our desperation, we built a box.
    A thought is held and relieved and replaced by a prayer, that these walls would echo back a sentiment of linear unwinding, before it was too late.
    In our desperation, we built a box to ask of ourselves, who am I to be human?

    The answer was, of course, given without delay.

    Like bats hanging off exposed wood beams, we moved quietly through time. Waiting for the planet to roll over, waiting for the Other to pierce our soul.
    And there it was, more often than not, squeezing through the floorboards. Beckoning our untrusting gaze to catch sight of its linear haste, but, to not forget the unwinding in doing so. To some, stepping inside was about as unremarkable as the shallow roof was ambivalent to their pleas. They challenged the cold arm of death into this self made home of ours and then they called home our grief, thinking steel would taste like relief, that a carved hole in the throat would feel like space – They sought lies for so long, that eventually, they could only stomach the truth.
    And so their journey began.

    One by one, people stood voiceless. Lucid as wisps, they shook their mouths open and closed like fish on dry land. ​
    A sea of individuals were held in the softening of time. Feeling the tinge of rehearsed light prickle their skin, traipsing a breath down their spine, sparking off the falls and ridges of their backbone. Imprinting the body language, the muscle memory, into their consciousness so that when they forget, they will know how to stand in the moment, once it is gone.
    A breath of time
    bowing to a Mistress resolved
    by a wave
    of forgotten sound, of reconciled space; forever, almost expanding into a moment of sentience.
    ​A sea of individuals swaying in the revelation,
    in their being, realising each
    the knowledge of a moment.
    Thinking of their loved ones
    their choices
    their grief
    their hearts
    Thinking most
    of the grief that is buried with their hearts.
    ​Allowing themselves
    a moment
    of reprieve, a moment
    to soften into something outside of the rhythm and pulse. A moment, to know the moment of living.

    In our desperation, we built a box.
    It is the space between being and becoming.

  4. Wilhelm Reich was horny.

    He was horny in the starving way, that most three legged Aries males were in the morning, and when he woke up that Monday, he decided something had to change.

    Miss Understanding, his preppy little Virgo assistant had already started the day by driving the vacuum cleaner around his laboratory, and from his bedroom in the first floor, the satisfying sound of the metal pipe devouring something solid (like a lab mouse), drove him up the wall.

    She was sexy, Miss Understanding. In the way that vesta virgins could be. That a granny panty could be.That milk could be. You get the point.

    But he long stopped fooling himself, and had accepted the fact, that no woman, virgo, scorpio or artificial, could ever keep his interest for longer than what it took him, to complicatedly calculate the shortest way to reach the beaver. It was never complicated enough. That was the curse of the Ram.

    But he didn’t mess with the help. He didn’t mess much at all these days, to be honest.

    For, Wilhelm Reich was a troubled man. Sure, he was an Aries, allright. No complaints in that department. But his mother- may she rest in peace- had scheduled the experimental cesarian that was to be his birth, for the wee hours in the morning of March 24th, 1897.

    Thus, unknowingly forcing on her unsuspecting Aries baby the lazy, sleepy Taurus AC, who’s fault it probably was, that instead of banging Miss Understanding in the laboratory basement, he was still right here, in bed, thinking about Eggs Florentine.

    Did you know that Taurus Moons were ideal for buying bed sheets? Well, now you know. Mystic Medusa, the Oracle he had met in Delphi once, had told him so. This astrology stuff really made a lot of sense, if you didn’t ask too many questions.

    So, something had to change.

    One of the definitive upsides to being an inventor was, that change was always handy. And having discovered the Orgone Energy the year before by accident (don’t ask), he already had the solution.

    He just had to figure out, how to use it best. But he could be having an Idea…

    So up jumped the three legged man, and dragged down the largest travel trunk he had in the attic. That trunk had been to Egypt, but that was not the point. It was huge and heavy, and one horny person could easily stand or sit in there.

    It almost squished him against the wall when he dragged it down the first flight of stairs, but this cause was a noble one.

    And he was prepared for sacrifice.

    Next, he ran out barefoot into his beloved garden where his cow was grazing, to get a wooden chair from his al fresco dining table.It fit nicely into the trunk, so that went well, too.

    Now, enter the Orgone Particles. Orgone Energy was tricky. Easily offended, easily hurt, easily exploding, those little fuckers were nasty, to say the least.

    But what they definitely were not, was rare.

    They were all around us, radiating like a ray of light from the crown chakra of every head, drizzling down over the body and then re-connecting with the kundalini energy, where right down at the root chakra (some people called that cock) these particles were re-absorbed.

    Erectional disfunction was caused by a reabsorption disorder, by the way. But hardly anybody knew, and those wo cared didn’t matter, and those who mattered, didn’t care.

    But lets get back into the closet, I mean trunk.

    Wilhelm Reich scratched his head. “So. We have a trunk, we have a chair. We have the Orgone Energy, we have a horny man, and we have Miss Understanding. Eureka, that should work!!!”

    With Miss Understandings polished chainsaw he quickly cut a little Bulls Eye into the door of the trunk, added a little glass panel for privacy, closed the door behind him and with tremendous relief, fell onto the chair. Work was just too tiring.

    And then, Wilhelm Reich just sat there. In the privacy of his trunk, the Orgones flying all around him, making him dizzy and sleepy and excited at the same time. This was it, this really was it.

    “Dance, Miss Understanding, dance!” he muttered through the door and breathed heavily.

    And Miss Understanding unplugged the vacuum cleaner, placed it in the corner, pushed her glasses down her nose, and then, slowly, started shaking her booty.

    She danced. She twirled. She took the apron off. She took the granny panty off, and threw it against the trunk. Goddammit, she was good.

    And then she gave him that sexy this-was-not-on-my-to-do-list-look, and he loved her for it. Maybe she was a keeper, after all.

  5. Ormond reached the landing, glanced around in the dim light and knocked at the heavy wooden door, momentarily impatient until he heard Marquand’s ponderous footsteps approaching from within.

    Ormond was a tall, elegant, well dressed young man in his early twenties. He wore his elegance lightly; his youth, affability and good humour having so far mitigated against acquiring the supercilious haughtiness and disdain evident in so many of his contemporaries.

    This alone would have commended him to the ladies, but he was also blessed with an animal magnetism which drew many of them to him, a situation he found profoundly gratifying.

    It would have been unfair to describe him as a rake, as his affections were genuine enough, but his appetites were legendary in the circles he inhabited, and were apparently second only to the man behind the locked and bolted door before him.

    That door swung open slowly. Marquand met his eyes silently, and motioned him inside.

    The room was timber panelled with original paintings scattered about, mostly second rate mid 19th century English landscapes and was comfortably furnished, although the overall effect was a little dark and conservative for Ormond’s taste.

    He took a seat in the indicated armchair and watched Marquand intently as he poured a generous cognac for them both.

    Marquand was a large, heavy set man of about forty, with a dark brow and a fine aquiline nose which spoke eloquently of his French ancestry. Indeed he professed to be descended from Huguenot stock, which Ormond felt could explain in part his habitual reticence to offer much in terms of personal information.

    Of course this reticence served only to further pique Ormond’s innate curiosity.

    That curiosity coupled with a wide ranging education meant that Ormond was not unfamiliar with some of the more arcane and esoteric philosophies, though his interest had not yet amounted to any expertise to speak of. Certainly he was not averse to embracing new concepts; after all, was this not the late Nineteenth Century, with epic feats of engineering, amazing scientific discoveries almost daily, the impossible achieved regularly, a renewed interest in Spiritualism; why, Conan Doyle himself was a fervent believer. The creator of the world’s most rational and scientific detective had written extensively on the subject.

    Marquand’s very occasional and oblique references to a “device” which he employed to accentuate and strengthen his sexual responses were therefore not lost on Ormond, and he had pressed for details whenever the situation and the older man’s mood allowed.

    The cognac was consumed silently for the most part, neither man much in the mood for pleasantries and small talk.

    Finally Marquand rose and beckoned Ormond to a door which he had not seen previously, being in a corner of the room beyond his field of view.

    Marquand unlocked the door to the antechamber and with a silent gesture, ushered Ormond inside.

    Ormond was unsure of what he had expected; some elaborate apparatus with a vaguely erotic aura perhaps, but it was surely not the mundane, nondescript timber cabinet which greeted his bemused gaze. The workmanship too, was unremarkable, especially by the standards Ormond was accustomed to.

    “You keep a doxy inside?”

    Marquand eyed him coldly, and turned towards the cabinet to hide a scowl.

    “Your humour is misplaced.” he said, as he opened the cabinet to reveal a metal lining within the thick walls. If Ormond had been underwhelmed by the cabinet itself, he was stunned to see that the only thing the cabinet contained was an austere, solitary chair.

    “Surely you can’t be serious!” he growled, “You insult my intelligence with this?”

    “It is called an Orgone Accumulator,” replied Marquand calmly, “I will explain the principles of its operation if you will cease your absurd expostulations.”

    Something about Marquand’s tone placated Ormond, and he became increasingly fascinated as Marquand’s explanations unfolded.

    At length, Ormond was persuaded to experience the cabinet for himself.

    Marquand had instructed him to visualise his most intense and erotic encounters- to relive them as much as possible in mind and body, and to slowly build his excitement to a fever pitch in order for the Accumulator to work its magic on him.

    His breathing had become increasingly rapid and he felt the prickle of sweat down his spine. The cabinet seemed to amplify his thoughts and reactions. His visions became ever more vivid and alive.

    He had just reached his peak and his climax had exploded within him when abruptly the door was flung open. Aghast, he watched the tentacle snake out from some indeterminate part of Marchand’s body.
    It paused for a microsecond above him, then tapped him lightly on the top of his head.

    At this, time appeared to stand still. The exquisite sensations of his climax were still apparent, yet he could feel that it was no longer progressing. His breathing, the beating of his heart, appeared to have stopped, and he could no longer move.

    With an effort, he realised that Marquand was speaking to him.

    “…will be invented by a visionary called Reich, decades into your future,” he was saying.

    “He was well aware of our presence, referring to as us ‘Core Men’, meaning Cosmic Orgone Engineers.
    As he suspected, we have for eons been “engineers” of Orgone energy.
    Among many other things, it powers our interstellar vehicles”.

    “We had hoped to engage him as an ally, but regrettably he was hostile to us, and even attacked us a number of times. He became so dangerous that ultimately we were forced to manipulate your planet’s authorities to ensure his incarceration where his ideas could no longer spread, and where he died a short time thereafter.”

    “Orgone energy exists in many forms in the universe, but being a matrix there are regions where it is often very sparse, so that usable amounts can be inaccessible in certain galaxies. Unfortunately we reproduce asexually, so this abundant source was not available to us.”

    “When centuries ago we explored your galaxy, we found in your species a concentrated source of this energy- the question for us being how to harvest it efficiently.”

    Marquand regarded him coldly for a moment, then continued.

    “We have long been able to manipulate what your species perceives as the linear nature of time, a perception which is of course quite inaccurate. Once Reich had built his Accumulator, it was a simple matter to build one in almost any era we chose.”

    “The Accumulator and the obsessive nature of your sexual drives offered us a unique opportunity. Within certain limits we are able to access a number of your corporeal incarnations, and we have judged that your
    current one is that which best serves our needs.

    The next would have seen you born into an era of accelerating decline; utterly dissolute and full of meaningless distractions, rapidly failing natural systems, and toxic to the energy we seek.

    Even your prized humour, such as it is, would have become more debased and crass. “Ah, yes, the famous Orgasmatron!’ you would have said upon seeing the cabinet, “Who do you keep inside it, Barbarella? Perhaps you should have painted it Viagra blue.”

    Marchand’s face twisted into a cruel sardonic smile. “Very amusing.”

    “Of course you wonder if you are alone. The energy of Women is more potent in many ways, and of a higher frequency, but of course compatible- your primitive Oriental notion of Yin and Yang is quite appropriate. We are able to refine,synthesise and blend these energies in subtle ways which increase the versatility and utility of their application.”

    “You are no doubt aware that a few of my ladies were not heard from again? This a common occurence in this era when women have been disgraced in “polite” society, so absolutely no suspicion was aroused.”

    He turned away, then paused, reflecting.

    “It is curious, is it not, that some of my countrymen refer to orgasm as La petite mort, “the little death?” Yours will live for what you perceive to be eternity. A rich irony, don’t you think?”

    Ormond could not hear his own frenzied scream as the door closed upon him.

  6. Journal of a German Virgo, Date is eligible, but the year points to the late 1940s….

    A few weeks ago, I read this advertisement, a European scientist was looking for women who “knew what a Madonna-whore-complex is about. Preferably with strong Eros in their chart.” Right, I am a Virgo Sun & Venus, plus my Scorpio Mars is conjunct Eros- obviously, I was qualified and wanted to know what his research was about. So, I applied. It was nice to speak German again. Austrians have such a wonderful way to pronounce. All soft and, in a way, very peculiar.
    (I also had to leave Old Europe for obvious reasons, free spirited women with no interest in motherhood and eugenic breeding were not welcome there anymore- luckily got out of country after I was caught with a book “The Mass Psychology of Fascism”, which I had stolen from a fire in the streets).

    Naturally, I became Wilhelm’s assistant. His mission is to reconcile psychoanalysis with Marxism- Bloody Hell.

    Part of my work here is to sit in the prototype OA and have orgasms. I am glad, it is a box though, the couch concept never really appealed to me. Sharing my innermost feelings with an old, creepy man sitting and assuming I was hysteric? No, thank you very much.

    The box he invented is based on a very simple idea: collecting women’s orgasms in order to sell the magic particles of lust, primordial knowledge and mystique. To men, of course. Those men would not know, as they would think they are bathing in their own magical particles. Alas, those are not enough to achieve the healing benefits, Wilhelm says.

    Now, I am sitting in his box, and although I was not supposed to take anything with me inside, I took my journal. Thought, it could be useful to take notes. Sweat is dripping on the pages, as Wilhelm is turning up the temperature in order to create the perfect climate for particle conservation. I am naked. Thus, the particles can be etherified easier. I wonder, if Wilhelm ever uses the OA himself? Must ask.

    Albert Einstein will swing by in a couple of months in order to test this apparatus. Until then, I am supposed to have at least 5 orgasms per working day, in order to collect enough orgasmic energy to blow Albert’s disbelief away.

    ….(next pages are illegible or torn)….

    I am worried about Wilhelm, though. He seems to channel ideas and knowledge from very special places, some of them might not be on this planet. I caught him coming out of the machine and fantasizing about an orgone gun… something about turning the OA inside out to protect mankind from alien invasions. I do wonder if there exists something like an orgasm overdose? Must investigate.

  7. To understand the Orgone Accumulator, we must first examine it’s inventor. Hence I present:

    Wilhlem Reich—or, If only he had Reiki, Tantra and Meditation instead of being a Creepy Bastard.

    He liked a bit of Freud—and we all know the dangers or Freud—a little=bit of fun, too much and you can’t pick up a walking stick without gasping and running to the therapists couch.

    Liked a bit of Marxism—well and good—but REALLY, what does the workers controlling the means of production have to do with the quality of the sex they’re having? I mean, one could be a perfectly happy, celibate factory worker/shareholder.

    Good things about “Willy-Obsessed” Reich: He was pro sexual liberation, divorce and contraception. I’m always wary of men trumpeting “sexual liberation” and am inclined to tell them to keep themselves and their grabby hands the fuq away from my teenage daughters.

    Odd things about Mr Reich: He invented “vegetotherapy” (what? Because you lay inert like a vegetable? Because there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about a firm young carrot?) which involved pummelling the bodies of his poor patients as they *tried* to relax and tell-all on the psychiatrist’s couch, with Mr Grabby-Hands manipulating their chests and shoulders for signs of “sexual release”. UM. WOT?

    The Obvious: By all accounts there was plenty of wacky/creepy family stuff, from possible childhood sexual assault, to some sort of Oedipal complex about his mother. But who knows if half of it was triggered by reading of Freud? TBH you only need to get a whiff of the pages of “Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex” to start imagining all sorts of untold horrors in your psyche. He had an “unresolved hostility” towards Freud. I’ll BET he did.

    The Downright Annoying: For someone purporting to be a “therapist” he could have done with a bit of brain-gazing himself. It is said in his student days he “Visited brothels daily and wrote constantly in his diary of the disgust he felt for women”—Madonna-Whore Complex much? Stay away from my teenage daughters. When he started his “Sex-Pol” movement in Vienna 1927 Reich would talk to the teenagers and men, while his lover Lia Laszky talked to the children. Convenient eh? Stay. Away. From. The. Teenagers.

    Relationships “With the Ladies”: Where to start!

    He had affairs during his marriage to Annie Reich. How sexually liberated. His second relationship with Elsa Lindenberg was “good” and he considered marrying her. He got excited about their soon to be born baby…and even bought clothes and furniture for it, but suddenly got cold feet and INISISTED SHE HAVE AN ABORTION. Seriously, what a creep.

    He soon began an affair with a female patient (all ethics this chap). Her therapy and their relationship became all on-again—off—again and he only ceased and desisted when she threatened to expose him to the press. Couldn’t have bad publicity mar his sterling reputation. He was having a concurrent affair with a 25 yr old textile designer (my creep-bells are playing an orchestra).

    He also maintained an “intense jealously” towards Elsa Lindenberg (the woman he FORCED INTO HAVING AN ABORTION!!!) and demanded that she not have a “separate life of any kind” (yes, even though he cheated on her with the patient and textiles babe). Mr Jealous Pants physically assaulted a composer that Elsa happened to be working with.

    So he was a champion of “sexual revolution” but clearly couldn’t do “open relationships”—only HE was allowed to cheat. At this point I am ready to lock him in the “Orgone accumulator” with a swarm of angry wasps.

    Mr Madonna-Whore-Complex is just beyond words. Fortunately for Elsa he fuqed off to the U.S. to dabble in hokum and “healing” boxes for entitled men to wank in, and she stayed in Vienna. I hope she had an awesome life without him.

    As far as the Orgone Accumulator goes, Mr Reich tried to sell Einstein (our fave Pisces) on it, who quickly dismissed it and did the 1940s equivalent of blocking him: Einstein did not respond to Reich’s correspondence – until Reich threatened to publish their exchange. Einstein replied that he could not devote any further time to the matter and asked that his name not be misused for advertising purposes.

    Team Einstein all the way.

  8. Freya Lastark brewed another cup of burdock tea and looked out the window once more. It had been raining all week in Chronopolis. Her thesis—about how Wilhelm Reich’s orgone accumulator had fueled every influential development in mid-20th century American literature—was overdue, and she was totally blocked.

    Freya sighed. She wanted to see her slowness as a productive gestation, but her research—spending hours at the library gathering quotes from male writers waxing poetic about mystical experiences in the orgone accumulator—was making her suspect a more simple kind of block. It had been ages since she’d had sex and she had thrown out her vibrator long before that, during the Zap Zone, when Saturn had entered the Via Combusta and hit her Scorpio sun. At the time it had felt like a pledge to authenticity: she would have true love and hot sex or she would sublimate her sexual energies into her work—no substitute; nothing in between.

    But authenticity was growing a little wearying these days, and true romance hard to come by. Her crush on the Taurus bodyworker who was treating her for shoulder pain was going nowhere. She vaguely hoped that the Venus retrograde at the end of the year would scare up some interest from her old flame, the brilliant, sulky Kataka who she’d recently run into in East Chronopolis. But some ill-advised social media crawling had revealed that he who was dating a pre-Saturn Return oceanography student and, anyway, October seemed like a long time to wait for any action. (In truth she was more afraid that Venus retro would just bring a message from her Pisces ex, who was probably thoroughly pickled in the juices of his Neptune transit by now. She blamed the last Venus Retrograde for extending that relationship into 2017.)

    Her one consolation was that her best friend, Vanadium, move to Chronopolis over the summer—but Vanadium was on a meditation retreat until Uranus went into Taurus, and her voicemail box had been full for months before that.

    Still, Freya thought, she could try and emulate Vanadium’s patience. After all, once Uranus got into Taurus is would be on the cusp of her fifth house. She hit save on her thesis document, spritzed herself with vetiver oil for grounding, and donned her rain poncho and boots, ready to head out into the streets of Chronopolis. She didn’t want to be late for her bodywork appointment.

    • It’s like you have been following me around and taking notes on my life. Please follow up with an instalment showing said bodywork taking a turn for the hotter. I need hope!
      Also, I love your writing.

  9. Women are their own orgon generators, particularly when pregnant or double penetrated. This creates a closed nerve energy circuit. Men know this. They resent this. They want this ability themselves. This is the Secret of the High Priestess. Controlling womens sexuality via Patriarchy is a means to limit High Priestess Orgone Prana Creative energy under the Feminine influence, hence Patriarchal manipulatve power crap. As women gain sexual sovereignity, men are increasing their misogyny but it will be in vain. Its not wise to fool Mother Hekate. She comes back with Vengeance and Power.

    Chinese medicine knows this and there are exercises men and women can do to create this environment without any artificial means. In the meantime cultivate this and see people freak.

  10. “Scorpio moon orgone dark side transmutation”
    I’d been more than naughty.
    & I’d been caught.
    The dark, energised look she gave me was that of an totally in control chess master, who realized I’d realized there was no way out of the trap he had set, one move from checkmate.
    I hung my head, dropped to my knees, looked up & said to Betty
    “I love you, I am sorry, please forgive me, Thank you”
    Betty exploded “Don’t degrade yourself further by degrading a beautiful sentiment with your manipulative insincerity,… get in the box’
    My crime? A long story that I will keep short….on the night i had proposed to the beautiful, athletic & multi level powerful Betty she had called her best friends Angela & Dominique. Ang was small, buxom & friendly, Dom, tall, powerful, flexible, smart & not a fan of men, in general.
    They had rushed over with champagne, hash cookies, & wild sexy music playlist by Parra for Cuva
    I was already a bit gah gah from taking my medicinal THC/CBD oil mixture, & high on life from my love saying “Yes”
    Drinks, engagement ring admiration, dancing on the balcony ovelooking the ocean, with a full moon in rising, on the horizon.
    I looked at my love & said “does life get better than this?”
    ‘I doubt it” Angela said
    Dom said ” So gang, That’s a Scorpio full moon rising…watch for the sting mates”
    A chill ran up my spine, to add to the chill from the fresh southerly night breeze that kicked in almost on cue, as Dom dropped her focus shifting conversation clanger.
    Betty announced “Its cooling down…OK champagne, gucamole, chocolate & hot tub time!”
    I went to the bathroom, put my speedos on & came back to join the ladies who had all totally disrobed.
    I slipped into the warm water, made myself comfortable against a warm powerful jet of water right between my shoulders.
    I gave a contented sigh, & slipped down a little further & closed my eyes. I opened my eyes to see all 3 ladies looking at me. Dom said ‘A little shy new boy fiance?”
    ‘No, just comfortable & cruisy’ I replied.
    SIlence, tension.
    “We are all naked & we feel you are breaking the trust of the group, by not being naked too”
    “I missed the elections that made you spokesperson for the Universe Dom, but I am good. Thanks for you input though”
    “Smug prick, lets get him girls”
    A force field of ferocious yin energy engulfed me, breasts, bums, hair, hands, feet like ingredients being mushed up in a blender, all groping & trying to rip my saggy bummed speedos off. The intensity of the team overwhelmed my feeble struggles, laughing at the start, then Dom held me down, under the water for like 30 seconds longer than my lung capacity could tolerate.
    The fun of the romp had turned into darkness, pain, & humiliation as I felt the outcomes of suffocating, draining strength & will from my body.
    I went all limp, was blacking out, then from the darkness, Dom brought me
    above the surface, to light & laughter, shook me, slapped me & laughed. I took big gasping breaths, then she dunked me again, I could feel my speedos being ripped off at the same time.
    Something in me snapped & surged. First, through the deep recesses of my brain, memories of past humiliations & life losses, of being made to feel small came rushing back & relived in the now, ugh……then, like a double shot of angry Kundalini on steroids & speed, power surged through my veins, muscles & will. I exploded from the darkness of the spa bath depths into the light, lifting the formidable Dom, above my head & slamming her into the depths of the spa.
    I got out of the spa, went to get a towel & was crashed tackled into the patio furniture. Fucking ouch.A naked Dom flipped, straddled me, slapped me repeatedly & called me her little bitch.
    Betty shouted ‘Stop!”
    Dom looked at Betty, turned back to me, slapped me, hard, again, grabbed me by the throat, then slipped her hands around the back of my head, lifted me up towards her face, her lips & then kissed me, softly, sweetly & then deeply.
    Betty ran over pushed Dom off, I stood up & the now speedo-less me, was obviously, more than aroused.
    “I’m sorry, please forgive blah blah blah…”

    Reclaim the sparks & lifeforce of your emotional constipation/darkness & repressed sexuality that gets exposed under a Scorpio full moon, fueled with Pluto & Mars juice.
    Process it, look at it, own it & stop denying it, under the grace of this silvery lighted, in between world.
    What happened next with the 3 feisty alpha lasses when I was sin binned into the orgone accumulater,? on the mundane level, is for part two, but is summed up best by a Kabbalah name of God “Yud lamed yud”
    Enjoy the full moon.

  11. Orgone collecting devices exist now as multi layered fabric used as a whole or part of body wrap.These were developed by the Russians based on the work of Reich. They are used for health reasons and are called either OLM or ULM blankets. They are terrifically regenerative. Would recommend the blanket for anyone and everyone. I have had one for 3 years and wish I had had it for 30yrs.

    • I had heard the Russians were already using them therapeutically. I’m about to finish making my own blanket. Very glad to hear your feedback on it!

  12. You know this is a real thing with actual amazing benefits used worldwide today, right? There’s one at my local homeopathic clinic, it looks like a small wooden indoor sauna.. they use it for cancer patients. There’s no orgasming involved.

  13. The ego mind has long been jealous of the power of the animal (real/true) self. It makes sense that somebody’s ego came up the plan to steal this power from mother nature and install it in the minds that were already converted to patriarchal (ego) purposes.
    But what if this serves to actually re-connect the mind to the animal body? Pretty cool, then. Sort of an ego-annihilator.

  14. I feel like this would be a Uranian Finnish engineer dudes sauna conversion passion project amid a long lonely Pluto transit

  15. A knock at the door. You open it. A man stands there, tall, effeminate, a wastrel air. He holds out a card. Your name is on it.

    An alarm goes off: 3:13am. Your hand knocks it off the table while fumbling for the button to shut it off. You can’t figure out the geometry of the room you are in. Where are you? Outside and close, you hear barn animals huffing in the night. They come for you just before you can grasp your memories. They are tall, with black cowls hiding their eyes. They say nothing, but you know what is expected. You get up, wrapping the bed sheet around you, a slice of moonlight illuminating your mouth.

    It is a barn. Cows and horses are crowded in stalls, shuffling in mild interest. It is bitingly cold. Your bare feet slap the wooden floor. They flank you, only peeling off when you reach the end to face a tall wooden box, the door open.

    There is a plain wooden seat inside. All right. You step inside and sit, turning as you do so to face the eight tall shadows. The door closes, though none of them are close enough to touch it. It goes black.

    It was black. There is a light? You open your eyes as wide as you can to catch whatever stray particle or wave there is. The light is as faint and powerful as the one that miners buried underground dream of, the light that can lead you out of here. You open your eyes wider and the light whispers into your retina, hitches onto your optic nerve, and travels to your brain. Once there it splits into two streams: one bubbles just under the crown of your skull, the other seeps down your spine, passing through whirling doors, stargates built into your body, all of them now wide open. The light drops down and out, spills over the edge of the seat, puddles around your feet, fills the small room, climbs the walls, and flows over the ceiling. As the ceiling darkness retreats to the size of a dinner plate, a teacup saucer, a watchface, a penny, the rush of blood in your ears goes silent. your head explodes, your spine gushes light upward and out and around and down. You eyes are no longer in your face. You no longer have a face. you are an exploding implosion of light. there is no you.

    the door opens. the door shuts. the door opens and step out. legs are long and rubbery. fingers touch the edge of the door. the door is thankful. are thankful. flow down into the moonlight touching the floor of the barn. so soothing. the animal noises are so soothing. all around the world is gentle loving and so. there are no shadows. step out into the moonlight and it swallows whole.

    The next day is different, more like before, but one removed. You put your hand in your pocket. There is a card in it, with a name. All right.
    You put your knuckles to the door in front of you and knock.

    • Intense! I feel like a Dali picture after reading that… *goes to look in the mirror, just to check*

  16. He had taken the mugwort as directed by the spirit of Jack Kerouac, who visited him one night during an astral projection. Feeling creatively blocked, he was trying everything he could for some much needed inspiration. In his vision, Kerouac guided him to an old run-down building in SoHo, New York City. Off MacDougal St. to be exact. He knew this area quite well having visited the former haunts of some of the most influential writers – again, for the inspiration. Onward, the spirit led him through a secret passageway behind a wine cellar that ended with a pretty normal looking door.

    Within this room was one of Wilhelm Reich’s famed Orgone Accumulators many a creative before him had used for some…sementic stimulation. A contraption consisting of organic matter that would balance masculine and feminine energy, that would help a man become one with all that is for after all, we are all made of star stuff. Orgasmic organic matter. Yes, this must be just the thing needed to unlock all kinds of creative potential. As above, so below. This was pure alchemy.

    So there he was, at the very place from his vision and sure enough, the door appeared before him after a short trek through the passageway. He entered and stood before the Orgonite box gazing hungrily upon it. Quite the clairsentient, he could feel powerful energy emanating from it. Without further hesitation, he opened the door and sat down. He felt the mugwort taking effect. He set his intention: tonight, a new creation would be born.

    And he drifted off, immediately having strong visuals of the Orgone device transforming into a Merkabah. On he traveled through dimensions and he arrived on an island somewhere in the Mediterranean. He left his star chariot and the goddess Artemis greeted him. It was of course nighttime and the full moon bathed them in her light. Artemis beckoned him, and spoke telepathically: “come, you must pay tribute to Selene, the mother of all creation. You have forgotten her and she has longed for you.” Her dogs led the way up the mountain toward a torch-lit temple glowing in the distance.

    Getting closer, he noticed a group of nymphs dancing in a circle as if performing a ritual in honor of the moon. They were beautiful, nude, and incredibly enticing. A voice told him he must give something of himself in sacrifice; his energy. The nymphs enclosed him into the circle when he reached them and danced faster and faster, seducing him. They removed his clothes and began to have their way with him. Dizzy with the sight of them, drunk off their scent of jasmine, he was driven wild with desire. How badly he wanted them, and as he moved toward the brink of ecstasy, he could not fulfill his desire. Something suddenly made him recall his studies of tantric sex, and how this sex magick could create a child in the astral metaphysically speaking. This must be the way.

    And so he focused the stimulation from his sacral chakra, up, up into the skies toward mother moon. He belonged to her now. He would do anything for her to bless him with a child for she was the perfect embodiment of divine feminine creative energy. The build up of all the repressed energy, of his frustration, the emotional feeling he held back deep within his soul could not be held within any longer. In these moments of inertia, there was a burst of white light. A chill ran up his spine and he felt his release. He was truly out of his body.

    The goddess Selene spoke to him: “You are different from all the ones before you, who did wrong by the divine feminine. They took advantage, they abused her energy and failed to respect her power. I have watched them become driven to madness and disorder under my light. They used and abused substances to cut themselves off from me. You must repent for their sins. You must purify yourself and retain your seed. Create an altar in my honor and make it a labor of love. You will find seeds of Selentrope here outside my temple: take them and plant them during the next new moon. Nurture them. Water them using an elixir of dissolved Selenite crystal. Sing them sweet songs of worship and tribute you have written yourself. Make tea using their blossoms and drink it. Your best work will be done in this space. I ask you to dedicate your work to the healing of the divine masculine. The balance must be restored. Share all you have learned with as many men as possible. You will prosper.”

    The light of her moonbeams called him back toward the temple, and he walked into them. As promised, he noticed Selentrope growing wildy and picked a few seed containing pods. He felt Selene’s embrace and thanked her for this blessing and vowed to do as she wished.

    He opened his eyes. He had returned from his trip. Reaching into his pocket, and felt three pods bursting with seeds. He knew what he had to do. And on that night, one cycle ended just as one cycle began.

  17. True Story.

    The Orgone Accumulator (ORAC) has a perpetual dis-info campaign that runs against it. The creator was thrown in jail, and died of a ‘heart attack’ before his parole hearing; where his case would have taken a turn, considering he had acquired the ear and trust of a few powerful people, including the then future President – JFK. All documents pertaining to this case are restricted and held under top security classification.

    The Orgone Accumulator works.

    The CIA have plenty of studies proving the energetic reality of our world. Their work on Psychic Soldiers, and LSD trials were just tips of the iceberg as to the intel they’ve observed and gathered.
    Few people, except for those practicing ‘elites’ and elemental magicians, realise that ‘Sex Magick’ is alive and well, and holds the fabric of our reality together.

    The human is a powerful being, and the human orgasm – when properly harnessed, is more powerful than a Hiroshima, but not in an ‘obviously’ destructive way. It’s transformative and healing, much more powerful than destruction.

    Reich wasn’t fully aware of what he’d created at the time, until he met Crowley. His theories and ideas around the concept were spot on, he just needed someone to turn on the proverbial lightbulb.
    The box itself amplifies the natural energetic atmosphere, forming an invisible ‘amniotic sac’ inside the metal walled contraption.

    The universe coalesce’s so intensely inside the box, that it inadvertently makes love with your cells, amplifying your deepest desires, through what we have come to know on the physical realm as ‘sex magick’ .

    The energetic realm breaths love, it is love. Your soul breathes loves. There is no distinction, the universe loves you for being alive. The concentration and force of an orgasm can be likened to a solar flare. Orgasms shouldn’t be wasted, they are supposed to be directed.

    They suppressed this powerful technology to prevent random people using this device, as unbeknownst to the users, their subconscious was being birthed into the world and made manifest. The box doesn’t discriminate between your deepest fear or your deepest desire, it manages to find and extract the subconscious soundtrack you play in the back of your mind and ‘give it to you’.

    They charged Reich, and removed him from the public realm. His ‘schizophrenic rantings’ becoming too accurate for their liking.

    My source claims that :
    1. “If we didn’t reel him in, it wouldn’t have been too long before he was taken seriously. Reich really wanted to see proof of Alien life. A short time later, we had Roswell.”

    2. “Salinger, Kerouac, Burroughs, how do you think they all became cult heroes of their generation? Connery – they were instructed to focus on their deepest desires while in the box, as part of Reich’s ongoing living experiment. He was changing pop culture infront of our eyes, and we had to stop it. Counter Culture isn’t supposed to go mainstream. I’ve got one word for you – Hitler. There is no other way he could have rose to power. He burned all of Reichs material, to destroy any possible link that might connect him back to the machine.”

    3. “Kerouac desperately wanted a bottle, so he drank himself to death. Burroughs wanted ‘immortality’ so he lived longer than anyone expected and his work lives on to this day. We have to wonder whether Keith Richards managed to sneak a session or sixteen. We’re certain at least two authentic ORAC’s out there. Their value on the black market is astronomical. The best come of your life is inside that box; the life of your dreams, or a never-ending nightmare hides inside those walls too. You can buy the plans to build an ORAC, but they have been interfered with. They are missing a crucial component, which is why the ones built today don’t work like they are intended.”

    4. “What people don’t know is that even when undirected the female orgasm is by its nature 100x more potent than the man. Men can bring their personal desires to effect, they can impregnate the amniotic ether with their self-centred fantasies, but women can affect the cosmos. Even without the multiplying effect of the ORAC, a woman’s orgasm has the potential to destroy the facades and systems we’ve spent sickening amounts of money defending. A woman has the capacity to orgasm multiple times in succession. Freud was enlisted early in the piece, long before the creation of the ORAC. We needed to destroy womens right to have an orgasm, and he helped a generation prevent women from experiencing pleasure. Had those women been given their rightful taste of ecstasy, we may not have had WW2, despite Hitlers use of the ORAC. Maybe the ORAC was inadvertently ‘created’ by denying women their basic energetic right. When any energy is suppressed, it finds another way.
    There is no such thing as an immature orgasm. Anyone who believes such bullshit is mentally deranged.”

    They are concerned that a Bodhisattva or an aware Christian ‘soldier’ or one of those people on the ‘transition team’ who consciously ‘stands in the gap’ may come into contact and use an ORAC.
    These selfless beings are capable of changing our world from the inside out. They can awaken masses with every gasp and curl of pleasure that leaves their body.

    If the person happens to be a woman, then nothing is safe.
    Who thought Veganism would become a movement, and gut health a legitimate conversation with acquaintances? A wise astrologer predicted a few years ago that Health would become the new currency – and she wasn’t wrong. She is under surveillance as they believe she may know where an ORAC is located. Her scopes are too accurate to be coincidence.

    Whoever thought North and South Korea would unite? We don’t know who’s doing this, but it ain’t specifically Trump. He’s helped make people angry, which is what they want. They want you mad as hell, and distracted as lemmings, unable to see the all pervasive reality. If they keep your attention on Trump, and your vibes low and mad, you can’t affect shit in your life let alone the world, and your orgasms will be rendered useless, destroying your own life at best.
    There is a war going on, and you are the weapon.

    • I can’t be arsed to write this type of thing. However this is the best entry that has ever been posted in these comps.

      To many great references but the KR one, amongst others, is fab. Def an Aqua-Gem thing going on here!

      • Thanks PF. Appreciate you thinning out the competition through lack of Saturn (Cappy) influence 😉

        • I have to plead bias. My youngest granddaughter is an Aqua Sun and Lib Asc and she is a cyclone of the absurd. I like Air-craziness.

          Your effort tickled my funny bone.

          • Lol – cyclone of the absurd.
            Is there any greater comedy than absurdist productions? Fatty-Owls, MontyP, YoungOnes, Bottom. Even the modern ‘Bad Lip Readings’ are pretty good .

            Yeah, I have a Grand Air Trine, and I share Mozart’s birthday. I just write things down, as I hear them or as they appeared in dreams

  18. Had a quote of his on my brochures in the 90’s, ‘the free flow of erotic energy through the body is a sign of good mental health’.
    Found it interesting that his orgone energy was said to be ultra violet-blue colour residing at the base of the brain, the same colour i used to see when i did bodywork when energy started to flow.
    His book ‘People in Trouble’ was earlier called ‘The Emotional Plague of Mankind’
    billed as ‘one man’s courageous struggle to understand the social activity of mankind’ written between 1927 & 45′.
    Found his book ‘The Cancer Biopathy’ quite fascinating and ‘The Function of the Orgasm’.
    Obviously a fan of his writings but as for the box…a box is a box is a box, not exactly silken sheets, feather pillows and 4 posters.

  19. How long do I have to sit in this thing for?
    Great. I’m sitting on a chair in a metal box layered with wood in the hopes of catching more than my fair share of orgones, which sounds a bit like catching something that might be a) infective and b) potentially embarrassing. How did I end up here? This started at a baby shower, where I was explaining the etomology of the term “confinement” to a bevy of new age women who had never heard the phrase and were outraged about it, while pretending I liked the coconut yoghurt being served. I’m all for coconut flavoured yoghurt, but coconut cream with added probiotic sludge does not necessarily a yoghurt make. I’m not saying that lactobacillus doesn’t enjoy growing in non-dairy environments, it seems quite keen on vaginas, for instance, but the whole process of back-adding bacteria to coconut cream and thickening it with algae derivatives kind of takes the culture out of it. Pun intended.
    The old bloke who started the “confinement” spat by his attempts at well wishes was quite taken with my facility with outmoded health terms, and invited me to trial his “orgone accumulator” to which he attributed his unspecified longevity. And now here I am.
    He seemed to think this thing would collect and transmit orgasmic particles of life-force, but when I saw the sauna-esque wood panelling I thought it was more likely to collect European men in towels, which I’m also ok with. He was keen to have a woman take up residence in there for a stint on account of the whole archetypal feminine life-force conduit thingy. He said it would be good for me, “just sit there”. So now here I am, in confinement, a metaphorical clam bake. Ha ha. Pandora’s box? Tee hee. Culturing my coconut? Snort.
    “I’m ready to come out now!” I called out. The door cracked open and my peripatetic new friend’s eyes twinkled in an unseemly manner as he ushered me out through the house. As I left, I could see him rush back to his accumulator, ready to take up the warm seat on the bus, so to speak.
    “How weird, I think I’ve been had.” I thought to myself. “Must be a guy thing”, I shrugged. I couldn’t say I felt much different, but oddly I could definitely go for some more coconut yoghurt right about now…

  20. Orgasm, the union of effort and surrender is the ultimate collapsing of polarities, a potent reminder of Oneness. Its sensation is at once deeply human, of the physicality of this earth, and of impermanence, of the realm of All that is. As humans during orgasm we touch the Uncreated (“Oh God” an oft heard expression at climax) and we acknowledge our impermanence (la petite mort, French for orgasm, or literally the little death).

    That which is invisible, is most powerful. The vibration remaining after orgasm contains the potency of its totality, this Oneness in a most powerful form.

    It is in the same spirit as extracting the essence of sea salt through dilution and potentizing it through succussion to create a dynamic and powerful remedy Natrum Muriaticum (from the pharmacopoeia of homeopathy). Because it is dynamic, on the same level as our life force, it can remind the life force how to heal itself. In this state, it is different and more potent than crude sea salt, which acts primarily on the nutritive plane, because it is connected to All that is. And just as chanting mantra reminds us of the infinite, the sound of OM, is the cosmic roar, its resonance is invisible but can recalibrate us in a moment.

    If the essence of the orgasm from many human beings remains and is contained within the Orgone Accumulator, this collective vibration could be quite potent, and for some, akin to a highly charged Zendo, Mosque or other ritualized space. Its vibration could possibly ripple out infinitely an touch anyone that entered its space. . . . one never knows.

  21. Fictional story: The machine was dragged around by camel for local circus events or as a gag trick for bored higher society folk. For a small donation, you got to explore your inner desires, delve into other universes and sometimes experience sensual creatures- who knows what your mind would fancy up. Whilst inside the booth you get the choice of music to indulge the senses 1. Elton John, Tiny dancer 2. Glen Campbell, Rhinestone cowboy or 3. Bee Gees, More than a Woman. The fragrance is very ominous but sensual, woodsy, with a touch of old money. Mostly felt by scorpio moon types or scorpio ascendant- they just wanted to drag their partners in for a good time, but not before a shot of local liquor where it wasn’t clear if it made the experience more pleasurable or not.

  22. What was Wilhelm thinking? Trying to impress Freud by designing a private vehicle for his very own bliss wank?
    Not an orgone conclusion one could conclude surely?
    That enlightenment would ensue by locking oneself in a metal lined box to marinate in orgasmic vibrations of the ecstatic self-led variety?
    Neurosis driven, like the marketing bloom of viagra, men flocked to the box for genital utopia.
    Alas dear Vagina, if only they had realised that from within lies the true expansion of mental acuity and health. That from connection and affection comes orgasmic bliss. That they had just taken the toilet wank to a silly place. Alas.

  23. February 22, 2040

    The design of our current model Orglar 69, pays tribute to the original Orgone Accumulator made out of wood and lined with metal. The Orgone Accumulator was the first device utilising Scalar energy to absorb and channel the power of an orgasm to heal the human body directly via the 72,000 Nadis. Prior to this original device, we were relying solely on Vector energy which is described by both magnitude and a direction! Imagine all that divine power spritzing all over the cosmos,what a waste of time and space! The Orglar 69 uses latest torsion technology, providing continues bliss for up to 2hrs and the powerful cinetic big ball vacuum sucks every single particle emitted, leaving your space clean and hygienic!

  24. In my future alternate reality, the internet is only available in orgone accumulators. At first little is understood about how to harness this power. Gradually more is learnt about the nature of the energy itself. At some stage we become capable of separating positive from negative energy. We burn off the bad qi in orgone generators as an alternate energy source. The good qi is used to heal all illness with super orgone synthesisers. Once virtual orgone accumulators are invented Excess Orgone distributors are set up using old radio towers. The planet heals. Wars end. Finally love prevails

  25. Hundreds of eyes stared through the many windows of the spaceships gigantic main laboratory, gleaming with anticipation. A discovery had been made and the beings whispered that perhaps this was finally it; what they had searched for, for so long. They had combed the universe for millennia, meticulously searching planets and galaxies. Some had even begun to lose hope.

    The ancient box stood squarely in the centre of the huge room. It had been carefully excavated from beneath centuries of dirt. The wood had mostly rotted from its sides to expose the metal innards which seemed intact, hopefully protecting its precious cargo all these many, many years.

    A tall silver-suited creature carefully lowered a scanner to cover the entire outside of the machine. He switched it on and it began to pulse and hum, slow at first but moving faster and faster. The audience held their collective breath, hoping and hoping. The machine beeped to show the end of its scan and finally flashed the reading on the screen for all to see.

    An almighty cheer went up! The orgone readings were off the scale! Accumulated and kept in the ancient machine in untold quantities, more than they would ever need. They could tell this machine had been host to the climax of many a very creative human. The earthlings were on to something but they knew not what they had!

    “Quick, feed the machine.”, the audience telepathed to the being in the silver suit. He switched the scanner to it began to suck the force from the box. It lit up another smaller machine, which had been dead these many millions of years. The beings knew it would soon spit out what they had waited too long for, the meaning of all existence. The tension and frenzy from all those years built to a crescendo.

    The being in the lab excitedly tore off a small strip of paper which printed from the machine and brought it quickly to his face to read. He looked confusedly at the audience. From his mouth hole came a barely audible, “Oh.”

  26. It’s why Doctor Who liked time travelling so much, he felt like a renewed man every time he stepped into the new world, fresh and invigorated from the sparks generated whilst in motion between moods / time, lol!

  27. The Orgone Accumulator should be renamed “Jack (off) in the Box’ since the only people named to have used it — Mailer, Salinger, Kerouac, at al — were men. It reminds me of “the Orgasmatron” booth featured in Woody Allen’s film “Sleeper.” At least women as well as men were shown enjoying that one.

  28. After Sully discovered he could produce more power from Boo’s laugh than her fear, he was named CEO of Monsters Inc and reorganized energy production methods. Renaming the “Scare Floor” the “Giggle Floor,” he was able to realize tremendous gains. However, as the children aged, and the birthrate in 1st world countries declined, so did the energy production. As big corporations always do, the Board demanded ever-increasing production goals, despite the decrease in resources.

    One night Mike Wazowski happened upon a young man doing what adolescent boys do alone in their room and discovered that while the laughter of children generated 10X more power than their screams, the release of teen orgasm was even more powerful than laughter!

    But it was awkward. Who wants to intrude on a teen who is learning an important life skill and wants privacy? Pressed by upper management to meet increasing production quotas, Sully struck a compromise. Mike could collect the teen energy, but had to find a way to do it discretely.

    As luck would have it, one night Mike happened into the room of a young man who was terrified his mother would walk in on him and had taken to his closet. The energy generated was so concentrated by the confined space, it gave him an idea!

    He and Sully developed the Orgone Accumulator. To preserve the family-friendly reputation of Monsters Inc. they patented the device under the name, Wilhelm Reich to distance themselves from accusations regarding underage subjects. Because of the privacy it afforded, young men eagerly adopted use, and energy production went through the roof.

    But this had an unintended consequence: Men didn’t want to abandon the apparatus when they grew up, and would continue to use them into adulthood. While the company didn’t want to cause grief by repossessing the Accumulators, the more mature orgasm didn’t consistently produce the level of concentrated energy. After consulting with R&D for a solution, the metal lining was added to the interior of the booths to better concentrate the energy harvested, thus expanding the time any given subject could remain a productive for the corporation.

    The Accumulators fell into disuse when it became fashionable to post everything you do on FB or YouTube.


    (Some might call writing the greatest masturbation–Norman Mailer certainly felt some connection–and writing this was distinctly pleasurable.)

    It is obvious to this metaphysiophile that if we don’t believe in the energetic properties and signatures of metals and rooms then we are just a bunch of feng shuied hypocrites. And what the hell did Einstein know?, I say only slightly tongue in cheek. The ability of modern humans to deny subtle energetics is profound, and even (or especially) Einstein could fail to glean the mysterious workings of this pleasure box. (For full self disclosure of energetic leanings, I myself am a failed acupuncturist — failed not because I am unskilled, but because I have gone borderline mad from the perpetual question “Does it work?”).

    I must admit, when I saw the picture of the Orgone Accumulator, I fancied it was the only one, ever — hence conjuring a vision of Mailer, Kerouac and Ginsberg walking up the Bowery, through the East Village in the 50’s, stopping for coffee and sitting, waiting together in Reich’s studio on Sunday afternoons for successive sessions in the device. So fantasized, who would not want to go into that thing?? I am certain the largely unsung women of the Beat generation went into it too, why wouldn’t they? And doesn’t it give an all too confounding layer of additional meaning to the very designation ‘Beat Generation’?

    I would go in — Whether it ‘worked’ or not! — just to add my layer to the generation. I’d hope it was reasonably cleaned, but regardless — qi vamping the release vibe of yesterday’s geniuses is bound to be dirty work, and the truly devoted must learn to look above the cum rust, toward a higher principle. Would we be more apt to believe if the inside was lined with Herkimer diamond?

    In a culture still beleaguered with sexual repression and masturbation shame, do the mechanical specs of such a device even matter? What of the participation mystique that must be evoked by exhibiting oneself, literally or confessionally, as an enhanced masturbator? Some kind of pride in the most primal self pleasure suddenly seems severely more useful than the plethora of narcissistic device driven distractions we indulge today. At least if we sat in a box with our genitals in our hands all day we might notice, possibly find insight, maybe seek balance — the same cannot be said for our tiny accumulators of satellite waves. Do I pleasure my phone? Or the other way round? Do Iphone my pleasure?

    We have certainly become Mailers’ failed hipsters, for the moment, and must redeem ourselves soon by continuing the search for the ‘apocalyptic orgasm’ in a new ‘cult of sex and anarchy’. How about we start a rose quartz cult, where we all buy the quartz from a single source and then pleasure ourselves at a set time, with crystal in one hand, bits in the other? But we won’t sit in the accumulator — or, we will take the roof off and send our magnified vibes OUT — let’s collectivize our orgasms and connect them through the ether into a giant vibration. OUR generation will be called Giant Sex. Let’s dream of healing the earth as a synchronistic brigade of Aquarian jerk off artists!

    It’s a wild bit of genius, whatever you believe. Reich fueled a sexual revolution by turning an outhouse into an orgasmatron — that is some fierce manipulative brilliance, crazy or not.

    Now I certainly have my repressions, and my Chinese medical training advises that while no sex is constraining, excessive sex is depleting. So we must be sensible. Yet, tantric practices may apply. We can still self pleasure and withhold.

    What if we all engaged in a great collective tantric pleasuring — a Witholdiday — would the collective unconscious get blue balls?

    It strikes me that it does have already.

  30. Oooh I am very much into Reich’s work! His observations make a lot of sense to me and I had some serious Aha! moments about my personal experience while reading an anthology of his works. My hypothesis is that orgone is Reich’s word for what other traditions call chi or prana. It is the energy of the subtle body, which is also the free floating energy of the environment. He calls it sexual vegetative energy, the energy that propels all living organisms. It animates our bodies, but when we brace for the impact of violence (physical, psychological, verbal, emotional), we hold our body stiffly and block the flow. When we feel shame for our body’s unconscious and conscious desires we rigidify to try to control our desires. He writes that we come to fear (through societal norms and taboo) the release of this energy through orgasm, as it is le petit mort, the little death, the only time we completely lose the ego and surrender to death. Reich thought all neuroticism stemmed from the flow of orgone being blocked up in the body—thus he was at the forefront of somatic psychology. It’s all very psychoanalytic though they kicked him out of the club for being too orgasm-focused and too kooky. Reich worked with both men and women patients. Women certainly used the box orgone accumulators but of course the famous artsy men who used them are the ones that are documented. I am about to finish making my own accumulator, a wool blanket, so much easier and cozier to use than a giant wooden structure. Sitting in an accumulator hypothetically will help you to relax and release the areas in the body where you hold perpetual tension. I think it will be a similar concept to the salt water float tanks I’ve been using lately. I can report back once I’ve used it for a while! Fyi, it’s not good to use an accumulator for longer than 30min, and also not good to use it around devices that give off electromagnetic frequencies as they interact with orgone and too much orgone becomes detrimental (see Reich’s work with orgone and radiation). 🙂

    • Basic references: Reich, W. Selected writings: An introduction to orgonomy. and DeMeo, J. The Orgone accumulator handbook: Construction plans, experimental use and protection against toxic energy.

    • Love Reich’s legacy too….absolutely ahead of his time. I’ve found the character types just an amazing way of understanding our body tension and armouring. I think also that he is talking about chi, and it’s amazing that he developed his work without knowledge of chinese medicine etc (as far as I’m aware!)

    • He didn’t rewrite eastern philosophy, but I think he presents a Western European psychoanalytic and experimental take on the subtle body. I wonder if he had read any books on Eastern philosophy and medicine? From his writings it seems he came to this independently from observing his psychoanalytic clients but who knows what was on his bookshelves.

      • Yep….it is amazing considering that he seems to have made his observations with out reference to Chinese medicine or understanding of subtle energy.

        • Cha, That’s what I was getting at. It strikes me as a quirky curiosity that some psychologists/explorers etc – in this case Reich – at times present a framework that already exists elsewhere, but with no active reference too it.
          I personally really enjoyed reading ‘function of the orgasm’ and read it long before I knew of the word Qi.
          So at the time I thought Reich was a bonafide genius.
          Still think what he had to present is valid, but keep in perspective the Western tendancy to ‘discover’ and excitedly share something as if it’s the first time it’s been shared in history. (i.e. like children)

          • Yes, I absolutely agree that the Western tendency has been to uphold their own genius as originary. I think there have been periods of cross-cultural transmission, and then periods in which knowledge remained insular. However I know that Jung was reading about Chinese philosophy, so Reich could have been too. I studied eastern philosophy long before psychoanalysis, so was surprised to learn about orgone, but don’t know enough specifically about how chi and prana are described to know if they talk about it in the same way Reich does. His experiments with the bions and his take on the accumulator is rather novel. I think he was so unpopular in his time, so nobody paid attention enough to his work to posit connections with eastern philosophy. Though now that I think of it, the Beats were studying Buddhism, so perhaps they saw the parallels.

  31. It was a box of many weathers. It captured the shudder of fists punched against a soft stone. It noted the faint hiss between teeth at the release of a long-held urge. It tracked the imperceptible shifts in shade in hidden corners of skin: behind the ear, say, or the inside of a wrist. It counted the folds, the strands, the small hairs and the smaller muscles at the root of the root of this hairs. It was a box that could contain the names of energies and humours too subtle to be handled otherwise. It was a box that only the rich could afford, but only the poor could understand.

    • When gratification is delayed, we learn to examine our desires more closely, and with greater discrimination.

  32. It’s a catholic confessional box for sure. I have been in one two times in my life and made up sins to keep everyone happy. Two laps around the rosary and you’re done.

  33. This is giving me confessional crossed with the desire for multi dimensional contact type vibes. Saturn and Uranus at work. They’re trying to access the higher vibrations of such a powerful experience but it’s controlled. So they’re probably never going to get there in the end. The men need to figure out the path to free love because they’re not orgasmic in the same way as women and maybe they feel constrained by that. Women are connected to the tides and the earth, men all fire and vim and strangled by their own expectations. They need the release to access the ancient energies. But maybe they need to release control. Sex magic gone awry. As a bit of a hippie (okay a lot lol) this makes me sad.

    ” The orgone energy accumulator offered a generation the opportunity to shed their repressions by climbing into a box, which in turn served as an apt symbol of their alienation and new imprisonment. ”

    This sums it up really.

  34. Jacqui Rich (Formerly Reich but someone changed it for anonymity) craved the old wooden box tucked away in the junk room. Father had called it the Orgone Accelerator, but she called it the old wooden box but with less distaste in her tone as her Mother had. Peace was what she was looking for, ten minutes of uninterrupted nothing. After distracting the hoards by turning on the idiot box she stealth moded upstairs, tip-toeying around the creaky floor boards and pulling the ancient door shut ever so gently. Bliss was her thought as her eyes closed and she realised there was total and utter silence. Her mind eased into a tranquil state shortly before guilt rode into her brain like a western stampede. Then the accelerated kicked in. Peace glorious peace and followed by the the dust hitting her flaring nostrils. Sneeze after sneeze, seven in total left her wondering if she had done enough pelvic floor exercises. Damn this box wasn’t it supposed to relax and uplift? She heard a voice whinging for her, she fled from the old wooden box unwilling to share her secret hidie-hole. Jacqui thought she would maybe try again next week. Pfft if she was lucky.

  35. Hard to imagine that Reich caused such an uproar that the authorities threw him in prison. But that chair does look uncomfortable. Maybe it was the chair that did for him ? Either that, or sound particles of Hawkwind playing ‘ I’ve got
    an Orgone Accumulator and it makes me feel greater…’.
    sent someone a bit loopy and the authorities decided that this little booth was all part of a communist conspiracy to erode the morals of upright , right -thinking Americans.

  36. I really want the Skype consult … so promise I won’t sit in my Orgone Accumulator when we do my winning Skype consult…

  37. Were they like telephone boxes, eg, one on every corner?

    Could you come n go as you please?

    No wonder Dr Who look so disheveled when he got out of one.

    They certainly had an effect on Clark Kent. He came out with no glasses. It didn’t send him blind.

    They don’t look roomy enough for a mass debate.

  38. Wil Reich was an Aries sun…In a very basic assessment based on people I’ve known, Aries are prone to self deprivation/ self torture/ discomfort as tools towards success… They can stick to regimens no other mortals would even dare begin in order to achieve their aim … self control as a virtue.
    Therefore a stark chamber of discomfort in that particular decade may have represented a pinnacle and truly been a turn on…


  39. Orgone Accumulator.
    Accumulator orgone?

    I’m confused. I mean you either have it; as accumulated. Or you dont, zip, nil or gone.

    From the little l did read about it, it appears its not just about sexual healing but an all-encompassing gadget. It looks a little repressive rather like a confessional box. Aha, there’s the sexual connection.

  40. Some poor person had to clean this room before latex gloves and industrial disinfectant were a thing

  41. Leo-Acqua, Scorp Moon brainwaves at warp speed here…

    The Orgone accumulator was meant to capture the energetic fields of men during their orgasms. The theory behind the Accumulator was that a male in the throes of a huge orgasmic burst would literally emit godzillion of sexual energy rays from every pore of his body, If that high potential, orgasmic, sexualised and healing energy was not channelled in some way, it would dissolve forever into the ether. Hence the utility of The Orgone Accumulator!

    Designed with a copper enhanced encasement, the objective of the box was to “encapsulate” male orgasmic energy during masturbation. The orgasmic rays would then bounce off the copper tubing and get absorbed back into the pores of the male inside the box, creating a feeling of intoxication and euphoria.

    After their experiences, most male participants recorded heightened sensations of “openness, as though my head was left somewhere in the clouds.” Another declared that on exiting the box, he felt “as if I had an orgasm with the very cells of my own body”. The Accumulator was believed to reboot men’s sexual prowess as well their creative energies, hence it’s appeal among the intellectual elite of the times.

    It is interesting to note that women were excluded from the Accumulator experience at the time, as men believed that women were unable to have deep and fulfilling orgasms because their sexuality was more “an internal nature”. Women’s ability to reach the orgasmic heights that men enjoyed, was perceived as being limited as it was “hidden within the womb”, therefore, the Orgone Accumulator was of little benefit to them.

  42. What is the window for??? Being a cancer sun I am afraid that that box is way too stark cold and can you imagine sitting on that wooden chair ?? It would be like church and the more I think about it the more it makes me shudder. Although without the window it would very much appeal to my Aqua man Virgo moon who finds the whole sex thing pretty distasteful. As long as you can’t see his c** face he will be happy!

  43. Without realising, he was trying to recreate the muffled, airless serenity of the uterine environment. Drawing on Sigmund Freud’s little known draft manuscript discussing Uterus Envy (the publishers wouldn’t even let it see the light of day, it would start riots in the establishment), the device offered the sense of intimately meshed pleasure, total security and protection that its visitors had been seeking out in the harsh world.

  44. I can’t imagine any woman would create thhis metallic sterile box to trap their orgasm particles. Only men can think up something so uncomfortable and cold as the place in which to orgasm and then trap their energy within. If anything it looks like a torture chamber that you would lock up the sub slave in the most uncomfortable harness and entrap their orgasm energy with which the master would soak up afterward to think up even more cruel torture for their subs. That box has gotten me onto this plane of imagination. No wonder Burroughs used it. His writings did show a lot of guilt anger and whatnots directed at his boyfriend objects of the time.

  45. I read the article at the link. Not one woman’s name is mentioned in the context of sexual pleasure, orgasm, or anything else for that matter. With the exception of Jane Fonda, as a character in Barbarella (1968, also pluto opposite uranus) as “…when he attempts, unsuccessfully, to kill Jane Fonda with pleasure.” Not kill the _character_, mind you, but kill *Jane Fonda*.

    Women’s sexuality, much less sexual pleasure outside the service of men, does not exist at this time yes? If fellow Piscean (& closet mystic) Albert Einstein wrote it off, that’s good enough for me.

    (clock up one for feminist polemic pls)

    • And Barbarella short circuited the pleasure machine! So loved that movie ‘an angel doesn’t make love an angel is love’ is a quote i remember although have watched it about 5 times at least.
      Also the Black Queen smoking ‘essence of man’.

    • Any amount of times you want. And if you just want to discuss the Orgone Accumulator without entering, that’s cool also. I want one! Perhaps portable…

      • MM, it is fairly easy to make a portable one! I am currently putting the finishing touches on an orgone accumulator blanket. 3 layers of wool, with steel wool sandwiched in between. See DeMeo’s The Orgone Accumulator Handbook.

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